His Innocent Wolfless Stray Turned Queen

Azura Montgomery POV:

The bridal chamber was awash in the soft glow of hundreds of crimson candles, the scent of white roses heavy in the air. I stood in the center of the room, my custom lace wedding gown trailing across the Italian marble of my family's penthouse floor. Tonight was supposed to be the beginning of a new era for the Montgomery Pack.

The heavy oak doors clicked open. I turned with a soft smile, expecting my new husband, Baron Guerra. But the smile froze on my lips.

Baron strolled into the room, his tuxedo jacket unbuttoned. Clinging to his arm, wearing a scandalously sheer crimson slip, was Brie Forbes-a low-ranking socialite my family had taken in out of charity. Her hands were roaming freely over my husband's chest.

"What is the meaning of this?" I demanded, my voice trembling as my white wolf bristled beneath my ribs. "Why is she here, Baron?"

Brie let out a melodic, venomous laugh. "Why wouldn't I be here, Azura? It is his wedding night, after all. A true Alpha needs a real woman, not a pampered princess."

"Baron, explain yourself!" I snarled, stepping forward.

Baron's cold gray eyes gleamed with raw, unadulterated greed. He didn't look like a loving groom; he looked like a butcher admiring a carcass. "It was the only way, my dear," he said smoothly. "You Montgomerys are so fiercely loyal. I needed a flawless excuse to gather every single one of your elite vanguard guards in one place. What better occasion than the grand wedding of their beloved Alpha's daughter? Your father stationed them all right outside this wing to protect our 'sacred night.'"

Before I could process the sheer magnitude of his betrayal, a deafening roar of automatic gunfire erupted from the courtyard outside. The screams of my packmates tore through the night air, mingling with the sickening scent of silver and blood.

"No!" I screamed, lunging toward the heavy doors.

Baron moved with blinding speed. His hand clamped around my throat, lifting me off the floor and hurling me violently backward. I crashed into the edge of the mahogany vanity. The impact shattered the mirror, sending shards of glass raining down on my pristine wedding gown. A sharp, agonizing pain pierced my chest as a rib cracked. I gasped for air, coughing up a mouthful of hot, dark blood onto the white lace, and the world faded into blackness.

When I dragged my heavy eyelids open, the sharp stench of iron, burning drywall, and ozone choked my throat.

"Hold her down!" a mercenary shouted.

The heavy combat boot slammed into the small of my back, driving the air straight out of my lungs. My cheek scraped against the cold, blood-slicked Italian marble.

"Get your hands off me!" I snarled, thrashing against the crushing weight of the two mercenaries pinning my shoulders.

Deep inside my chest, my white wolf clawed at my ribs, desperate to break through the surface. She howled in agony, but the bones in my spine refused to snap and reshape. The Shift would not come.

Around both of my wrists, thick cuffs of solid, unrefined silver bit directly into my flesh.

The reaction was immediate. A violent, hissing sound echoed through the smoke as the silver met my skin, sending up acrid plumes of white smoke. It smelled like roasting pork and charred nerves. The agony was blinding, an electric fire running up my forearms, paralyzing the dormant beast inside my DNA. Silver was the one absolute poison to our kind, capable of severing a werewolf from their inner beast forever.

"Still fighting, little pup?"

Heavy leather boots clicked rhythmically across the shattered glass. Through my swollen left eye, I watched Baron Guerra stroll through the burning doorway. He wore an immaculate bespoke Charcoal suit, completely untouched by the massacre he had orchestrated across our seventy floors of corporate glass and steel. As the self-appointed Alpha of the United Metro Pack, he carried himself like an untouchable monarch.

I lifted my heavy head. On the bridal bed, amidst the tangled, ruined silk sheets, Baron and Brie had just finished entangling themselves in a frantic, animalistic rhythm. They hadn't even bothered to close the curtains. As I stirred, Brie locked eyes with me over Baron's shoulder, her face twisted in a euphoric sneer, intentionally amplifying her moans to ensure every sound carved into my soul.

They finally broke apart. He stopped two feet from my face. Slowly, deliberately, he lifted his right foot and set the sole of his designer shoe directly onto my father's chest.

My father lay motionless in a pooling lake of crimson, a gaping crater blown through his ribcage by a black-market silver heavy cannon. His eyes were wide, glassy, and forever fixed on the burning ceiling.

"Take your dirty foot off him!" The scream tore from the depths of my soul, scraping my vocal cords raw. "He was the true Alpha! You are nothing but a back-alley assassin!"

Baron only smiled, pressing his heel down until the splintered ribs beneath his leather sole gave a sickening crunch. "A dead Alpha is just fertilizer, Azura. Now, tell me where the Tears of the Moon sapphire is hidden, and I might just grant you a clean bullet."

"Go to hell!" I spat a mouthful of hot blood directly across the pristine polish of his left shoe. "You will never touch our ancestral stone. Never!"

Baron's calm expression cracked. A vein bulged along his neck.

Before he could speak, the sharp, rhythmic tap of high heels echoed through the burning wreckage. Brie Forbes stepped into the circle of emergency lights, swaying her hips with practiced elegance. Her platinum blonde curls were styled to perfection, contrasting grotesquely with the dead bodies of my packmates scattered across the floor.

Brie knelt beside me, her diamond-encrusted fingers digging brutally into the raw wounds on my jawline.

"Look at you," Brie purred, her voice dripping with venomous satisfaction as she forced my face upward. "The proud princess of the Montgomery clan, groveling like a mangy dog in her own filth."

"You filthy traitor," I whispered through gritted teeth.

Brie sneered and swung her arm back, delivering an open-handed slap that whipped my head sideways. The ring on her index finger tore open my lip, sending a fresh stream of copper down my chin.

"You always looked down on me," Brie hissed, her voice shaking with long-suppressed jealousy. "You and your pureblood lineage. Look who holds the crown now."

"Enough playing with the stray," Baron cut in, his voice dead and emotionless. He reached inside his tailored breast pocket and pulled out a heavy pneumatic syringe made of reinforced glass and surgical steel.

Inside the chamber, a viscous, shimmering liquid churned like melted mercury.

My stomach dropped through the floor. Cold dread washed over me, freezing the blood in my veins.

Liquid pure silver. A concentrated neurotoxin designed by rogue black-market chemists to permanently destroy the werewolf healing factor, dissolve the cellular link to the inner wolf, and induce multi-organ failure.

"No..." I breathed, thrashing wildly. "No, kill me! Just shoot me!"

"Death is far too merciful for a Montgomery," Baron said softly.

The two mercenaries clamped down on my bicep with the force of hydraulic vices. Baron stepped forward, drove his thumb into the hollow of my collarbone to expose my carotid artery, and slammed the thick gauge needle deep into my neck.

He slammed the plunger home.

Fire.

It was not heat; it was an avalanche of freezing, liquid needles tearing through my bloodstream. The liquid silver spread through my jugular like liquid lightning, searing every vein, artery, and nerve ending it touched. My back arched uncontrollably off the floor. A high, ragged scream tore out of my throat, vibrating against the shattering glass windows.

Inside my mind, I heard the faint, dying whimper of my white wolf. Her voice, once a thundering presence of ancient authority, faded into a terrifying, hollow silence. The psychic link snapped like a frayed wire.

My inner beast was gone. Dead.

"Throw her over," Baron ordered, wiping a speck of my blood from his cuff with a silk handkerchief. "Let the street cleaners scrape whatever is left off the pavement. Oh, and broadcast the message to the lower districts: The Montgomery family has been executed for treason, mass murder, and inciting a rebellion against the commoners. I am simply delivering justice."

"My pleasure, Alpha," the larger mercenary grunted.

He grabbed the collar of my torn silk blouse and dragged me across the shattered floorboards. My limp legs trailed behind like dead weight, leaving a smear of dark red across the executive corridor.

The night air hit me with the force of a physical blow as they hauled me out onto the observation terrace. One hundred and twenty stories above Apex Metro, the wind screamed like a chorus of banshees. Far below, the neon lights of the city sprawled like a grid of glowing embers.

"Farewell, little wolfless orphan," Brie laughed from the doorway, wrapping her arms around Baron's waist.

The mercenary hauled me over the reinforced glass railing, dangling me by the front of my shirt above the yawning abyss.

My vision was swimming with black spots. The silver poison had paralyzed my diaphragm, turning every breath into a ragged gasp. But right against my ribs, beneath the inner lining of my reinforced corset, a small, hard object pulsed with a faint, steady warmth.

The Tears of the Moon sapphire.

Baron thought it was in the corporate vault. He didn't know that my father had sewn the ancestral relic into my clothing an hour before the breach. The ancient stone hummed against my freezing skin, pouring a microscopic thread of soothing energy into my failing heart. It was not enough to heal the poison, but it kept the spark of my soul alive.

I had one move left. Just one.

Summoning the final drop of adrenaline left in my shredded muscles, I threw my head backward with everything I had.

Crack.

My skull slammed squarely into the mercenary's nose bridge. Cartilage shattered beneath the impact. The man howled in shock, his grip instinctively slipping for a fraction of a second.

That fraction was all I needed.

Instead of trying to scramble back toward the ledge, I threw my weight backward into the empty air.

The mercenary's fingers ripped through my shirt fabric, catching nothing but wind.

The wind roared in my ears as gravity seized my broken body. The burning tower shrank upward in a flash of smoke and sirens.

As I plunged into the freezing black sky of Apex Metro, my eyes remained locked on the blazing silhouette of the penthouse.

Suddenly, piercing through the sirens and the roaring wind, a frantic shout echoed from the terrace above:

"Alpha! We have a breach! Assassins in the lower-!"

The voice was abruptly cut off.

Azura Montgomery POV:

The aroma of freshly ground dark roast and steamed oat milk drifted across the polished marble tables of the cafe, a stark contrast to the memory of burning silver that had haunted every second of my last three years.

I adjusted the collar of my beige trench coat, sitting in the secluded corner booth near the floor-to-ceiling glass windows of the Apex Metro central plaza. The coat was an off-the-rack piece, deliberately frayed at the left cuff, perfectly suited for an impoverished runaway.

I took a slow sip of the scalding black coffee, letting the bitterness coat my tongue while I checked my reflection in the dark glass.

Pale skin. Dull, dark hair pulled into a loose ponytail. And most importantly, an utter, absolute absence of pheromones.

To any werewolf walking down this street, I smelled like nothing more than wet cardboard and human dust. A wolfless stray. A genetic failure.

It had taken three years of hellish underground treatments, consuming powdered mandrake and freezing my veins in sub-zero cryo-chambers, to suppress the dormant white wolf bloodline within me. In this world, being wolfless was considered a curse-a genetic defect where an individual lacked the inner beast entirely, unable to Shift, unable to Mind-Link, and completely defenseless against Alpha dominance.

To the world, Azura Montgomery had died on the pavement three years ago. The girl sitting here today was Azura Carlisle, a fragile, trembling ghost looking for scraps.

At the table next to mine, two well-dressed human businessmen were speaking in hushed, urgent tones.

"Did you hear the latest?" one whispered, glancing nervously at the door. "Baron Guerra is trying to arrange a marriage between his adopted daughter, Victoria, and Connor Harris."

The other man nearly choked on his coffee. "Connor Harris? The Blood Tyrant? Baron must be out of his mind. Harris's power rivals what the Montgomerys used to have before..." The man stopped, his face paling as he quickly looked around. "Are you crazy? Don't bring up the Montgomerys. You know that name is an absolute taboo in this city now. Look how tragically Lady Azura died."

"I know, I know," the first man muttered. "But word on the street is that Connor Harris flat-out rejected the proposal. He told Baron he already has a 'family.' Baron didn't believe a word of it and demanded he bring this supposed family to the Council meeting. If they exist, this supposed family should be arriving in the city within the next two days, or else Connor will have to face Baron's wrath."

The second man scoffed, taking a sip of his coffee. "Face Baron's wrath? Please. Baron wouldn't dare raise his voice at Connor Harris, let alone unleash his wrath. Harris could crush the United Metro Pack before breakfast if he wanted to."

I gripped my ceramic mug, my knuckles turning white. Baron was ruthless. He had claimed to love me, yet slaughtered my family without a second thought. And now he was trying to use a brainless adopted pawn like Victoria to secure an alliance with the most dangerous Lycan in North America.

The brass bell above the cafe entrance gave a violent chime.

A sharp, foul scent rolled through the doorway, cutting through the coffee aroma like raw sewage. It was a heavy, mutated odor of stagnant swamp water and rotting leather-the unmistakable stench of an unstable Rogue.

I didn't turn my head. I already knew the heavy, dragging cadence of those combat boots.

Preston Forbes.

Brie's cousin, and the attack dog Baron Guerra had used during the initial purges. In the battle three years ago, a Montgomery guardian had torn Preston's left arm off at the shoulder before going down. Now, dishonorably discharged and cast out to run with peripheral street gangs, Preston carried his missing limb like an unhealed grudge.

"Out of my way, meat," Preston barked, shoving a young human barista against the espresso machine with his remaining right hand.

The ceramic cups shattered across the counter. The staff froze in terror, their scent spiking with sharp, sour adrenaline. Normal civilians had no defense against a rogue werewolf's brute strength.

Preston sneered, his bloodshot blue eyes scanning the terrified patrons. His greasy gaze swept across the room, finally locking onto my corner booth.

He paused, sniffing the air with exaggerated disgust.

"Well, well," Preston muttered, his heavy boots clomping across the polished hardwood as he closed the distance. "What do we have here?"

I met his gaze head-on, my spine perfectly straight and my shoulders relaxed. I simply looked up at him, my expression utterly bored, treating him like a stain on the floor.

Preston slammed his heavy right palm onto my table, rattling the saucer and sloshing dark liquid onto the white porcelain. The dirty tactical bandages wrapped around his left shoulder stump smelled of dried pus and cheap antiseptic.

"I thought I smelled a walking corpse," he sneered, leaning down until his rotten breath washed over my face. "A wolfless rat. How did a piece of genetic garbage like you even get past the front door of the commercial district?"

Behind him, two of his leather-clad lackeys barked out harsh, mocking laughter. Around the cafe, human patrons quickly gathered their bags and scrambled toward the exits, keeping their heads down to avoid the crossfire.

"Are you lost, Preston?" I asked, my voice calm, razor-sharp, and completely devoid of fear. "Or are you just looking for someone to rip off your other arm?"

The entire cafe went dead silent.

Behind Preston, his two lackeys stopped laughing mid-chuckle, their eyes widening in sheer disbelief. Even the barista behind the counter held his breath.

Preston's face flushed a violent, mottled purple. The veins along his temple swelled like thick blue earthworms. The loss of his arm was the single greatest humiliation of his miserable life, and everyone in the underbelly knew it was a death sentence to mention it.

"You suicidal little bitch," he hissed through clenched teeth.

His right hand dropped to his utility belt. With a harsh metallic scrape, he drew an eight-inch combat blade. The edge was coated in a dark, matte-gray finish-electroplated silver.

He lunged across the small table, driving the blade straight toward my left eye with blinding speed.

I didn't flinch. I didn't blink. I shifted my weight, caught his wrist with a brutal, practiced twist, and slammed his forearm down onto the edge of the marble table. The bone cracked audibly. Preston howled in pain, his fingers spasming as he dropped the knife.

"You're dead!" he screamed, clutching his wrist as he stumbled backward. "Just wait and see! I'll have your head on a spike!"

"I'll be waiting," I smiled coldly.

I stood up smoothly, buttoning the top toggle of my trench coat and looking down at him. My voice turned razor-cold and utterly steady. "My name is Azura Carlisle. I am the private ward newly registered under Connor Harris."

The entire cafe went dead silent once more.

Preston's bloodshot eyes widened in sheer disbelief. The anger on his face drained away in a split second, replaced by a sudden, sickening pale shock. "That's... that's impossible," Preston stammered, stumbling backward half a step. "Connor Harris? The Blood Tyrant? He doesn't take wards. He doesn't take anyone! You're lying! You're just a stray trying to save your own skin!"

"Am I?" I tilted my head, a mocking glint in my eye. "Connor Harris is the most ruthless, intolerant Lycan in North America. Do you honestly believe a wolfless stray like me would dare to publicly claim a connection to him in the middle of Apex Metro if it weren't absolutely true? If you think I'm lying, go ahead and strike me. Let's see how long it takes for him to tear off your other arm for laying a hand on his family."

The two lackeys behind Preston had already retreated toward the door, their faces gray with terror.

In Apex Metro, Alpha Baron Guerra might have held political control over the city council, but Connor Harris was an ancient, terrifying force that no Pack dared provoke. The billionaire CEO of Harris Enterprise was a legendary Lycan Alpha-a creature belonging to an immortal, upright-walking bloodline that pre-dated modern werewolf tribes by centuries. He was cold, ruthlessly efficient, and notoriously intolerant of trespassers.

Preston's jaw worked soundlessly. Hatred burned in his eyes, but pure, animal survival instinct won the battle.

"Let's go," Preston growled, turning on his heel without even bothering to pick up his expensive silver blade. He shoveled his companions out the door, fleeing into the morning crowd like beaten dogs.

I watched them vanish down the avenue.

As I grabbed my bag to leave, a daring patron from the adjacent table cautiously approached.

"Excuse me, miss," the man stammered, staring at me with awe. "Did you just say your name is... Azura?"

I slipped the strap of my bag over my shoulder. Despite my frayed coat, my posture radiated an undeniable, regal grace that no simple clothes could hide. "My name is Azura Carlisle."

The patrons gasped. "Azura? But... that name is forbidden by the Alpha..."

"I am not from this city," I replied smoothly, a mocking glint in my eye. "I have had this name for over a decade. Am I supposed to change it just because some dead girl used to have it?"

Without waiting for a response, I turned on my heel and walked out of the heavy glass doors of the cafe, stepping out into the chilly autumn wind.

Baron Guerra wanted to play games with the elite. He had no idea that the ghost of the woman he murdered was about to walk right into his trap, treating him like a mouse in a cat-and-mouse game, using the very tyrant he sought to control as her ultimate weapon.

Ahead of me, piercing through the gray smog of the northern skyline, the obsidian skyscraper of Harris Enterprise towered like a black obelisk over the city.

Time to walk into the wolf's den.

Azura Montgomery POV:

The entrance hall of Harris Enterprise felt less like a corporate lobby and more like the inside of a militarized bunker. Black granite floors stretched across hundreds of feet, flanked by towering pillars of fluted steel. Every thirty yards, heavily armored pack guards stood at parade rest, their sharp gazes tracking every heartbeat that crossed the threshold.

The air was dense with the crushing pressure of an Alpha's territorial scent-dark pine, ozone, and the faint, coppery tang of raw power. It made the air heavy to breathe.

I kept my chin tucked down, clutching a rectangular wooden box wrapped in frayed black velvet against my chest. Every step I took squeaked faintly on the polished floor, emphasizing my apparent frailty.

"Halt."

A wall of muscle blocked my path.

The man was seven feet tall, wearing a charcoal tactical vest over a tailored dress shirt. His neck was thick as a tree trunk, and his eyes held the dull, predatory golden gleam of a high-tier Gamma warrior.

"No unauthorized personnel beyond the front reception," the man rumbled, his voice vibrating in my sternum. "Especially not stray wolfless girls. Turn around and walk out the front door, or my men will carry you out."

"I... I have a delivery," I said, forcing a faint tremble into my lower lip as I pulled the wooden box closer to my collarbone. "A personal delivery for Mr. Connor Harris. He... he is expecting this."

The Gamma let out a short, mocking snort. "Mr. Harris doesn't accept deliveries from alley rats. Security, escort her-"

"Stand down, Gavin."

The command came from behind the security turnstiles.

A tall, lean man in a bespoke silver-gray suit stepped forward, pushing a pair of gold-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his aristocratic nose. His movements were fluid, precise, and devoid of wasted energy-Declan Hayes, the Beta of the Harris clan and Connor's personal executive aide.

Gavin immediately straightened, snapping a fist over his left chest in salute. "Beta Declan. This girl was trying to push past the checkpoint."

Declan ignored the guard, his sharp, analytical eyes sweeping over my frayed coat, my worn boots, and finally locking onto the velvet-wrapped box in my arms. As a Beta, his senses were tuned to deception and hidden threats.

"What is in the container, young lady?" Declan asked, his tone polite on the surface, but edged with lethal calculation.

I took a slow breath, stepping forward until I was arm's length from the turnstile.

"Tell Mr. Harris that the debt of the northern border has arrived," I whispered, keeping my voice low enough that only his enhanced hearing could catch it. "The Tears of the Moon."

Declan's pupils contracted to pinpricks behind his lenses.

He didn't ask another question. Without a word, he reached across the barrier and took the velvet box from my hands. Its weight seemed to surprise him, but his composure remained intact.

"Wait here," Declan commanded softly. "Touch nothing. If you move more than three feet from that tile, the automated defense turrets will engage."

He turned on his heel, his leather soles clicking softly against the marble as he stepped into the private executive elevator at the rear of the hall. The polished brass doors slid shut with a soft hiss, leaving me standing under the watchful, hostile glare of six armed guards.

Connor Harris POV:

The hundredth floor was silent save for the hum of the climate control and the distant roar of the wind against the triple-pane panoramic glass.

I stood with my hands clasped behind my back, looking down at the sprawling concrete grid of Apex Metro. Through the reflection in the dark glass, I caught sight of the matte-black synthetic disguise mask resting against the skin of my jawline, aging my features from seventeen and a half to that of a weathered, battle-scarred warlord in his forties. The Council thought I was a ruthless, aging monster nearing the end of my prime. Let them think it. In this city, showing youth was an invitation to a knife in the dark.

The elevator chimes broke the silence.

Declan stepped out onto the plush charcoal carpeting, carrying a black velvet-wrapped box with both hands.

"Sir," Declan said, stopping precisely ten feet from my desk. "A young female presented this at the ground-floor checkpoint. She claimed it was the Tears of the Moon."

I didn't turn around. "Did she now? Another scam by the Guerra faction to plant a tracker?"

"She carries no pack scent, sir. A wolfless stray. But she used the old northern border phrase." Declan hesitated, his mouth twitching slightly as if fighting a bewildered smile. "Also, our surveillance picked up an incident in the midtown cafe this morning. She used your name to terrify Preston Forbes. She claimed to be your newly registered private ward."

My brow raised behind the mask. My ward? I had recently rejected Baron Guerra's pathetic attempt to marry off his adopted daughter by claiming I already had a 'family' to attend to. And now, some stray girl had not only caught wind of it but had the sheer audacity to impersonate my nonexistent family right on the streets of Apex Metro.

"She is bold, I'll give her that," Declan noted, misinterpreting my silence. "To impersonate your ward is suicide."

My expression twisted into a strange, almost expectant smirk. Curiosity stirred the beast slumbering behind my ribs. I turned smoothly, crossing the vast room with measured strides until I stood behind the broad, dark rosewood desk.

With a flick of my index finger, I flipped open the brass latch of the wooden chest.

The heavy lid swung back.

A blinding, sapphire light bloomed across the ceiling, illuminating the shadowy corners of the penthouse in rich, oceanic hues. But my eyes never settled on the glowing crystal resting in the satin padding.

Instead, I noticed a small, neatly folded piece of paper resting beside the gem. I picked it up. The handwriting was elegant, sharp, and unmistakably hers.

"Take me as your ward, and I give you the Tears of the Moon."

A low, genuine laugh rumbled in my chest, startling Declan so badly he almost dropped his clipboard. I was both exasperated and thoroughly amused.

She knew. Azura knew I had used a "family" as an excuse to reject the marriage, and she realized this was her one and only golden ticket back into the high society of Apex Metro with a verifiable, untouchable identity. She was using the very artifact that had caused her family's massacre as a bargaining chip.

But to use such an excuse... it left me speechless. She was testing me. She was throwing a treasure that would drive every noble in the country into a blood-crazed frenzy right onto my desk, just to see if I had the guts to play along with her dangerous game.

I chuckled again, pocketing the note. Then, a scent hit me.

It rose from the coarse fabric lining the box-a smell so sharp, so intoxicating, that my entire body seized like an engine seizing on pure iron.

It was the smell of fresh, crisp mountain snow falling on wild, blooming white orchids. It was pure. Cold. Ancient.

My heart, which had beat with the steady, detached rhythm of a predator for seventeen years, suddenly kicked violently against my ribcage.

Boom. Boom. Boom.

A torrential heat surged through my veins, scalding my marrow. The skin across my arms and back erupted in violent goosebumps, an electric shock racing through every nerve ending until my fingers gripped the edge of the rosewood desk so hard the solid timber splintered under my grip.

The Physical Surge.

And then, like a tidal wave crashing into a hollow cavern, the perpetual, restless emptiness that had tormented my soul since the day of my first Shift vanished. A sudden, terrifying wave of absolute completeness settled into my bones.

The Soul's Peace.

Deep in the black abyss of my mind, the colossal, upright dire wolf of my Lycan heritage snapped awake. His crimson fur bristled, his fangs bared in a feral, possessive snarl that rattled my skull from the inside out:

"MINE!"

The beast roared so loudly my ears rang.

My acceptance had absolutely nothing to do with the Tears of the Moon. It was entirely because the person waiting downstairs was her.

"Sir?" Declan gasped, taking an instinctive step backward as my raw, unfiltered Alpha aura blasted through the room, cracking the display cases along the side wall. "Are you under attack?"

I gripped the edge of the desk, my knuckles turning white as my crimson irises flared through the eyeholes of my synthetic mask.

"Where is she?" My voice wasn't human. It was a guttural, scraping growl of pure, unrestrained hunger.

"The... the lobby, sir. Under guard."

"Bring her up," I snarled, the command vibrating with enough biological force to make the Beta drop to one knee. "Now!"