POV – James
I watched her across the table, the golden light from the chandelier pooling softly around her, touching her hair, her skin, her lips — and for a fleeting second, I forgot how to breathe.
Elena.
Every time she smiled, something inside me pulled tighter. Every time she looked at me — really looked — I felt the world tilt. She had no idea what she was doing to me.
I'd told myself I could handle this. That I could sit across from her, speak casually, keep the conversation easy, warm, human. But the moment she'd stepped into my home, every layer of control I'd built around myself had begun to unravel.
Her scent — gods, her scent — was everywhere now. Soft, floral, with a trace of something wild beneath it, something that called to me in a language older than thought. My wolf was pacing just beneath the surface, restless, desperate. He knew what she was before she did. He could feel it. The moment she crossed my threshold, he had risen like fire, whispering the one word that both thrilled and terrified me.
Mate.
I kept my voice steady, my hands still, pouring her wine with the kind of calm that was pure illusion. "You like salmon, right?" I asked, because it was safer than saying You're all I can think about.
She smiled — that small, almost shy smile that undid me completely — and nodded. "It smells incredible."
"I hope it tastes half as good," I murmured.
It did. Of course it did. I could have served her ashes and she would have thanked me; she was too kind, too gentle. But watching her eat, watching the way she brushed her hair back when she laughed, the way her lips curved when she spoke — it was unbearable in the most exquisite way.
I had brought women here before. Colleagues, acquaintances, people who wanted something from the CEO of Ashford Industries. None of them had ever made this place feel alive the way she did.
"You cook," she said at one point, amusement flickering in her voice. "That's not something I expected."
I leaned back slightly, trying to play along, to keep the conversation light. "What were you expecting?"
She tilted her head, teasing. "I don't know… a man like you probably has a personal chef for every day of the week."
I laughed softly. "Only when I burn the kitchen down. Which, to be fair, has happened twice."
She laughed then — a bright, musical sound that did something terrible to me. It filled every quiet corner of the house, and for a moment, it almost eased the ache clawing at my chest.
Almost.
The wolf stirred again, impatient. He didn't want to laugh or talk. He wanted to claim, to close the impossible distance between us. But I forced the thought down. She wasn't ready. She didn't even know what she was.
I changed the subject before I said something I'd regret. "You seem… calmer here," I said.
Her eyes lifted to mine, curious. "Do I?"
"Yes," I said softly. "Like you belong."
Her lips parted slightly, a faint flush rising to her cheeks. "Maybe it's the wine."
Or maybe, I thought, it was because her blood called to this place the same way mine did.
When she finished her meal, she set her fork down, smiling faintly. "That was amazing, James. Really. You might ruin restaurants for me."
Her words made me laugh — a low, unsteady sound that carried more truth than I wanted to admit. "I'll take that as a compliment."
The silence that followed was comfortable, warm, but charged. Every glance, every movement between us hummed with unspoken meaning.
I cleared the dishes slowly, needing the distraction, needing something to do with my hands. "Would you like a drink in the living room? Something to finish the evening?"
She hesitated, but only for a heartbeat. "I'd love that."
I offered her my hand — just a polite gesture — but when her fingers slid into mine, it was like being struck by lightning. The bond pulsed between us, invisible but undeniable. My wolf went still for the first time all night, watching through my eyes, satisfied but hungry.
Her skin was warm, softer than I'd imagined, and when I let go, I almost couldn't.
In the living room, the fire burned low, casting amber light across the dark wood and stone. She moved gracefully, stopping near the mantel to look at a painting — something old, something from a life that wasn't quite human.
"It's beautiful," she said.
"It reminded me of home," I replied quietly, pouring two glasses of wine.
She turned to face me then, and our eyes met across the room — the air between us thick, humming again.
I crossed the distance slowly, handed her the glass, and our fingers brushed once more. That small contact, so brief, sent a shock through me.
If she only knew.
If she only felt it the way I did.
I took a seat beside her on the sofa, close enough to feel her warmth, far enough to pretend restraint.
For a long moment, we just sat there, the fire crackling softly, the rain outside whispering against the windows.
And I knew — without a shadow of doubt — that I was completely lost.
She was my mate.
My heart.
My undoing.
The fire had burned low, a slow rhythm of orange and gold that flickered across her skin.
She was sitting beside me, glass of wine in hand, her body relaxed against the sofa, the faintest smile still ghosting her lips. Every time she looked at me, something inside me shifted — something primal, protective, fierce.
The air between us was quiet but alive. She was close enough that I could feel her warmth, smell her scent — that impossible blend of soft sweetness and something untamed beneath it. The wolf inside me purred contentment for the first time in years.
For a fleeting moment, I thought: I could stay like this forever.
And then my phone buzzed.
Lucian.
I hesitated, glancing at the screen. A message. "Check your email. It's important."
My stomach tightened. The timing couldn't have been worse — or perhaps it couldn't have been more perfect. I leaned back slightly, unlocking the phone, forcing my expression to remain neutral. Elena didn't notice; she was tracing the rim of her glass absentmindedly, lost in the sound of the rain outside.
I opened the message.
Subject: Dorne Family Lineage – Restricted Findings
From: Lucian Hale
Attachments: 1 File — Bloodline_Report.pdf
The breath left my lungs before I even clicked. My pulse thudded once — twice — steady, deliberate, the way it did before a storm.
The file opened, black text against a pale background, and the first line froze me.
Subject: Elena Dorne
Classification: Unknown Hybrid (Primary Blood – Lupine / Secondary – Arcanum)
Descendant of the lost Dorne lineage, formerly allied with the Ashbourne Coven (extinct). Maternal bloodline traces back to the Witch-Queen of the Northern Wood, circa 1342. Paternal lineage, pure-blooded Lycan, House Dorne — recorded destroyed during the Southern Uprising.
Subject likely unaware of heritage due to deliberate suppression — trauma event recorded (parents deceased under mysterious circumstances; guardianship assumed by humans). Latent blood markers dormant.
I stared at the words until they blurred.
Hybrid.
Witch-blood.
Dormant.
My fingers tightened around the phone, and the screen trembled slightly in my grip. The wolf inside me went utterly still. Not calm — reverent.
For the first time, he didn't growl or demand. He simply bowed.
I felt heat rising up my spine, slow and heavy. The air in the room seemed to change — the same hum I'd felt earlier, the same strange pulse that had danced between us. It wasn't just her scent. It wasn't just attraction. It was her blood.
She wasn't only my mate.
She was something far rarer.
A bridge between two worlds that were never meant to meet.
I drew a careful breath, forcing my body to stay still.
"Everything okay?" she asked softly.
I looked up. Her eyes were on me now — warm, trusting, unaware that the ground beneath my feet had just shifted entirely.
I smiled, gentle, practiced. "Yes. Just something from work."
"On a Sunday?" she teased. "That's dedication."
"Unfortunately," I said, setting the phone face down on the table before she could see the light still flickering on the screen.
She laughed quietly, returning to her glass.
But I couldn't follow. My mind was spinning, my pulse still erratic.
Lucian's final note burned in my memory:
Proceed with caution. The hybrid mark may awaken under emotional or physical stress. Recommend observation — and protection.
I watched her as she leaned forward slightly, her hair catching the light, her profile soft and unaware. She was everything fragile and fierce wrapped into one — the woman I loved, the woman destiny had marked for me, and something infinitely more dangerous.
The wolf inside me whispered again, not in hunger this time, but in awe.
She's ours. She's the one who will change everything.
And I knew it was true.
Elena Dorne wasn't just my mate.
She was the future of my kind — the convergence of power that hadn't existed in centuries.
And she was sitting right beside me, smiling softly, with no idea that her entire world was waiting to wake up.