Chapter 2
Isolde
"Marry me."
"Excuse me?"
"I need a wife," he stated matter-of-factly. "And you appear to be an ideal candidate."
I blinked rapidly, wondering if I'd somehow slipped into an alternate reality. The man before me—a complete stranger who'd arrived bleeding profusely just thirty minutes ago—was proposing marriage while still on my treatment table.
"Mr. Hawke," I said slowly, taking a deliberate step back. "You've lost a significant amount of blood. Confusion and disorientation are common symptoms. I should check your—"
"I'm not confused, Doctor." His amber eyes remained clear and focused. "And I assure you I'm thinking quite clearly. This is a serious proposition."
I glanced at the door, calculating how quickly I could call for security if needed. "Are you always this forward with women who stitch you up? Or am I just lucky?"
A hint of a smile touched his lips, softening his otherwise stern features. "Only the ones who demonstrate immunity to certain... influences."
That strange pressure I'd felt earlier—had he been trying to do something? My medical instincts screamed that this man was dangerous, yet I couldn't deny a bizarre curiosity.
"Listen," I said firmly, crossing my arms. "I don't know what game you're playing, but I'm your doctor, not a potential spouse. Now, you need to rest and—"
"My family requires me to marry within the next month," he interrupted, sitting up completely with barely a wince. "It's a matter of inheritance and succession. I've been avoiding it, but time is running out."
I stared at him incredulously. "And that's my problem because...?"
"Because I'm offering you a mutually beneficial arrangement." His voice remained calm, businesslike. "A contract marriage with clearly defined terms and a generous compensation package."
"A contract marriage?" I repeated, unable to keep the disbelief from my voice.
"One year," he clarified. "That's all I need. After that, we part ways amicably. No messy divorce, no complicated emotions. You receive whatever compensation you name, and I satisfy my family's requirements."
I couldn't help the laugh that escaped me. "This is absurd. You realize that, right? People don't just... contract-marry strangers."
"On the contrary, arranged marriages for business or family purposes are quite common in certain circles." He watched me with those unsettling amber eyes. "Name your price, Dr. Beck. Everyone has one."
His words struck a nerve. "I'm a doctor, Mr. Hawke, not a commodity to be purchased. My work has value beyond whatever 'price' you think I might have."
"Then perhaps there's something else you need?" His gaze was piercing, analytical. "Something beyond money?"
For a fleeting second, my mother's face flashed through my mind—pale and unresponsive in her hospital bed as expensive experimental treatments drained my finances month after month. I immediately shut down that train of thought.
"What I need," I said coldly, "is for you to respect professional boundaries. Our relationship is doctor-patient, nothing more."
To my surprise, he nodded without argument. "Fair enough." He reached into his jacket pocket and produced a business card, holding it out to me. "Should you reconsider, you can reach me at this number. Day or night."
Against my better judgment, I took the card. It was heavy, expensive card stock with minimal text:
*Dorian Hawke
Senior Researcher
Supernatural Research Institute*
Below was a phone number, but no address or email.
"Supernatural Research Institute?" I read aloud skeptically. "What exactly do you research there? Ghosts? Vampires?"
"Among other things," he replied cryptically, moving to stand up.
"You shouldn't leave yet," I protested. "Those wounds need—"
"They'll heal." He buttoned his torn, bloodstained jacket with perfect composure. "Thank you for your excellent care, Dr. Beck. My offer remains open, should you change your mind."
With that, he walked out, moving with impossible grace for someone who should have been severely weakened. I stood frozen, staring at the business card in my hand, wondering what had just happened.
Later that night, after my shift ended, curiosity got the better of me. I searched online for "Supernatural Research Institute" but found nothing—no website, no news articles, no public records. I tried variations of the name, different search engines, even professional medical databases. Nothing.
Either Dorian Hawke was lying about his employment, or the institute was so secretive it maintained zero digital presence. Neither option seemed reassuring.
I tossed the card onto my nightstand and fell into bed exhausted, telling myself to forget the strange encounter. Yet as I drifted to sleep, those intense amber eyes haunted my dreams.
Dorian
"She refused," Justin stated unnecessarily as we exited the hospital's main doors. He fell into step beside me, while the other three pack members formed a loose perimeter around us. "Not surprising. Normal humans don't usually jump at marriage proposals from strangers."
"I need everything you can find on Dr. Isolde Beck. Background, family, financials, personal connections—everything," I said as I walked toward my car—a sleek midnight blue Audi.
Justin raised an eyebrow. "Thorough background check for a marriage candidate you've already been rejected by?"
"She's immune to compulsion."
Justin's casual demeanor vanished instantly. "That's impossible. No human can resist werewolf influence completely."
"This one did." I recalled the sensation—like trying to push open a door only to find it wasn't just locked but impenetrable. "Twice. Not resistance—total immunity."
"Fascinating," Justin murmured, echoing my earlier reaction. "Could she be something other than human?"
"She smells human," I replied, thinking of the clean, slightly floral scent that had surrounded her, with no trace of supernatural markers. "But there's something... different."
We got into the car, and I started the engine, pulling smoothly out of the parking lot. As we drove through the sleeping city, I elaborated on the Institute's real purpose for Justin's benefit, though he already knew most of it.
"The Supernatural Research Institute serves as the bridge between our world and theirs," I explained. "On paper, we're a cutting-edge biological research facility with government contracts and private funding. In reality, we're the peacekeepers—studying supernatural phenomena, containing dangerous individuals, maintaining the balance between worlds."
"And your mother expects you to run both the Institute and the Pack Council?" Justin asked incredulously.
"The Pack Council is the governing body of werewolf society," I replied, my tone neutral despite my inner frustration. "The Hawkes family has always served as its Alpha."
"But with a human wife," Justin pointed out. "That's the sticking point, isn't it? The old treaty demands that the Alpha have a human spouse to maintain peaceful relations, but no mixed-blood offspring to complicate succession."
"Precisely. And my time is running out."
Justin's expression turned mischievous. "Sure it has nothing to do with the doctor's doll-like appearance? Those big blue eyes did seem to capture your attention."
I kept my eyes fixed on the road ahead. "She's unique. Her immunity makes her valuable beyond aesthetics."
Justin shrugged. "Then we find another pretty human. One who isn't immune. Problem solved."
"Maybe I don't want another human," I said quietly.
The other werewolves in the back seat exchanged glances, and one of them poorly suppressed a snicker. Justin turned to face them with an exaggerated serious expression.
"Gentlemen, our fearless leader appears to have been struck by Cupid's arrow while being clawed by a rogue werewolf. Mark this historic day."
"Your combat training needs work, Justin," I remarked dryly. "Perhaps tomorrow's dawn session should be extended by an hour or two."
The laughter died immediately, replaced by expressions of mock sympathy for Justin, who groaned dramatically.
We continued deeper into the forest, the city lights fading behind us as ancient trees closed around the road. I parked the car at the edge of a narrow dirt path, and we continued on foot, moving silently through the darkness with the ease of predators in their element.
In the distance, a howl rose from the forest depths—a patrol acknowledging our approach. Several more joined in, the chorus echoing through the trees. Beside me, Justin tilted his head back and added his voice to the call, the sound primal and haunting.
The moon bathed the forest in silver light, and somewhere in the shadows, something moved—life and power thrumming through the ancient woods as they had for centuries, hidden from the human world that slept obliviously nearby.
