Chapter 1
Bianca's POV
Just past six, a wolf's howl ripped across the skyline on the far side of the river. The sound cut through the flimsy ceiling of the cheap human neighborhood where I lived and finally reached my ears. Five years here, and I was used to it by now—when werewolves howl, humans keep quiet.
My phone buzzed under the pillow. Unknown number.
"Ms. Bianca Clark?"
"Yes."
"This is Human Resources at Rayne Group. Congratulations—you've passed the final interview. Your offer letter will be in your inbox this morning. Please report next Monday at nine a.m.—"
I didn't really hear the rest. I clutched the phone, nails digging into my palm, and the tears came—first one at a time, then all at once. I buried my face in the pillow and sobbed.
This Moonshadow Bay of mine is a segregated society. Humans and werewolves have lived apart since the Revelation a hundred years ago, when werewolves revealed themselves and used their strong poewer to build new rules : Humans can work for werewolf companies, but only as subordinates. Werewolves hold all the power, wealth, and prime real estate.
And Alphas——they were practically royalty.
The Rayne family had been instrumental in establishing Moonshadow Bay's particular social order. They'd been among the first to push for "peaceful coexistence"—which in practice meant humans accepting their place at the bottom of the hierarchy in exchange for "protection."
Rayne Group is the family's main enterprise. It controls over half the bay's industry, pays extremely well, and its workforce is almost entirely werewolf. The acceptance rate for humans is extremely low—under ten percent.
Six months. That's how long I prepared. In the final interview my voice shook so badly I could barely get the words out. I walked out of that room on legs that felt like wet paper, absolutely certain I'd blown it. But I passed. All of it.
I stared at the phone screen, heart hammering, and my first thought was Jason.
Jason is my boyfriend—human, a salesman at a small company. We’ve been together two years, steady and comfortable. But we both earn little and save together for a down payment, planning to marry once we have enough. Rayne Group pays triple my current salary, so holding the phone, I thought: soon, we can get married soon.
He picked up on the second ring. "Hey, baby." A subway announcement echoed in the background.
"I passed the Rayne Group interview. I start next week." My voice was still shaking.
A half-second of silence. Then he laughed out loud. "I knew it. I knew all along you could do it."
"When do you have time to celebrate with me? Tomorrow? Tomorrow's our two-year anniversary." The words tumbled out of me. I was drumming my fingers on the blanket, grinning so hard my cheeks hurt.
"…Bianca." He paused. "The company's sending me out of town. There's a project. I leave tomorrow. Three months, maybe longer."
The phone went cold in my hand. All that warmth from a moment ago, gone like someone had dumped ice water down my back. "Tomorrow? Why so soon? Why so sudden?"
"I just found out today myself. I'm sorry. This project matters—you know that. I'm doing this for us."
I opened my mouth. Something huge was lodged in my throat. Why today, of all days? I wanted to say, Three months is too long.
But what came out was: " I understand. I just—I'll miss you. I'll wait for you."
He was quiet for a moment. The subway announcement played again. "Let's meet tonight. We'll call it an early celebration. Moonshadow Hotel, human district, room 801."
I said quickly . "I'll be there."
I turned over and pressed my face into the pillow. My heart was beating too fast .
That evening, I stumbled into the hotel lobby where we'd agreed to meet.
Champagne was humming through my veins, and I had exactly one thought in my head—I couldn't believe I was actually going to sleep with my boyfriend tonight. Downstairs, the annual Moonshadow Bay Full Moon Festival was in full swing.
It was the one night a year when humans and werewolves relaxed the segregation rules and the curfew was lifted, and anyone could mix with anyone. The lobby was packed, werewolf scent and human perfume tangling into one thick cloud, music thumping faintly from the banquet hall. I'd meant to have just one drink for courage. I had three. Maybe four. I'm a lightweight, I know—but tonight I needed the alcohol.
I was afraid of intimacy. Afraid of being touched too closely. I'd never told anyone that, not even Jason, not fully. I'd made him wait two years, and he'd never once pushed. The more patient he was, the more I felt I owed him a complete night. He was leaving tomorrow. Tonight I had to break through myself, be intimate with him, give us both a night to remember.
The human receptionist was drowning in the holiday chaos, room keys scattered all over the desk. I gave her my name. She flipped through something, muttering under her breath, pulled a card from the pile, and without even looking up said, "Room 801, human district."
Poor girl—dark circles under her eyes. Maybe because the line behind me was getting impatient, she took me straight to the room. Once she'd dropped me off, she hurried back into the chaos of the lobby.
The room was pitch black. Curtains drawn tight—not even the full moon got through. A strong, strange scent filled the air and with the champagne still sloshing in my stomach, my head spun so badly I had to brace myself against the doorframe. Squinting into the darkness, I could barely make out the shape of the bed. The furniture was luxurious—nicer than I'd expected. I thought: tonight must be my lucky night.
I pulled out my phone, texted Jason to tell him I'd arrived, then felt my way to the bed in the dark and lay down to wait. Champagne and that strange scent swirled together. I'd deliberately left the door unlocked, just a crack, so he could come straight in. As I waited, my eyelids grew heavier and heavier.
I must have dozed off, because hazily I felt the mattress dip under someone's weight. The room was still pitch black.
The room was pitch black, the only light a thin sliver from the door crack. His hand found me—urgent, demanding, sliding from my waist to the back of my neck, his palm scorching hot.
My body responded faster than my brain, heat shooting up my spine, and it startled me. Jason's hands were always cool, his whole demeanor gentle and unhurried. This person—this person's skin felt like it had just been pulled from a fire.
Too much to drink, I thought hazily. That's why I'm burning up.
He turned me over, his nose grazing the skin behind my ear. The cedar scent grew thicker, pressing against my chest. He was close to my ear, breathing hard, saying nothing. I wanted to tell him to be gentle, but when I opened my mouth all that came out was a sticky little moan.
When he pinned my wrists to the pillow on either side of my head, I flinched on instinct. A jumble of images flashed through my mind—all the things that had kept me from letting anyone close. But tonight was different. I forced myself to relax, pushed my arms further into his grip, and chanted silently, over and over: It's fine. It's fine.
His hand slid from my wrist, laced his fingers through mine, gripping hard, like he needed to confirm something. I felt a man's raw hunger press down on me, and a tremor of fear and want shot through my whole body. I squeezed my eyes shut, buried my face in the pillow, my heart pounding so hard it hurt.
I open my eyes wide in the dark and catch one glimpse of him — the sheer size of him — before he drives into me and pain goes through me like a struck match, burning along walls nothing has ever touched. I bite down on my lip to keep the sound in and dig my nails into the broad, heaving expanse of his back, and he opens me without a shred of mercy.
His hips move with a brutal rhythm, and every deep thrust tears me a little further, and my body shakes between the pain and a strange scorching heat that has no business being there. The bed creaks under the force of him.
My breasts bounce with each slam of his hips and my nipples drag across his sweat-slick chest, and the wet sound of it fills the room, and the pain makes me hotter, makes me wetter, until I don't know which of the two I'm feeling anymore.
His rhythm quickens and the muscle under my hands goes hard as steel. One last shuddering thrust, and he comes — hot and thick, deep inside me.
I gasp, my body clenching around him, a fog rolling through my head, and he collapses onto me, heavy and drenched in sweat, one arm coming around my waist and staying there.
I lie panting in the dark of the hotel room with my heart still racing. The sheets are soft and luxurious against my bare skin. That arm is around my waist, possessive, warm — warmer than warm, actually. Almost scalding.
I smile into the dark and try to slow my heart. I did it. I finally crossed that line and gave myself over completely. It was more intense than I expected, almost animal, but maybe that's what passion is supposed to feel like.
"That was amazing, Jason," I manage, in spite of the ache.
The body beside me goes rigid.
He pulls away from me fast.
"Who the hell is Jason?" A low, unfamiliar voice, cold as a blade laid flat.
My blood turns to ice. That voice is not Jason's.
I scramble away, my heart slamming, groping blindly along the nightstand until my fingers find the switch, and hard white light floods the room.
Oh God.
Across the bed sat a man I'd never seen before-and easily the most gorgeousman I'd ever laid eyes on. Short brown hair. Amber eyes that look lit from within under the lamp. A body like something carved out of marble. His face sits somewhere between confusion and fury, and the sheer force of him —makes my hands shake. Some instinct older than thought tells me this man is not ordinary.
"Who are you?" I scream, clutching the sheet against my chest with both hands. "Where is Jason?"
