My memory was a blur of fragments. Kieran had been my fated mate, the boy I was destined to be with since we were children. But last night, he had shattered my world by publicly parading Jetta around as his chosen, sneering as he formally rejected me in front of the entire pack. The roar of laughter that followed. The burn of whiskey, shot after shot, at a bar called The Howling Moon.
Then, a tall figure.
He had sat beside me in the booth, a silent, imposing presence. His powerful aura had been a shield, deflecting the pitying and predatory glances.
I had clung to him like a lifeline.
In my drunken haze, I'd thought he was a Rogue for hire. A powerful, anonymous body to help me forget the humiliation. Flashes of the night rushed back to me in a heated wave-the bruising grip of his large hands on my waist, the frantic desperation as we tore at each other's clothes, and the scorching heat of his bare chest pressing against mine. I remembered arching into his hard, relentless thrusts, my own shameless moans mingling with his heavy breathing in the dark as he drove me over the edge again and again, his deep, dominant growl vibrating through my very core.
Oh, Goddess. What had I done?
My head turned stiffly on my neck.
Beside me, a man lay flat on his back, breathing deeply and evenly. His bare chest and shoulders were a landscape of hard muscle, etched with the kind of strength that came from centuries, not just years.
His jaw was sharp, his lips a thin, firm line. Even in sleep, he radiated an authority that was absolute.
A terrifying familiarity washed over me. I had seen him before. Somewhere.
I had to get out.
My limbs felt like lead as I slid out of the bed, my bones aching in protest of last night's frenzy.
My clothes were folded neatly on a chair. A glass of water sat beside them.
The small courtesy sent a fresh spike of fear through me. A Rogue for hire wouldn't be so considerate.
I dressed with trembling hands, feeling like a thief. I pulled all the cash from my wallet. Three hundred dollars. It was all I had.
It was an insult for a night like that, I knew. But I didn't care.
I placed the crumpled bills on the nightstand.
As I turned to leave, my eyes caught on his phone. The screen was dark, but the case bore a sigil I knew all too well.
A snarling black wolf.
The sigil of the Winters family. The most powerful pack in North America. My best friend Harley's family.
A horrifying thought struck me, so potent it stole my breath. Harley had complained endlessly about her uncle. A severe Alpha King who was more myth than man.
Barron Winters.
She said he was silent, his presence capable of freezing a room.
My blood ran cold.
I slept with my best friend's uncle? The legendary Lycan King?
The room spun. This was a thousand times worse than Kieran's rejection.
I had to run. Now. Before he woke up.
I didn't dare look back at the bed. One more glance and I felt his power might just crush me where I stood.
I lunged for the door, my hand fumbling with the handle.
The lock clicked open.
Just as I pulled the door ajar, a low, gravelly sound rumbled from behind me. A sleepy grunt.
My heart leaped into my throat.
I didn't look back. I burst into the hallway, running.
The thick carpet swallowed the sound of my frantic footsteps. My own ragged breathing filled the air.
I jabbed the elevator button, every second an eternity.
The doors slid open. I dove inside, mashing the "close door" button like a madwoman.
In the final sliver of space before the doors sealed, I saw it. The door to his suite opened. A tall, powerful silhouette stood against the light, his face obscured in shadow.
The elevator plummeted.
I collapsed against the cool metal wall, my legs giving out.
I had to get out of this city. I had to go somewhere he could never find me.
My hand shook as I pulled out my phone and dialed Harley. She was the only person I could think of.
She answered on the second ring, her voice impossibly cheerful. "Hey, Babe! Where'd you run off to last night?"
I opened my mouth to answer, but no words came out. Shame and terror had stolen my voice.