Three weeks into the job, Selene stopped pretending she was here for revenge. The map lived in her head, every parcel Damon had acquired, every acre of pack territory that had changed hands. But somewhere between the coffee runs and the late nights, something had shifted. She liked this job, the puzzle of it, the pressure, the feeling of being good at something. She liked watching him, that was the problem.
It was nearly eleven on a Thursday night when Selene realized she was still at her desk. The office was empty. The cleaning crew had come and gone. Damon had mentioned casually that he needed quarterly reports by morning, so she stayed.
The city glittered through the windows. Selene stretched her aching neck and reached for her coffee, cold. She stood to refill it, and that's when she heard footsteps. Heavy. Deliberate. Coming from the stairwell.
No one used the stairs at eleven. Her body tensed. Her ghost stirred. The stairwell door opened. Damon Valkor walked through then stopped when he saw her.
For a long moment, neither moved. He wore no suit, no tie. Just a dark sweater with sleeves pushed up, revealing forearms corded with muscle. His hair was disheveled. He looked tired. Human. Devastating.
"You're still here," he said.
"I could say the same."
He walked to the windows. "I couldn't sleep."
"Neither could I."
"You're working?"
"The quarterly reports. You said you needed them by morning."
He turned. "I said that at four. I didn't expect you to stay until midnight."
"It's only eleven."
A pause. The corner of his mouth twitched. "Eleven is midnight in office hours."
Selene shrugged. "I don't have anywhere to be."
"Neither do I."
The words hung between them. Simple. True. Loaded with something neither would acknowledge. Damon walked toward her desk. Stopped close enough that she could smell him, that clean, expensive scent, and underneath it, something warmer. Something that made her ghost press against her skin.
"You should have gone home hours ago."
"I should have. I didn't."
"Why?"
Because I wanted to prove myself. Because I don't have a home to go to. Because every time I leave, I remember I'm alone.
"The reports needed to be done," she said.
He looked at her. Those glacial blue eyes, unreadable and intense.
"You're a terrible liar," he said softly.
"I'm an excellent liar."
"No. You're excellent at hiding. That's different."
The words hit too close.
"What's the difference?"
"Hiding is survival. Lying is performance." He moved closer. "You're not performing right now, Elle. You're just... here."
Here. Like it meant something. Like being here, with him, at eleven at night, was more than just two people in an empty office.
"Where else would I be?"
He didn't answer. He just looked at her, and in his eyes she saw something that made her breath catch. Hunger. Not for food. Not for power. For her.
"You should go home," he said quietly.
"I should."
Neither moved. The city glittered beyond the windows. The vending machines hummed. Selene became acutely aware of how close he was. How easily she could reach out. How much she wanted to.
Stop. He's the enemy. He's buying your homeland. He was looking at her mouth. Her thoughts scattered.
"Elle." His voice was lower now. Rougher. "If you stay, I can't guarantee…"
"Can't guarantee what?"
He moved closer. Close enough to feel his heat, to see the rapid pulse in his throat.
"You know what."
She should have stepped back. Fled to her tiny apartment and her carefully constructed walls.
Instead, she said, "What if I don't want you to guarantee anything?"
His eyes darkened. He reached out. His hand moved slowly, giving her time to pull away. She didn't. She couldn't. His fingers touched her hand.
Electricity.
That was the only word. A jolt, sharp and sweet, racing up her arm and down her spine. Her ghost howled. Her skin burned. Her heart stopped and started again.
He felt it too. She saw it, the widening of his pupils, the sharp intake of breath, the way his jaw tightened. His fingers curled around hers.
Selene pulled away. The moment shattered. She stepped back, nearly stumbling. Her hand tingled where he'd touched her. Damon didn't move. Just watched with those dark, hungry eyes.
"I have to…" She grabbed for her bag. "The reports are almost done. I'll finish tomorrow. I should…'
"Elle."
She stopped.
"Don't run."
The words were quiet. Not a command. A plea. She looked at him, really looked and saw past the ruthless CEO, past the enemy. She saw a man just as alone as she was.
"I'm not running," she whispered.
"You are. You've been running since the day I met you." He stepped toward her. "I don't know from what. But I know you're tired. I can see it in your eyes."
Tired. Such a small word for the bone-deep exhaustion of two years hiding. Two years being no one.
"You don't know me."
"I know you're the only person in this building who stays past midnight to finish reports I didn't actually need until next week."
She blinked. "What?"
"I don't need them until Tuesday. I said tomorrow because I wanted to see if you'd stay."
The admission hit like a blow. "You tested me?"
"I tested your dedication. Your work ethic." He stopped. Ran a hand through his hair. "I wanted to see if you were real."
"Real?"
"Everyone else performs for me. They tell me what they think I want to hear. You don't." He moved closer. "You just work. Like the world could burn and you'd still finish those reports."
"The world might burn. The reports still need to be done."
A sound escaped him, almost a laugh, almost something else. "That's what I mean. You're real. And I don't know what to do with that."
Selene's heart hammered. Her ghost was screaming now, not in warning, but in recognition.
"He's like us. He's alone too".
She couldn't do this. Couldn't let herself feel this. He was Damon Valkor, the enemy she'd sworn to destroy. But when he looked at her like that with those hungry eyes and that almost-vulnerable expression she forgot about packs and territories and revenge. She only remembered how long it had been since someone had seen her.
"I should go," she said again.
She meant it. She grabbed her bag and her coat and walked toward the elevator. Toward anywhere that wasn't here.
"Elle."
She stopped.
"Tomorrow night. Same time." A pause. "I'll order food. Real food. And we can pretend to work while we figure out what this is."
What is this? There couldn't be a this. She turned.
"What if there's nothing to figure out?"
His eyes held hers. "Then we'll eat bad office food and talk about quarterly reports. And you can go back to hiding."
"And if there is something?"
A long pause. Then, so quietly she almost didn't hear it: "Then we'll figure it out together."
Together. The word cracked something inside her. Something she'd kept sealed since the night she knelt in that clearing, watching her pack walk away. She couldn't. She shouldn't.
"I'll be here," she said.
She walked out before he could see the tears. The elevator ride was a blur. The lobby was a blur. Cold night air hit her face and she gasped, walking blocks before stopping, pressing her hands to her face. Her hand still tingled where he'd touched her. Her heart still raced. Her ghost was wide awake and howling.
Mate. Mate. Mate.
No. He was human. He had to be. But she'd felt it that electricity. That jolt of recognition. She'd felt it once before, in a dream she couldn't remember, under a moon she'd rather forget.
Mate.
"No," she whispered to the empty street. "He's not. He can't be."
But her ghost wouldn't stop singing. And somewhere in the back of her mind, a voice that sounded like fate itself whispered:
"Tomorrow night. Don't run"
Selene walked home through the empty city, her hand still burning, her heart still racing. Tomorrow night, she would go back. Tomorrow night, she would sit across from Damon Valkor and figure out what this was and maybe just maybe she would stop running.