PART I – THE MAN IN THE ALLEY

The rain had teeth that morning.

It didn’t just fall—it cut, sharp and cold, slicing through Nell Dayes’ thin jacket as she hurried down the narrow city street, one arm wrapped around her worn portfolio, the other keeping her fraying purse from slipping off her shoulder. Wind slapped her hair into her eyes, the storm turning the whole world into shades of gray and silver.

Fifteen minutes late.

Fifteen minutes late for the job interview she absolutely, desperately needed.

She checked her watch again—cheap plastic, a little fogged under the cracked face. Morrison & Associates wasn’t the sort of place that tolerated lateness. It wasn’t the sort of place that tolerated anything other than perfection. But Nell had spent her last three dollars on bus fare, and when the bus broke down halfway up the hill, she ran the rest of the way in the rain.

She’d chosen this shortcut—this alley—because it shaved off two minutes.

And that was when she saw him.

A man, sitting alone on the slick pavement in the narrow cut between buildings. Drenched to the bone, water pouring down his shoulders, dripping from his hair, pooling around him as though he didn’t even notice. His cardboard pallet had collapsed into wet shreds beneath him. His clothes were too thin, too torn, too soaked to be of any use keeping him warm.

Most homeless men she passed curled inward. Shoulders hunched, knees pulled close, making themselves small. Invisible.

Not him.

He sat with his spine straight, shoulders squared, gaze level. Even soaked and shivering, he held himself like a man used to being listened to—like someone who didn’t bend for the world, even when the world tried to break him.

He looks like royalty, Nell thought absurdly.
Royalty that’s been dragged through hell.

She slowed. Her heart gave a soft, obligatory ache—sympathy she couldn’t afford but couldn’t suppress either. She should keep walking. She had to keep walking. Her rent was overdue—three weeks now. Her landlord had left two voicemails so cold they could have frosted her windows.

She was falling behind on everything. Bills. Food. Hope.

But as the man lifted his face, she stopped breathing.

His eyes—God. His eyes were a startling amber, almost golden, the color of autumn sunlight through whiskey. They were sharp, aware, startlingly alive.

Her foot hit a raised stone.

She flailed—portfolio slipping from her grasp, purse flying open, pens bursting like shrapnel across the wet pavement.

“Oh no—no, no, no—” she gasped, dropping to her knees.

Rain soaked through her tights as she scrambled to gather her belongings. Her sandwich floated in a puddle. Her Walkman—her old, precious Walkman—skidded dangerously close to a drain. Her wallet lay open, bills plastered to the ground like wet leaves.

She reached for them—then froze.

A pair of large hands were already gathering her things.

Slow, precise, respectful.

She watched him move, startled by the efficiency in those hands. No hesitation. No attempt to pocket her cash. He collected each piece and held them out to her with unexpected gentleness.

“I believe these are yours,” he said.

His voice was deep—dusky and calm, with the faintest rasp.
A voice that didn’t belong in an alley any more than his posture did.

“T-thank you,” Nell breathed.

She took her belongings back with trembling fingers. The bills stuck to her palms, soaked, her rent money barely intact. Money she could not afford to lose.

And yet—

Without thinking, she pressed the bills into his hand.

“For you,” she whispered. “Please get something warm. Hot coffee. A meal.”

He stared at her, eyes softening almost imperceptibly, and for a second, their gazes locked with a depth that made her chest ache.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

She nodded, clutching her ruined sandwich and soaked portfolio, already turning to leave.

Then she froze again.

A dark stain was spreading beneath him—darker than rainwater.

Blood.

Running down his side, pooling around him, mixing with the storm.

“Y-you’re hurt,” she gasped.

Only then did he glance down, as if mildly surprised to find himself bleeding.

“It’s nothing,” he murmured.

Nothing? His clothes were shredded along his ribs. His skin was pale, lips tinged blue—not the cold, sickly blue of winter, but the frightening blue of shock.

“That’s not nothing,” she insisted, her voice sharper than she meant. “You need a doctor.”

He didn’t move. Didn’t argue. Didn’t explain.

Nell bit her lip. She was going to lose this job opportunity—the job she needed to survive. She was going to be late again. She was going to pay the price.

But she couldn’t leave him here.

Not bleeding in an alley. Not alone.

“Come with me,” she said, extending her hand. “I can clean that wound. Bandage it.”

He stared at her hand as if it were something foreign, something he wasn’t sure he deserved—or knew how to accept.

“My name is Nell,” she offered gently. “Nell Dayes.”

He opened his mouth.

“I…”

He faltered.

His amber eyes—confident a moment ago—went distant. Lost.

“I can’t remember,” he whispered.

Nell’s heart twisted.
He wasn’t just hurt.

He was alone.
Cold.
Bleeding.
And he had no memory of who he was.

Something inside her broke open.

“It’s okay,” she whispered. “We’ll figure it out.”

He took her hand.

And followed her out of the alley.

The rain intensified as they walked, wind whipping around them, soaking them both even more thoroughly. Nell clutched her purse, keeping pace as best she could.

“Just around the corner,” she murmured mostly to herself—and partly to him.

He followed silently. For someone in his condition, he moved gracefully. Too gracefully.

She mentally shook the thought away.

They reached the pharmacy just before the shopkeeper was about to turn the sign to Closed.

The pharmacist—a motherly woman with soft curls—took one look at the stranger and hurried around the counter.

“What happened? Oh honey, that’s deep. You’ll need disinfectant, gauze—goodness, waterproof bandages for sure—”

Nell stood frozen as supplies piled higher and higher.

“That will be $43,” the pharmacist said gently.

Nell’s heart sank.

She opened her wallet.

Inside: $18.

That was everything she had left after rent money, bus fare, and groceries. Eighteen dollars stood between her and hunger.

The pharmacist saw her panic.

“Do you have anything at home?” she asked softly.

Nell swallowed hard.

“Yes. I have hydrogen peroxide. Rubbing alcohol.”

“Good. Just take the waterproof bandages then. $12.”

Nell could have kissed her.

She paid quickly, glancing over her shoulder to see the man leaning heavily against the wall. His skin was even paler now. Sweat mixed with rain on his brow.

“You’re not okay,” she whispered, stepping to his side.

He didn’t deny it.

Her apartment was only three blocks away.

But those three blocks, in the pouring rain with a wounded man, felt like a mile.

She half-supported him up the sagging staircase of her building. Halfway up, they encountered Mr. Hoffman, her elderly neighbor, wandering the hall in pajamas.

“I need milk for my coffee,” he muttered. “But I lost my…my keys? Or maybe I never had them.”

Nell sighed softly.
Mr. Hoffman needed help she couldn’t afford but gave anyway.

She took one of his arms. The stranger took the other, guiding the old man gently back to his door.

Nell saw something flicker across the stranger’s expression. A wrinkle of his nose. Focused confusion.

“What is it?” she whispered.

“The smell,” he murmured. “Something’s wrong.”

Nell frowned, but didn’t press him.

Finally, they reached her door. Nell fumbled with her keys, shaking with cold and worry, panic rising now that she saw just how fragile he looked under the light.

He stopped at the threshold.

“I can leave,” he said quietly. “If you’re afraid.”

She looked up at him—this tall, strong, bleeding man who still offered her an exit.

“No,” she said firmly. “You’re hurt. Come in.”

And he did.

He left muddy footprints on her hardwood. His wet clothes dripped puddles. His presence filled the space so thoroughly she could hardly breathe.

“You need to clean up,” she said quickly, grabbing towels, empty clothes, anything she could find. “If I bandage you like this…”

“Understood,” he murmured.

He disappeared into the bathroom.

And Nell stood frozen in her own living room, heart pounding.

She had invited a stranger into her home.

A stranger with a wound that healed too fast.

A stranger who smelled danger before she did.

A stranger whose amber eyes haunted her.

When he emerged from the bathroom twenty minutes later, freshly shaved, warm, wearing her ex-boyfriend’s discarded clothes, Nell forgot how to breathe.

He was beautiful.

And her life was about to change forever.

PART II — THE FEVER IN HIS BONES

Nell Dayes didn’t consider herself the type of person who brought mysterious men home.

She wasn’t reckless. Wasn’t impulsive. Wasn’t romantic. She had bills, responsibilities, a landlord who glared at her third-floor window every time she passed the lobby, and a mother who called every Sunday to ask, in a tone dripping with weary hope, whether Nell had finally gotten her life together yet.

Bringing a bleeding stranger into her apartment in the middle of a storm was not “getting her life together.”

And yet—here he was.

Stepping out of her bathroom, barefoot, wearing her ex-boyfriend’s sweater and jeans as if they’d been tailored for him. His dark hair, now clean, curled slightly at the ends. His jaw was perfectly carved from marble, the kind of sharp angle that made actors famous.

But it was his eyes that stopped her heart—those amber irises glowing with something she didn’t understand. Something ancient. Something that watched her like it already knew her.

She cleared her throat.

“O-okay. Let me look at that wound now.”

He nodded, his posture impossibly straight, like a military officer or a king disguised as a man fallen from fortune.

He sat on the couch, and Nell carefully peeled up the borrowed sweater. The bandages she’d applied earlier were soaked through with blood.

“Oh God,” she whispered.

“It’s fine,” he said.

“It’s not fine,” she snapped, voice breaking. “You lost a lot of blood.”

She removed the bandage.

And froze.

The wound looked… different.

It had already closed more than halfway. The ugly, deep puncture that had been there earlier was now a shallow gash with faint bruising. Not possible. Not normal. Not human.

She swallowed.

Maybe she was delirious. Maybe she’d misjudged how deep it was earlier. Maybe—

“You’re healing fast,” she murmured.

The man looked at the wound, brows furrowing in mild confusion, as if surprised by the speed of his own recovery.

“I suppose I am,” he acknowledged quietly.

Nell didn’t know what that meant, and she wasn’t ready to ask.

Instead, she worked in silence, dabbing gently with hydrogen peroxide, watching his jaw tighten but never hearing a single complaint. He watched her with a quiet kind of intensity, as if memorizing every brush of her hands, every breath.

When she was done, she stepped back.

“There,” she said softly. “That’s the best I can do without stitches.”

“You saved me,” he murmured.

The words were simple. But the way he said them—slow, reverent—made them feel enormous.

Heat rushed up her neck.

“Well… I couldn’t just leave you.”

“Many would have,” he said.

She didn’t have an answer to that.

He slept on her couch that night.

Or rather—he lay still with his eyes closed while Nell lay awake on the other side of her thin bedroom wall, listening.

He didn’t snore.
Didn’t shift.
Didn’t sigh or mumble.

It was eerie. Like having a statue on her couch.

At some point, she drifted half-asleep and began to dream—a strange dream of a giant wolf stretched out across her living room, breathing softly, its fur the same dark shade as his hair.

But in the dream, she wasn’t afraid.

She felt… safe.

Protected.

She woke to silence.

And the unmistakable smell of coffee.

Nell sat up in bed, startled. Her alarm hadn’t gone off yet. She pulled on her robe and padded out into the living room.

He stood there—shirt rumpled, hair falling over his forehead—holding a mug of coffee out to her with both hands.

“I made this for you,” he said.

His voice was quiet. Gentle. And warm in a way that melted straight into her spine.

“You… made coffee?” she said dumbly.

His lips quirked in a tiny, shy smile.

“I remember how. I think.”

She accepted the mug, fingers brushing his. A spark shot through her. He must have felt it too because he inhaled sharply.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

Then she froze.

He was staring at her bookshelf.

More specifically—at one book.

The Brothers Karamazov.

He reached out and traced the spine with reverence.

“I’ve read this,” he said.

“You… you remember?” she asked.

A flicker passed through his eyes—like a candle flame fighting the wind.

“Only pieces,” he murmured. “But I remember reading this. And… liking one character.”

“Which one?”

He hesitated.

“Dmitri.”

Nell swallowed.

He needed a name.

And if he didn’t remember his real one…

“Then that’s your name,” she said softly. “Until you remember it.”

He blinked.

“You want me to be… Dmitri?”

“I think it fits,” she said with a small smile.

His expression softened in a way that made her heart flip.

“Dmitri,” he repeated quietly. “That is… acceptable.”

She laughed—because the way he said it sounded like he was approving the name of a royal heir.

And then, without warning—

He stiffened.

Every muscle in his body went rigid.

“What’s wrong?” Nell asked, alarmed.

He didn’t answer. He stood still, eyes narrowing, nostrils flaring like he was sniffing the air.

“You don’t smell that?” he asked sharply.

She blinked.

“Smell what? Bacon?”

“No,” he said. “Something’s burning.”

“What?”

He was already moving.

“Dmitri!” she cried, chasing after him.

He sprinted for the stairwell with terrifying speed, tearing down toward the ground floor and slamming into the basement door so hard it cracked.

“Hey! Stop—it’s locked!” she yelled after him.

The door ripped clean off its hinges.

He vanished inside.

Nell stumbled after him, heart hammering. The basement was pitch black, damp, and filled with the scent of—

Nothing.

She smelled nothing except wet concrete and dust.

But Dmitri was crouched beside the boiler, breathing fast.

“There’s a leak,” he said urgently. “Carbon monoxide. The levels are dangerously high.”

Nell’s mind reeled.

“You can’t smell carbon monoxide,” she said breathlessly.

He looked at her like she was the one stating the impossible.

“It doesn’t matter what humans can sense.”

It took her several seconds to realize what he had just said.

“Humans?” she whispered.

He didn’t answer.

He just grabbed her wrist and dragged her back toward the exit.

“We need to get out. Now.”

And then everything happened at once—

The fire alarm.
The evacuation.
The firefighters.
The discovery that her entire building had been slowly poisoned for weeks.
Her landlord—sweaty, lying, trying to pretend he didn’t know about the ventilation problem.

Dmitri cornered him.

“You endangered lives,” he growled, voice sharp as broken glass. “If this were anywhere else, they would prosecute you.”

Her landlord paled.

Then offered three months’ free rent for everyone.

And the entire building knew why.

Because Dmitri had saved them.

Because Dmitri wasn’t normal.

Because Dmitri wasn’t… human?

The question lodged in her throat that night as she watched him sleeping on her couch under a borrowed blanket.

Who was he?

What was he?

And why—why despite the fear and the unknown—did she feel safer with him than she ever had with anyone else?

Nell didn’t expect their kiss.

Didn’t plan it. Didn’t anticipate it.

It erupted from tension, heat, gratitude, fear, confusion—every emotion she’d been burying since the moment he stepped into her life.

She had gone to check on him that night, worried the healing wound might reopen, worried she had pushed him too hard, worried he’d leave without saying goodbye.

He had been sitting on the couch staring at the window, moonlight casting sharp angles over his face.

“Can’t sleep either?” she whispered.

“No,” he said softly.

Something in his voice—low, smoky—slid beneath her defenses.

She took one step toward him.

Then another.

And then—before she could think—

He was there.

One hand braced against the counter beside her head, caging her in. His breath warm on her neck. His lips grazing her pulse.

“I don’t want tea,” he murmured.

Her fingers clenched into his shirt. Her knees weakened.

“Dmitri—”

“Tell me to stop,” he whispered against her skin.

She didn’t.

She couldn’t.

Their lips met with a hunger that had been building in every heartbeat since the alley—a collision of longing, confusion, and something deeper neither of them understood.

He kissed like a man starved.
She kissed like a woman drowning.

And together—they caught fire.

The days that followed were a blur of warmth and chaos.

Dmitri fixed things in her apartment she didn’t even know were broken.
He made coffee, reorganized her pantry, replaced the batteries in every smoke detector.

He couldn’t remember his name.

But he remembered how to cook.
How to repair appliances.
How to command a room.

And he remembered her.

Always her.

They fell into bed like magnets.
They laughed until they cried.
They teased each other about chores and groceries and whose turn it was to wash the dishes.

It felt like a dream she never wanted to wake from.

She didn’t realize she was falling in love until it was too late.

Until it had already happened.

Until the storm brought someone else into their world.

A man Nell had never met.

A man who knew Dmitri’s real face.

Knew his real life.

Knew his real name.

“Blake Storm,” the man said with pure hatred. “CEO of Storm Industries.”

Nell stared at him.

“No,” she whispered. “You have the wrong person.”

But the magazine cover—
The photos—
The articles he thrust into her hands—

The truth tore her world apart.

Dmitri wasn’t homeless.
Wasn’t lost.
Wasn’t forgotten.

He was a billionaire.

A ruthless, feared CEO.

A man whose enemies stretched across countries. And corporations. And tribes of men who weren’t… quite men at all.

All the pieces clicked together.

The strength.
The speed.
The way he healed.
The way he smelled danger and lies.
The way he moved—too smooth, too silent, too powerful.

He was not just someone from another world.

He was something more.

And he didn’t belong in hers.

Now Nell stood in her doorway, watching Dmitri—no, Blake—stumble backward as his body twisted, cracked, and tore into something monstrous.

A wolf.

A giant, snarling, wounded wolf.

Her scream tore through the room.

And he leapt through her window—through the glass—disappearing into the night.

Leaving Nell alone.

Heartbroken.

And terrified of the truth she had just seen.

PART III — TAKEN

The kidnapper’s hand smelled like cheap cigarettes and stale sweat.

That was Nell’s final coherent thought as consciousness dissolved into chemical-induced darkness.

When she woke again, it was to cold concrete beneath her bare feet, the metallic tang of rusted beams in the air, and the throbbing pound of her own pulse in her skull.

Her chair was metal. Her wrists zip-tied behind her. Her legs tied to the chair’s legs. One of her shoes was missing.

The warehouse around her was cavernous, lit only by flickering fluorescent lights that buzzed in and out with unsettling irregularity. A chain creaked somewhere overhead, swaying in the stale air.

Nell inhaled sharply and gagged.

They’d used chloroform. Or something like it. Whatever it was still lingered in her bloodstream, leaving her dizzy, vision swimming slightly whenever she moved too fast.

Then a voice broke the silence.

“Well, well. Sleeping Beauty wakes.”

Morrison—her ex-boss, smug and furious—stepped from the shadows. His posture was still stiff from self-importance, but his hair was messy, his tie askew, and his eyes darted nervously around the warehouse.

Her stomach dropped.

“You,” she rasped. “You sold me out.”

He shrugged flippantly. “It was just business, Nell.”

Just business.

Her blood boiled.

“You knew they would hurt me,” she whispered, shaking.

“Oh don’t be dramatic.” Morrison waved a dismissive hand. “They promised to keep you alive as bait. That’s practically generous.”

“Bait?” she repeated weakly.

And then she heard footsteps behind her. Heavy, confident, smug.

Three men stepped into view.

They were tall—too tall—each with a kind of predatory grace that set Nell’s nerves screaming. Their eyes gleamed strangely in the dim light—too sharp, too focused. They carried themselves like hunters. Deadly and patient.

Shifters.

Just like Dmitri.

“Well now,” the leader drawled with a crooked smile, crouching so she had to look directly into his eyes. “There she is. The human who tamed the Alpha.”

Nell didn’t understand.

Alpha?

Dmitri?

The leader smirked when her confusion flickered across her face.

“What, he didn’t tell you? Didn’t enlighten his little pet about who he really is? How sweet.” He leaned close enough that Nell could see the ring of gold around his irises—shifter eyes. “Our dear Blake—Storm—Alpha of the Northern Pack, corporate tyrant, and all-around bastard.”

He patted her cheek.

“He tore apart our pack’s territory. Drove us out of Seattle. Had our Alpha arrested on fabricated charges. All to expand the empire of Storm Industries.”

Storm.

Her heartbeat stuttered.

Dmitri was Blake Storm.

She’d known that—but not this part. Not the supernatural power. Not the Alpha dominance. Not the war behind the scenes.

“So imagine our delight,” the leader murmured, “when we discovered Blake was… missing.”

His smile sharpened into something cruel.

“A little curse gone wrong. A little memory loss. A little amnesia.”
He nodded to one of the others. “We thought we’d never get another chance.”

The third man leaned forward, sniffing the air near her cheek.

“Interesting,” he murmured. “He’s been marking her.”

Nell recoiled.

“What?” she whispered.

“We can smell him on you. His scent is all over you. In your hair. On your skin.” The man grinned, feral. “Humans don’t realize how loud they are to us. How obvious.”

Nell squeezed her eyes shut, shame and confusion twisting inside her.

“Blake Storm cares about this one,” the leader said. “Enough to kill for her.”

He reached behind him and pulled out a hunting knife—long, wickedly sharp.

“So,” he said simply, “he’ll come to save you. Or he’ll watch you die.”

Nell felt the world tilt.

“You won’t get away with this,” she snapped, voice shaking.

The leader chuckled.

“Oh sweetheart—this time, we will.”

Meanwhile, miles away—

Blake Storm knew something was wrong long before he heard the scream.

His body was burning.

Not a fever. Not pain.

Something ancient and primal—something that lived beneath his skin—was clawing for release. His fingernails tingled. His breath grew rough and uneven. His vision sharpened unnaturally.

His wolf was rising.

Out of instinct.
Out of terror.
Out of need.

“Nell,” he whispered, doubled over on the floor as the shift started without his consent.

He’d kept his distance for two weeks.

He’d stayed away because it was best for her—because he’d wanted to protect her from the chaotic, dangerous world he belonged to.

But right now, every cell in his body screamed her name.

He felt her fear like a physical blow.

Like a cord snapping taut between them.

Like a hand yanking him toward danger.

And then—

Then he heard it.

Her scream.

It ripped through him like lightning.

In an instant, he exploded into a wolf the size of a small bear, fur bristling midnight black, jaws bared. His bones twisted and cracked, organs rearranged, sinew stretching across monstrous shoulders as his human self fell away.

There was no thought.

Only instinct.

Only her.

At the warehouse—

The men holding Nell dragged her by the chair to the center of the room, positioning her under one of the flickering lights.

“You’ll want to stay still for this,” the leader said, tapping the flat of the blade to her cheek. “Shifters get very angry when their mates are harmed.”

The word mates sizzled in her veins.

“That’s not—he’s not—” she protested.

But the man only smirked.

“You really have no idea, do you?”

Then—

A sound like thunder cracked across the warehouse.
Followed by the crash of shattering glass.

Nell flinched as a massive shadow barreled into the room.

The wolf.

Blake.

He skidded onto the concrete, snarling, fur bristling, teeth bared.

Even the shifters recoiled.

“Well well,” the leader murmured, sounding almost pleased. “Storm’s little memory problem seems over.”

Blake’s gaze shot to Nell—wild, frantic, desperate.

Her breath caught.

His amber eyes—so familiar—glowed in the dim warehouse light.

“Blake,” she whispered.

Something inside the wolf flinched.

Then all hell broke loose.

The first shifter lunged.

Blake didn’t so much attack as detonate.

He hit the man mid-air, jaws clamping around his shoulder. The shifter screamed as Blake slammed him into a crate so hard the wood splintered.

“Kill him!” the leader shouted.

All three men shifted—bones cracking, fur erupting over skin, their bodies contorting into monstrous, vaguely lupine shapes.

But they were nothing compared to Blake.

He moved like a nightmare.

Fast.
Violent.
Effortlessly lethal.

He slashed the first shifter’s throat with one sweep of his jaws. Blood sprayed across the concrete.

The second came from behind—Blake spun with impossible grace, ramming his body into the man-wolf, cracking ribs.

The third hesitated.

Just a fraction of a second.

But it was enough.

Blake lunged again. Teeth sank into flesh. Shrieks filled the warehouse.

It was brutal.
Terrifying.
Supernatural.

And then it was over.

All three shifters collapsed—dead or dying—blood pooling around them.

Blake swayed.

The monstrous wolf form trembled. His fur clumped with blood—some his, most theirs.

Then his legs buckled.

And he crashed to the floor.

Nell cried out.

“Blake!”

She rocked the chair wildly until it toppled, smashing her shoulder into concrete. She wriggled frantically against the zip ties, scraping her wrists raw before they snapped.

She ran to him.

The wolf had begun to shift back—fur dissolving into skin, claws retracting into fingers. In seconds he became human again.

Naked.
Bleeding.
Barely conscious.

“Dmitri,” she whispered, hands trembling as she cupped his face. “Stay with me. Please.”

His eyelids fluttered.

“Nell…” His voice was rough, ragged. “You—you screamed.”

“Yes,” she gasped. “You heard me?”

His fingers brushed her cheek, weak but sure.

“I always hear you.”

Her throat closed.

Then heavy footsteps echoed through the warehouse.

She froze.

“Who’s there?” she demanded, curling protectively over Dmitri’s body.

Three figures stepped into the broken doorway.

Well-dressed.
Sharp-eyed.
Seething with power.

Shifters—but different.

Polished. Controlled. Expensive.

And very, very dangerous.

She stiffened.

One of them—a silver-haired man—took a slow step forward, blue eyes locking on Dmitri’s limp form.

“Alpha,” he said softly. “Thank God.”

Alpha.

The word echoed in the cavernous space.

Nell’s stomach twisted.

The silver-haired man knelt beside them with surprising gentleness, pressing two fingers to Dmitri’s throat.

“He’s alive,” he announced. “Barely.”

Then he looked at Nell.

“You saved him.”

She blinked.

“I—I didn’t—”

“Yes, you did,” he said simply. “Or he wouldn’t have made it.”

More footsteps.

A woman in a tailored suit scanned Nell from head to toe with clinical calculation.

The third man—a bespectacled executive holding a leather briefcase—pulled out a stack of documents.

“Alpha, if you’re conscious enough,” he said anxiously, “we need your signature on the merger agreement immediately. The shareholders are—”

“Malcolm,” the silver-haired man snapped. “Not now.”

Malcolm flinched. The woman rolled her eyes.

Dmitri groaned, head lolling toward Nell.

She held him tighter.

Then—

It happened.

His eyes cracked open.

No confusion.
No fear.
No lost expression.

They were sharp.
Focused.
Unmistakably Blake Storm.

He pushed himself upright—barely—and rasped:

“I leave you idiots alone for two months and this is what happens?”

Malcolm began to cry.

“Alpha!” he wailed. “You’re back!”

Dmitri—Blake—glared.

“You’re all incompetent,” he growled. “Where the hell have you been?”

The woman inhaled sharply.

“You vanished. We thought you were dead.”

“Clearly not,” Blake muttered, then winced as pain shot through his stomach. “But if you don’t move, I might change my mind.”

Then his gaze slid back to Nell.

And something inside her shattered.

He remembered them.

He remembered everything.

And she had told him to leave.

They wanted to put her in a car.

Wanted to drive her home like she was a bystander or collateral.

Blake didn’t argue.

Didn’t speak.

Didn’t look at her again.

She was escorted out of the warehouse by two shifters in thousand-dollar suits, shoved into the back of a sleek black car, handed a stack of NDAs, and delivered home without ceremony.

By morning, her apartment window was repaired.
Her rent was paid for six months.
Her door was reinforced.
Her bank account held a deposit that made her dizzy.

And Blake Storm was gone.

Nell cried for a day.

Then pulled herself together.

Then tried not to think about him.

Which was impossible.

He was everywhere—in the way she brewed coffee, in the dent on her couch cushion, in the phantom feeling of strong arms around her at night.

Two weeks passed.

She got a new job.

A better job.

Her life stabilized.

But one night, as rain fell just like it had the first time—

She found herself standing in the alley.

The same one.

The one where she found him.

And lost him.

She whispered into the rain:

“Just… in case.”

Thunder cracked overhead.

Then—

Everything went silent.

The rain no longer hit her.

Something blocked it.

She turned slowly.

He stood behind her.

Holding an umbrella.

Wearing a tailored coat and a face she knew too well.

Blake.
Dmitri.
The wolf.
The man she loved.

His voice broke in the rain.

“You came back,” he whispered.

She swallowed.

“And you?” she whispered. “Why are you here?”

His jaw clenched.

“I hoped,” he said softly, “you’d still be the kind of person who comes back for people she cares about.”

Her chest tightened.

Then he stepped closer.

“Nell,” he murmured, rain dripping down his face. “I came for you.”

PART IV — THE ALPHA’S HEART

For a moment, Nell can’t breathe.

Rain patters softly on the umbrella he holds over them, creating a tiny bubble of stillness in the storm’s echo. Blake Storm—Dmitri—her Dmitri—looks at her with those impossible amber eyes, and everything she spent two weeks trying to bury comes crashing back with painful clarity.

He’s here.

In the exact place she first found him.

And he looks like the storm itself spit him out—soaked hair plastered to his temple, shadows under his eyes, expensive suit rumpled, jaw clenched like he’s barely holding himself together.

“Why are you here?” she asks again, softer this time.

He inhales—sharp, uneven.
“Nell…” he murmurs. “I—I didn’t know if you would still come back to this place. I didn’t even know if you wanted to see me.”

She forces a stiff smile.

“I didn’t,” she lies.

He smiles faintly. Sadly.

“Then why are you here?” he asks, voice low, wounded.

She swallows hard.

“Just… in case,” she whispers.

His breath stutters, and something raw flickers in his eyes.

“Just in case,” he repeats, like it’s the most precious phrase he’s ever heard.

Then he looks away, exhaling shakily.

“I’ve been looking for the right way to find you,” he says. “But everything I planned sounded like some overdramatic billionaire gesture—flowers, limos, rooftop apologies.” His mouth twists. “I didn’t want to overwhelm you again.”

She gives a humorless laugh.

“You broke into a warehouse and ripped three men apart. I think the threshold for overwhelming is long gone.”

He huffs out a laugh too—but it’s shaky, brittle.

“Nell,” he says, voice rough, “I’m so sorry.”

She closes her eyes, letting the rain fill the silence between them.

“I’m sorry I left you,” he continues. “Sorry for disappearing. Sorry I didn’t tell you the truth sooner. Sorry for every minute you thought I didn’t care.”

“You didn’t even say goodbye,” she whispers.

His face crumples.

“I thought staying away was the only way to keep you safe.”

Safe.

That word again.

“From what?” she demands. “Your business? Your pack? Your enemies?”

“All of it,” he admits. “My world is dangerous, Nell. The night you were taken proved that.”

She flinches.

His jaw clenches. “I wanted to come back the very next day, but Malcolm and the others—they wouldn’t even let me leave the estate for 48 hours. They were terrified someone would strike again before we handled fallout. I was losing my mind.”

Nell hugs her arms around herself.

“You could have called,” she whispers again.

Blake’s expression twists, like the words physically hurt him.

“I know,” he murmurs. “But you deserved a version of me that wasn’t frantic, bleeding, half-shifted, and mentally shredded. I wanted to come to you sane. I wanted to give you a proper explanation.”

Nell meets his eyes—searching, hesitant, aching.

“And now you have one?” she asks.

“Yes,” he says quietly. “Now I do.”

He steps closer.

Just a small step.

Barely an inch.

But she feels it like a shift in the earth.

“I remember everything now,” he says. “My company. My power. My pack. My enemies.”

He hesitates.

“But the clearest memories—the ones that stayed with me even when the curse wiped everything else—were the ones I made with you.”

Her breath catches.

“I remember the way you touched my cheek,” he says softly. “The way you made coffee in your tiny kitchen. How you smiled at Mr. Hoffman. How you slept curled up with your knees tucked in like you were trying to protect yourself.”

She feels tears rising.

“I remember thinking,” Blake says quietly, “that I could build a whole life around someone like you.”

Nell covers her mouth, overwhelmed.

“And I remember the exact moment the curse broke.”

She freezes.

“What?” she whispers.

He steps even closer, rain dripping from his hair.

“The curse only breaks,” he says, “if someone truly loves the person I am—with nothing to offer. No wealth. No power. No name.”

Her pulse stumbles.

“You loved me,” he says simply. “The me who had nothing. The me who was lost. The me who didn’t even know my own name.”

His voice cracks.

“You broke the curse, Nell.”

She can barely see through her tears now.

“But you also broke me,” he whispers.

Nell flinches as if struck.

Blake closes his eyes, struggling for breath.

“When you told me to leave… when you looked at me like I was a stranger…” He shakes his head, swallowing hard. “It felt like you ripped my heart out of my chest.”

“I told you to leave,” Nell whispers, her voice trembling, “because I thought you remembered your old life. And that once you did—you’d realize you didn’t need me anymore.”

He opens his eyes. They blaze molten gold.

“That’s where you’re wrong,” he says fiercely. “I didn’t come here to drag you into my world. I didn’t come here to make decisions for you.”

He lifts a trembling hand, letting it hover near her cheek—but doesn’t touch her.

“I came here,” he says, voice shaking, “to ask if you still want me.”

The words hit her like a physical force.

She stares at him—this man who is both wolf and CEO, both broken and dangerous, both fierce and unbelievably gentle with her.

And suddenly she can’t hold it in anymore.

“You terrified me,” she whispers.

His face falls.

“You turned into a wolf,” she continues. “You broke my window. You gutted three men. You vanished. I didn’t know if you were dead, or alive, or if I meant anything to you.”

“Nell—”

“But,” she says, voice cracking, “the moment I thought you were hurt—really hurt—my heart felt like it was being ripped apart. I haven’t slept. Haven’t eaten. Haven’t stopped thinking about you.”

He blinks hard, like her words are physically painful.

She steps closer.

“You stupid, frustrating, infuriating man,” she whispers. “I’m still in love with you.”

Lightning flashes.

Thunder roars.

Blake inhales sharply, chest rising as if he’s suddenly breathing again after drowning underwater.

His hand cups her cheek like he’s afraid she’ll disappear.

“Nell,” he breathes.

She lifts her face.

He kisses her.

And the world stops.

It’s not desperate like before.
It’s not frantic or fueled by adrenaline.

It’s slow.
Deep.
Full of every unsaid thing.
Every ache.
Every fear.
Every hope.

He kisses her like she’s the first thing he’s ever believed in.

She kisses him like she’s coming home.

When they finally break apart, he rests his forehead against hers.

“Come with me,” he murmurs.

She freezes.

“What?” she whispers.

“To my world,” he says softly. “Let me show you the truth—not just the danger. Let me introduce you to the pack. To my life. To the parts I never thought I’d open to anyone.”

She swallows hard.

“And what if I can’t fit into it?” she whispers.

He brushes a tear from her cheek with his thumb.

“Then I’ll tear the world apart,” he says quietly, “until I build one that fits you.”

She lets out a wet laugh.

“That’s a bit dramatic, don’t you think?”

“It’s not drama,” he murmurs, kissing her knuckles. “It’s a promise.”

Nell swallows again.

Her heart pounds.

Her body trembles.

But her voice—soft, uncertain, terrified—is steady.

“Okay,” she whispers. “Show me.”

Blake’s breath catches.

“Yeah?” he asks softly.

“Yeah,” she says, nodding. “I want to know all of you. Not just the man I pulled from an alley. Not just the wolf. Not just the CEO.” Her hand slips into his. “I want the whole truth. All of it.”

Blake swallows hard.

“You’ll have it,” he murmurs. “Everything. I swear.”

Lightning flashes again—but it feels warm now, like the universe is blessing something inevitable.

Blake sweeps her into his arms effortlessly.

She gasps.

“What are you—?”

“Car’s waiting,” he says, smirking. “I’m taking you home.”

“To your penthouse?” she asks breathlessly.

“No,” he says softly, eyes glowing gold.

“To mine.”

She freezes.

“Home,” he murmurs. “Wherever you are.”

Her heart does something dangerous.

And she lets her head fall against his shoulder as he carries her out of the alley where everything began.

For the first time in two weeks—

Nell feels like she’s exactly where she’s supposed to be.

PART V — ALPHA & HUMAN

The ride from the alley to Blake’s estate is surreal.

Nell sits curled against him in the back seat of a sleek black SUV that probably costs more than her entire apartment building. The city melts away behind tinted glass, buildings giving way to quiet streets and eventually forest-lined roads.

Each mile puts more distance between the girl who lived paycheck to paycheck and the woman now being driven toward the world of a billionaire wolf-shifter.

She glances at him.

He hasn’t stopped holding her hand since he lifted her into the car.

He sits still, shoulders tense, like he’s terrified that if he lets go, she’ll vanish.

“You’re staring,” he says softly without looking at her.

She jolts. “No, I wasn’t.”

“You were,” he murmurs, eyes flicking down to her lips. “And I like it.”

Nell blushes and looks out the window.

“Just… trying to wrap my head around all of this.”

“Which part?” he asks, voice gentle.

“The billionaire part. The wolf part. The cursed-part. All of it.”

He nods once, jaw tightening.

“I’ll explain everything,” he promises.

But Nell senses the weight behind his words—the dark corners of his world he’s avoided revealing.

And now she’s walking straight into them.

THE ESTATE

The car passes tall wrought-iron gates that swing open automatically. Beyond them stretches a long driveway flanked by towering pines and glowing lanterns.

Nell’s breath catches.

The estate—Blake’s estate—is straight out of a magazine. Not gaudy or ostentatious. No golden fountains or marble colonnades. Instead, a sprawling stone mansion lit with warm lights, huge windows, and ivy climbing the walls.

It looks old, elegant, timeless.

“Wow,” she whispers before she can stop herself.

Blake doesn’t smile. His thumb strokes her hand instead.

“This doesn’t impress me,” he says quietly. “Not compared to what you did for me.”

She glances at him again, heart clenching.

“You keep saying things like that,” she murmurs, “and I won’t stand a chance.”

He turns to her fully.

“You’ve never stood a chance,” he whispers. “Not since the first moment you handed me three crumpled dollars and told me to buy soup.”

Her throat tightens.

The car stops.

Three men in dark suits approach, clearly guards, heads lowered respectfully.

“Alpha,” the silver-haired one says. “The pack elders have been notified.”

Nell stiffens. Blake notices immediately and squeezes her hand.

“No one touches you,” he says firmly before stepping out and helping her down.

The others bow slightly as she passes.

“Welcome home, Luna,” one murmurs.

Nell blinks. “Luna?”

Blake growls low. “Not yet.”

The guard pales. “My apologies.”

When they reach the front doors, Blake stops her with a hand on her waist.

“Before we go inside… there’s something I need to warn you about.”

Nell lifts her chin. “Okay.”

He searches her face.

“Some of them won’t approve of you. You’re human. You’re not from a powerful family. And you matter to me—so you’ll be a target.”

A beat.

“But I won’t let anything happen to you.”

She steps closer.

“You already saved my life. Twice. I trust you.”

He exhales slowly, like he’s been holding that breath for weeks.

“Then let’s go,” he murmurs.

THE PACK ELDERS

Inside, the mansion is filled with warm wood, stone fireplaces, and the subtle hum of energy—power—Nell can’t quite explain.

Blake leads her into a high-ceilinged hall where five imposing figures sit around a long table.

All eyes turn toward her.

And none of them look pleased.

An older woman with silver hair and sharp eyes speaks first.

“So,” she says coolly, “the human is back.”

Blake’s growl rumbles like distant thunder.

“Watch your tone.”

The woman ignores him.

“Miss Days,” she says, studying Nell with the clinical disinterest of a scientist examining a slug. “Do you understand who stands beside you?”

Nell swallows. “A man I care about.”

Murmurs ripple through the room.

One elder leans forward. “He is the Alpha King of our lineage,” he says. “He commands armies, influence, wealth, and supernatural power beyond—”

“And he is still a man,” Nell cuts in, surprising even herself. “And I’m still the woman who bandaged his wounds and let him sleep on my couch.”

The elders exchange glances.

One laughs—harsh and disbelieving.

“You? A Luna? Absurd.”

Blake steps in front of Nell so fast she barely registers the movement.

“She is mine,” he says quietly.

Power rolls off him, thick and electric.

The elders freeze.

“And you will show her respect,” he continues. “Or you’ll answer to me.”

The air hums with tension.

Nell touches his arm gently.

“Blake,” she whispers, “it’s okay. I don’t need them to like me.”

He looks at her like she’s made of starlight.

“I need them to accept you.”

One elder clears his throat.

“This girl nearly cost us everything,” he snaps. “Your enemies used her against you. She is a liability.”

“And yet,” Blake replies, “she is the reason I broke the curse.”

Silence.

Even the elders seem stunned.

“What?” one breathes.

Blake takes Nell’s hand—right there in front of them—and lifts it gently.

“She loved me,” he says simply. “Even when I was no one. Even when I was nothing.”

His voice softens.

“She saved me.”

One elder stands abruptly. “Impossible. A curse that powerful cannot be broken by a mortal—”

“It did,” Blake snaps. “And she is the reason.”

The elders whisper among themselves in a flurry of alarm and disbelief.

Blake turns to Nell and murmurs, “You don’t have to stay for this.”

She squeezes his hand.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

His eyes soften.

“Good.”

THE NIGHT ATTACK

Later, after what feels like hours of tense negotiations and heavy stares, Blake brings Nell to a private wing of the mansion.

“This is your room,” he says.

She arches a brow. “Separate rooms?”

“For exactly one hour,” he murmurs, brushing a finger along her jaw. “After that, I’m coming to steal you.”

She blushes violently.

But before he can kiss her again—

CRASH.

A loud explosion echoes through the estate.

Blake stiffens instantly.

“What was that?” Nell whispers.

His eyes flare gold.

“An attack,” he growls.

Another crash—closer this time.

The lights flicker.

Shouts fill the hall.

Someone bangs on the door.

“Alpha! They breached the east gate!”

Blake turns to Nell, gripping her arms.

“Stay here. Do not leave this room.”

“No—let me help—”

“I would burn the world down,” he snarls, “if anything happened to you. STAY. HERE.”

His eyes shift fully gold.

Then he’s gone.

Nell grabs a fireplace poker and positions herself with her back against the wall, heart pounding.

Minutes stretch into agonizing hours.

Screams. Howls. Crashes.

Then—silence.

Terrifying silence.

Nell grips the poker tighter.

“Please be okay,” she whispers.

Footsteps approach.

Her breath stops.

The doorknob turns.

“Nell?”

She drops the poker.

“Blake!”

He steps inside—shirt torn, blood on his hands, breathing hard.

But alive.

And when he sees her—

His entire body softens.

“You stayed,” he murmurs.

“Of course I stayed,” she says, throwing her arms around him. “You told me to.”

A hoarse laugh escapes him.

“I should give you orders more often.”

She swats his arm. He catches her wrist, pulls her close.

“I need to show you something,” he says quietly. “Come with me?”

She nods.

He leads her outside through the ruined east gate, rubble scattered everywhere, guards tending injuries.

Then she sees it.

A stone circle in the center of a courtyard—lit by torchlight.

Ancient. Sacred.

“Blake?” she whispers.

He turns to her fully.

“This is the Lunal Circle,” he says. “Where an Alpha chooses his mate.”

Her heart stops.

“What are you saying?”

He drops to one knee.

Not charmingly.

Not theatrically.

Reverently.

The wolf king kneeling before a girl from a cheap apartment.

“Nell,” he says, voice raw, “when I lost my memories, I lost everything—money, power, identity. But the only thing I missed… was you. I found myself in you.”

Her breath turns shaky.

“You saved my life,” he continues. “You saw me when I was nothing. You loved me without knowing what I was.”

He lifts her hand.

“I don’t want the Alpha title unless you stand beside me. I don’t want a kingdom unless you’re my queen.”

Her knees weaken.

“Nell Days,” Blake whispers, “will you be my Luna? My partner? My equal? My heart?”

Tears blur her vision.

“Blake…” she whispers. “You idiot.”

He stiffens—confused.

“You absolute, stubborn, dramatic wolf-man idiot.”

She sinks to her knees too, cupping his face.

“Yes,” she whispers. “Yes, I’ll be your Luna.”