Chapter 5 No.5

Anya POV

The Motel 6 on the outskirts of the city smelled of stale cigarette smoke and lemon-scented despair. It was a far cry from the plush, velvet-lined world of the Alpha's floor, but it was all I could afford.

I sat on the edge of the lumpy mattress, my knees pulled to my chest. The silence here wasn't peaceful; it was heavy, pressing against my eardrums. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the ink on Declan's skin.

0825.

August 25th.

It had to be her birthday. Or their anniversary. Kristin Larsen, the Alpha's daughter Camryn had whispered about. A woman with a wolf as strong as his, a woman worthy of a King. Not a wolfless nobody who fetched coffee and got fired for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

A sudden, blinding pain spiked through my temples, like an ice pick driven into my skull. I gasped, dropping my head into my hands. It wasn't a normal headache. It felt like static pressure, a heavy, demanding knocking against the walls of my mind.

Open up.

The command wasn't audible-I had no wolf to translate the telepathy of the Pack link-but the intent was so powerful it physically hurt. Someone was trying to force a Mind-Link.

Declan.

Only an Alpha could generate that kind of mental force.

The pain vanished as quickly as it came, replaced by the vibration of my phone on the nightstand. The screen lit up, illuminating the dark room.

Unknown Number: We are not finished.

My breath hitched. The text was stark, commanding. No greeting, no signature. Just a declaration.

Fear, cold and sharp, coiled in my stomach. He wasn't chasing me because he cared. He was chasing me because I was a loose end. I was the mistake that could tarnish his reputation, the stain on his fidelity to his true mate. He probably wanted to pay me off, or worse, threaten me into silence.

My fingers trembled as I typed a reply, desperate to end this before he could hurt me more than he already had.

Me: Last night never happened. Don't worry.

I didn't wait for a response. I hit the 'Block Contact' button.

"It's over," I whispered to the empty room, though the hollow ache in my chest suggested otherwise. "You're safe."

The phone buzzed again, making me jump. I stared at it in horror, thinking he had somehow bypassed the block, but the name flashing on the screen was Dannie Hill.

I swallowed hard and answered. "Mr. Hill?"

"That's Sir to you, Carroll," Dannie's voice slurred slightly, thick with spite. "I'm calling to make sure you understand the terms of your termination. You are to vacate the premises immediately. Your access card has been deactivated."

"I'm already gone, Sir," I said, my voice dull. "I'm at a motel."

"Good. But you're not done yet," he snapped. "I need the Shadow Creek Territory Acquisition Files. Elara needs them for the morning briefing. If those papers aren't on the front desk in twenty minutes, I will make sure you are blacklisted from every job in this state. You won't even be able to get hired as a dishwasher."

The line went dead.

Panic flared. The Shadow Creek file. It was the most sensitive merger the Pack was handling. If I lost that, Dannie wouldn't just blacklist me; he could have me arrested for corporate espionage.

"Okay, okay," I muttered, scrambling off the bed. I dragged my battered suitcase onto the mattress and unzipped it. "It's here. It has to be here."

I threw clothes aside-my spare uniform, my worn-out jeans, my only nice dress. I dug through the side pockets, checked my purse, shook out my coat.

Nothing.

"No, no, no..."

I upended the bag, dumping everything onto the floor. My toiletries scattered. My socks rolled under the bed. But the thick blue folder was nowhere to be seen.

I froze, my hands hovering over the mess. A memory, sharp and cruel, played in my mind.

The morning sun hitting the floor-to-ceiling windows. Me, scrambling to gather my clothes while Declan watched me with those unreadable, golden eyes. The folder sliding off the nightstand as I grabbed my bra.

I had left it.

I had left the most important document of my career in Room 1501.

The blood drained from my face. I looked at my phone, at the blocked number, at the bridge I had just incinerated with a few keystrokes.

I had to go back.

I had to walk right back into the lion's den, past the security, and knock on the door of the man I had just rejected.

Fate, it seemed, had a twisted sense of humor. And I was the punchline.