Chapter 9
Cole
What did Eamon mean by that?
And how had he known where I was? I hadn't made a sound. I hadn't released anything that should have given away my position. There was no way he should have been able to find me.
Yet the moment our eyes met, I watched the corner of his mouth curve upward.
Deliberate. All of it.
His eyes were on me, but his hand was resting on Brianna's shoulder.
"Brianna, I hope you'll think seriously about what I've said. If it's your mother's medical bills keeping you here, my team will take care of them. And I'll double your current salary."
The way he looked at me was pure provocation. He knew I could see him. He knew I could hear every word.
I didn't know who Eamon really was, or what he was trying to accomplish. I didn't get the chance to work it out.
My body had already made its decision.
The blood in my veins felt like it was boiling. My chest tightened until I could barely draw air. The moment my mind formed the image of his hand on her — touching her — something in me came loose. I couldn't allow it. Every instinct I had was screaming the same thing: she was mine to touch. No one else.
I was losing control. The shift was beginning. I was seconds away from tearing through the undergrowth and pulling them apart.
"What was that sound?"
Brianna.
She turned, following the direction of Eamon's gaze, and looked straight toward where I was hiding.
Through the dark, her eyes found the shadows between the trees.
The rage drained out of me in an instant and something else took its place — something smaller, and much harder to sit with.
No.
I couldn't let her see me like this.
I didn't understand what was happening to my own body. But somewhere in the chaos of it, I realized I was afraid. Afraid that if she saw me mid-shift, she would be frightened. Afraid of the look that might cross her face.
I dropped low and pressed myself behind the tree line, pulling the undergrowth around me.
The feeling brought something back that I'd spent a long time trying to bury.
It had happened years ago.
There had been a human girl. We'd met at a cocktail party. The usual crowd had gathered around me — drawn in by money and status, the same as always. She was different. She stood apart from them, across the room, just watching. Quiet. When everyone else had drifted away, she asked me to dance.
We talked. She was unlike anyone I'd encountered. She didn't seem to want anything from me — not my wealth, not my connections, not the image. She just seemed to want me.
So I let myself try. I got to know her. I sent her gifts. I let myself believe that something was possible.
Then came the full moon.
I'd planned to go home after dinner — the night I was going to tell her how I felt. I didn't make it in time. The shift came faster than I expected. Right there at the table, my skin began to change.
She screamed. Called me a monster. And then she picked up a silver fork and drove it into my body.
I thought that was the worst of it.
A few weeks later, I saw her again by chance — standing outside a luxury resale shop, surrounded by her friends, watching as my gifts were carried inside to be appraised. The look on her face was one I hadn't expected. Pure disgust.
I heard every word.
"God, he's a freak. I can't believe I almost slept with him for the money."
"I was this close to saying yes. This close to letting a monster touch me."
"There's something wrong with his body — some kind of disease. I'm just glad I didn't catch it."
I stood there and felt something inside me go very quiet, and then go very cold.
After that, I stopped believing in love. Stopped believing that any woman who came near me was without an agenda. In the world of my own kind, women approached me for my bloodline and my standing. In the human world, they approached me for money. The motivations changed. The outcome never did.
No one had ever wanted all of me. The whole, unedited version.
I tore up my copy of the werewolf mate education materials that same week. I still believed in what the Moon Goddess promised — a pure bond, freely given. I just stopped believing it would ever happen to me.
So when my heart lurched with that specific feeling again — that old, familiar pull — I knew exactly how much trouble I was in.
I tried to tell myself it was just her scent. An involuntary response. Something chemical.
But I knew. Something in me had shifted before any of this started.
Like right now. Watching another man's hand on her shoulder, feeling my control fray at the edges, the shift already claiming my hands — this wasn't a scent response. This was something I recognized, and had never wanted to feel again.
I was afraid she was here for the money. Afraid that if she discovered what I was, she would look at me the way that girl had looked at me.
And despite everything I knew, despite every wall I'd built — I couldn't put her in the same category as the others. I didn't want to. She felt different, and I hated that she felt different, because it meant I had something to lose.
What if she turned out to be exactly like them?
Could I survive that a second time? How would I look at her afterward? How would I look at myself?
I needed to stop thinking. I needed to get out of these woods.
I shifted my weight to move.
"Who's there?"
She'd heard me. She was already walking in my direction.
Just before she could reach me, Eamon caught her shoulder.
His tone was almost bored.
"Brianna — have you ever heard of werewolves?"
She turned back to him, visibly puzzled.
"Werewolves? I don't know why you're bringing that up."
"Didn't they go extinct thousands of years ago? And from what I remember, humans and werewolves were natural enemies — they hated each other. The feeling was mutual."
Eamon's eyes drifted back toward me. A slow, unpleasant smile.
"What if I told you they were still out there? What if I told you there was one standing near you right now?"
My chest went still.
I found myself waiting for her answer in a way I hadn't anticipated.
"Eamon, you're being very strange."
Brianna turned to face him squarely.
"I've already said it — I'm not leaving my team. I appreciate that you value my work. But if you're going to keep saying things that don't make sense, I'd like you to leave."
Her tone left no opening.
Eamon didn't move. Instead, he laughed — low and deliberate, with something coaxing threaded through it.
"I'm trying to help you, Brianna."
She cut him off before he could finish.
"I don't know what history you have with Cole. But I can see that you don't wish him well. And I want to be clear — I'm not your instrument. Whatever grievance you have with him is yours to resolve. Don't use me to get at him. Don't try to manipulate his state of mind through me."
Eamon stared at her.
So did I.
He voiced the confusion before I could.
"What are you talking about?"
Brianna pointed directly at the undergrowth where I was hiding.
"You've been provoking him since the beginning. What you're doing is contemptible."
"I've already refused you clearly, and you're still pushing. That's not persistence — it's harassment. It's disgusting."
Eamon looked at her as though she'd said something in a language he didn't speak.
Then, under his gaze, Brianna turned and walked toward me.
Every step she took, my heart contracted.
She came to a stop in front of me. Our eyes met. She reached down and took my hand, gently — and only then did I register what was happening.
Then her voice came out in something close to a cry.
"What is this?"
