The bathtub in the penthouse suite was large enough to drown in. It wasn't just a tub; it was a carved slab of black onyx that steamed with the scent of sandalwood and something medicinal.
Two maids, women with sharp eyes and silent footsteps, had stripped Astra out of her gray janitor's coveralls as if she were a mannequin. They didn't speak. They just scrubbed. They scrubbed the smell of the "Grey Zone" off her skin until it was raw and pink. They conditioned her hair until it felt like silk, a texture Astra hadn't felt since she was a child before the fires.
"Stand up," one of them commanded.
Astra obeyed, shivering as the cool air hit her wet skin. Her wolf was pacing now, a frantic, rhythmic scratching behind her ribs. Alpha. Where is the Alpha?
"Shut up," Astra whispered to the empty air.
"Did you say something, miss?" the maid asked, pulling a dress from a garment bag.
"No," Astra lied, her eyes widening as she saw the fabric. It was silk, the color of a midnight bruise, deep purple, almost black. It had a slit that went up to her mid-thigh and a back that stayed open down to her waist.
When they cinched the corset, Astra felt like she couldn't breathe. It wasn't just the fabric; it was the weight of the silver necklace they snapped around her throat. It felt heavy. It felt like a collar.
"Mr. Sterling is waiting in the foyer," the maid said, stepping back. "Don't keep him waiting. He doesn't like to be ignored."
Astra walked out of the bedroom, her heels clicking on the marble like a countdown. She felt exposed. The dress clung to every curve she'd tried to hide under baggy clothes for years. When she reached the top of the grand staircase, she saw him.
Dante was standing by the glass wall, a glass of amber liquid in his hand. He was wearing a tuxedo that fit him like armor. When he heard her heels, he turned.
The air in the room seemed to vanish.
Dante didn't say a word. He just stared. His amber eyes traveled slowly from her toes, up the slit of the dress, over the curve of her hips, and finally settled on her face. His nostrils flared. He was scenting her, the sandalwood, the expensive soap, and the underlying pheromones of an Omega who was finally waking up.
"You look..." Dante started, his voice a low, jagged rasp. He cleared his throat, his knuckles whitening around his glass. "You look like you belong here."
"I feel like a fraud," Astra snapped, her voice trembling. "I feel like a prize cow being readied for auction."
Dante set his glass down on a side table and walked toward her. He didn't stop until he was in her personal space. The heat coming off him was suffocating. He reached out, his fingers grazing the silver necklace at her throat.
"This isn't an auction, Astra," he murmured, his thumb brushing the sensitive skin of her collarbone. Sparks danced under her skin, a searing heat that made her breath hitch. "This is a declaration. Tonight, the other packs are going to try and scent you. They're going to try and find a weakness in the Sterling Alpha. They think I brought a human girl to the gala."
"And if they find out I'm a wolf?" Astra whispered. "A broken one?"
Dante's eyes flared gold. "Then I'll remind them why I'm the one holding the leash in this city."
He offered his arm. Astra hesitated, then slid her hand into the crook of his elbow. His muscle was like iron under the suit jacket.
The gala was held in the "Grand Atrium," a space made of glass and gold that hung over the edge of the district like a predator's nest. As they entered, the roar of conversation died down to a sharp, expectant silence.
Hundreds of eyes turned toward them. These weren't just wealthy humans; these were the Apex. The Alphas and Betas of the city's most powerful packs. The air was thick with competing scents, musk, pine, expensive cologne, and the sharp, metallic tang of aggression.
Astra's wolf went wild, clawing at her insides. Too many. Too loud. Danger.
"Chin up," Dante hissed in her ear, his hand sliding down to rest firmly on the small of her back. The touch was possessive, a silent warning to everyone in the room.
"Dante! You finally arrived," a booming voice called out.
A tall man with silvering hair and a jagged scar across his cheek approached them. This was Silas, the Alpha of the Iron-Claw pack, Dante's biggest rival. Behind him stood Seraphina, wearing a smirk that looked like a blade.
Silas didn't look at Dante. He looked at Astra. He leaned in, his nostrils flaring as he took a deep, invasive breath.
"She's... quiet," Silas mused, his eyes narrowing. "Very quiet. Tell me, Sterling, where did you find this little bird? She smells like sandalwood... and something else. Something buried."
"She's my personal aide, Silas," Dante said, his voice dropping into a dangerous, low growl that made the ice in nearby glasses rattle. "And she isn't for you to scent."
"Is that so?" Silas stepped closer, his own Alpha aura flaring. The pressure in the room spiked. It felt like the gravity had doubled. Astra felt her knees begin to shake. "She's quite pretty. But she has no pack mark. No scent of a mate. She's fair game, isn't she?"
Silas reached out a hand to touch Astra's hair.
Before he could make contact, the air in the room exploded.
Dante didn't just move; he blurred. In a heartbeat, he had Silas's wrist in a crushing grip. Dante's face shifted, his jaw becoming more angular, his teeth lengthening into sharp, predatory points. His eyes were no longer amber; they were burning, molten gold.
"Touch her," Dante roared, his voice more wolf than man, "and I will tear your pack apart piece by piece until there is nothing left but bone."
The entire room went silent. You could hear the faint hum of the air conditioning. Silas turned pale, his own wolf backing down in the face of Dante's raw, unbridled power.
But Astra was the one who felt it most.
As Dante's power filled the room, the "broken" wall in her mind finally shattered. A surge of heat, hotter than anything she had ever felt, erupted from her chest and flowed through her veins. Her skin didn't just itch; it burned.
She gasped, clutching her chest. Her scent, the one she had been hiding for a decade, hit the room like a tidal wave. It wasn't sandalwood anymore. It was the smell of the first spring rain on a forest floor, mixed with a sweet, intoxicating floral note that only meant one thing.
A Fated Mate.
Seraphina's glass shattered on the floor. Silas backed away, his eyes wide with horror.
Dante froze, his grip loosening on Silas's wrist. He turned to Astra, his nostrils flaring, his expression one of pure, stunned disbelief.
"Astra?" he breathed.
Astra couldn't answer. Her vision was swimming. Her skin felt too tight for her body. She looked down at her hands and saw the faint, glowing outline of a crescent moon appearing on her palm.
She wasn't just a werewolf. She was the one thing the Billionaire Alpha never expected to find.
"Get her out of here," Seraphina hissed, her face contorted with rage. "Before the Council sees what she is!"
But it was too late. Dante stepped toward Astra, his eyes locked on hers. He didn't look like a CEO anymore. He looked like a hunter who had finally found his prize.
"You're not a janitor," he whispered, his hand cupping her face. "You're mine."
Astra's world went black as her body finally gave in to the shift.