Emilie Holland POV: I snapped my dry eyes open and gasped for air as a brutal hangover pounded against my temples. When I tried to push myself up, a deep ache in my lower back dropped me right back onto the soft mattress, making the bed dip beside me. I froze and turned my head slowly. Through the dim light of the black-market hotel room, a tall, broad-shouldered man lay sleeping with his back to me. Wild sweat tracks marked his muscular back. Even in sleep, he gave off a heavy, suffocating pressure that made low-ranking werewolves tremble on instinct. My stomach churned violently as last night's nightmare flashed through my mind—my fiancé Tristan Hayes and my coworker Chloe Sinclair tangled together on my apartment bed. Trapped at the bottom of the pack hierarchy as a humble intern at Federal Media, I had given Tristan everything, only to be betrayed in my own home. To drown out that humiliation, I had gotten wasted at an underground bar and reckless enough to drag a random Rogue Striker from the fighting pits into a hotel room. Swallowing the bile in my throat, I carefully lifted the corner of the blanket. The second my bare feet touched the freezing floor, my legs gave out. I caught the nightstand to steady myself. My gaze landed on the cheap leather jacket tossed over the sofa, and on the battered, blood-stained silver half-mask that was still strapped across the man's face. I couldn't let him wake up. In werewolf society, genetics determined everything from birth. I was born wolfless—a genetic defect with no Inner Wolf, no ability to shift, and zero combat power. A fragile bottom-feeder like me stood no chance against a violent, packless pit fighter. Hands shaking, I dug my torn dress out from the mess on the floor and pulled it over my head. The zipper caught at my waist. Sweat beaded on my forehead as I yanked it hard. With a sharp rip, the fabric barely closed. I opened my handbag and pulled out ten crisp hundred-dollar bills. That was my rent money, now reduced to hush money for a reckless one-night stand. I shoved the thousand dollars under his mask, right alongside a handful of pungent wolf-repellent herbs I always carried to mask my weak scent. Without even stopping to put on my heels, I grabbed my shoes and bolted out of the room like a thief. I sprinted down the hallway and into the damp back alley, my chest heaving until I finally tumbled into the backseat of a beat-up taxi. The driver eyed my messy hair through the rearview mirror. I quickly turned my head and hid my face in the shadows. "Take me to Saint Moon Werewolf Medical Center," I rasped. In the chaos of last night, I wasn't sure if I had touched that forbidden silver mask. For our kind, silver was the only fatal weakness. Even for a wolfless girl like me, silver toxicity would burn through my veins and kill me. I needed a blood purity screening immediately. An hour later, I pushed open the heavy glass doors of the medical center. Harsh disinfectant instantly washed away the herbal smell in my nose. I hunched my shoulders and walked to the self-service kiosk, keeping my head down so I wouldn't offend any high-ranking wolves passing by. The screen flashed an expensive fee for an urgent screening. Staring at my pathetic bank balance, I bit my lower lip hard and selected the cheapest standard ticket. Upstairs in the crowded second-floor waiting area, I sank into a cold plastic chair. All I could think about was my grandmother, Martha, lying in the ICU on life support. If silver poison took me down, no one would be left to pay her massive medical bills. I rubbed my temples, walked over to the water cooler in the corner, and chugged a full cup of ice water to calm my racing heart. The freezing liquid slid down my throat, yet the old silver burn scar on the back of my neck still throbbed with a dull ache. "Emilie Holland, Room 3 for blood draw," an automated female voice called over the intercom. I crushed the paper cup, tossed it into the bin, and pushed open the half-closed door of Room 3. A wave of freezing, terrifying pressure hit me right in the face. Demian Malone POV: I woke in the black-market hotel room the next morning with the taste of her still on my tongue and an empty bed beside me. I turned my head slowly. The sheets were rumpled where she had lain, but the room was empty—no note, no clothes left behind, nothing but the faint ghost of her scent and the sound of the dripping bathroom tap. My gaze swept over the mattress and landed on my mask—beneath it sat a crumpled stack of bills and a handful of pungent wolf-repellent herbs, laid out like a tip left for a whore. I sat up slowly, my blood going cold before it went hot. A thousand dollars. One thousand dollars. That reckless woman had actually treated the Supreme Alpha of the Silver Peak Pack and billionaire CEO like a cheap street walker she could pay off with pocket change. Inside my head, my giant Dire Wolf roared in fury, Mine! Tear her apart! Sharp claws burst from my fingertips and pierced my palm. My Alpha healing ability closed the wound in seconds, but the rage in my chest kept boiling. I stood in the VIP corridor on the second floor of my medical center a few hours later, rolling a metal lighter stained with pungent herbs between my fingers. Suddenly, a faint, sweet scent of white peaches cut through the heavy disinfectant and hit my nose. My heart clenched hard, and my blood turned to fire. Every sense in my body screamed in recognition, filling the hollow ache in my soul. It was her scent from last night. I spun around, my cold silver-gray wolf eyes locking onto the door of Room 3 at the end of the hall, and strode toward my prey.

Emilie Holland POV: I barely sat down in the blood-draw chair inside Room 3 before heavy, aggressive footsteps echoed right outside the door. The next second, the solid wood door flew open and slammed against the wall with a deafening bang. I jerked my head up. A tall, broad-shouldered man in a custom-tailored black suit stepped into the room like a god of war. His icy silver-gray eyes locked onto me, flooding the small room with a suffocating high-grade Alpha aura. Beside me, the nurse turned pale. She dropped the tourniquet, her knees buckling as the genetic suppression forced her toward the floor. "Get out," the man ordered. His deep voice carried the absolute force of an Alpha's Command, a genetic compulsion that no lower-ranking wolf in this pack could ever resist. The nurse scrambled toward the exit on shaking legs and pulled the door shut behind her, locking me inside with him. I pressed my spine against the chair and gripped the armrests until my knuckles turned white. "Who are you? What do you want?" He didn't answer. With one hand tucked into his trouser pocket, he walked toward me. Every click of his leather shoes against the tile made my chest tighten. He stopped right in front of me and looked down. Even without knowing his name, the bespoke suit and crushing authority made it obvious he was an elite Alpha officer at the very top of the Silver Peak Pack. "One thousand dollars?" he said suddenly, a cruel smirk curling his lips as he pulled his right hand out of his pocket. My breath caught. I had no idea what he meant, but my eyes froze on the pale, calloused scar stretching from the webbing of his thumb to his knuckles. That combat scar looked identical to the one on the masked fighter from last night. No, that was impossible. How could a noble, billionaire-level Alpha officer be a desperate pit fighter? I forced the crazy thought out of my head and met his gaze. "Sir, you have the wrong person." "The wrong person?" He let out a cold laugh and leaned down until his nose nearly brushed the side of my neck, his hot breath spilling over my skin. "That disgusting, cheap herbal stink on your body—I'd recognize it even if you turned to ash," he growled against my ear. My heart hammered against my ribs, and a strange jolt of electricity shot through my skin where his breath touched. I tried to jerk my head back, but his rough, calloused fingers clamped around my chin. "Let go of me!" I twisted my wrists, but his grip was like an iron vise, sending a violent shiver straight down my spine. "Didn't you come here to check for silver poison?" He released my chin and picked up a fresh blood-collection needle from the metal tray. "I'll draw it myself." He tore open the wrapper, the steel tip glinting under the cold light. I tried to pull my arm back, but he grabbed my wrist and pinned my forearm flat against the padded table. "Don't move. If I pierce straight through your vein, that's on you," he warned coldly, dropping his full Alpha aura onto my shoulders like a boulder. Any normal wolf would have whimpered and submitted under this pressure. However, because I was wolfless and had no Inner Wolf inside me, his mental domination couldn't force my soul to kneel. Instead, it sparked the stubborn fire in my bones. I bit my lower lip until I tasted blood, blocking out the suffocating air, and glared right back into his silver-gray eyes. A flicker of surprise crossed his face, as if he hadn't expected a lowly civilian to withstand his aura. Still, his hand didn't hesitate. He drove the needle roughly into my vein. A sharp pain shot up my arm, but I clenched my teeth and refused to make a single sound. Dark red blood flowed into the tube. He stared at the vial, his gaze dark and terrifyingly intense. "Looks like you're not only heartless, you've lost your sense of pain too," he mocked, pulling the needle out and pressing a cotton swab hard against the puncture. I yanked my arm out of his grip, held the swab myself, and looked at him coldly. "If torturing patients is your hobby, Officer, the psychiatric ward is down the hall to the left." He stiffened, his prepared sneer dying in his throat as his face darkened like a storm cloud. Using his brief shock, I jumped up, snatched my handbag, and marched toward the door. "Stop right there!" he roared behind me, the temperature in the room dropping to freezing. I didn't look back as I yanked the door open. "The blood draw is over, Sir. Your service was terrible." I threw the words over my shoulder and hurried down the hallway in my heels, my palms soaked in cold sweat. Only when I reached the main lobby did I dare lean against the cold wall, gasping for air as my heart raced wildly.

Emilie Holland POV: Leaning against the lobby wall, I waited near the self-service printer for two agonizing hours until the machine finally spat out a thin lab sheet. I snatched the paper and scanned the bottom line: Silver Toxicity Screening: Negative. A long breath escaped my lips, and my aching shoulders finally dropped. I was clean, which meant I could keep working my two jobs to pay for Grandma Martha's ICU bills. I folded the report neatly, shoved it into my bag, and headed up the stairs toward the second-floor skybridge exit to leave this suffocating building. Right as I rounded the corner of the second-floor corridor, I ran straight into the two people I hated most in the world. Tristan was carefully holding Chloe by the waist as they walked out of the obstetrics clinic, laughing and chatting. Chloe spotted me first. She paused for a split second before a nasty smile spread across her painted lips, and she deliberately leaned her head against Tristan's chest. Tristan's face flashed with brief awkwardness, which quickly hardened into cold arrogance as he pulled her closer. Even though he was just a mid-tier Alpha from a minor pack, he had always looked down on me. I kept my face blank and stepped to the side, trying to walk past the disgusting pair without a word. Chloe clicked her heels and stepped right into my path. "Well, well, isn't this Federal Media's little intern, Emilie?" "Get out of my way," I said, lifting my chin as I looked at her smug face. "Why so angry?" Chloe covered her mouth and giggled, scanning my wrinkled clothes with pure contempt. "What are you doing in a hospital? Did you catch some terminal disease?" Tristan cleared his throat, putting on a patronizing tone. "Emilie, Chloe is pregnant with my pup. We're holding our mating ceremony next month." "Congratulations on sorting the trash into the same bin," I shot back, my fingers curling into tight fists at my sides. Tristan's face twisted with anger. "You're still as bitter as ever! A pathetic wolfless girl with no family backing like you never deserved an Alpha like me anyway!" "Deserved a leech who lived off my paycheck for two years?" I sneered, hitting him right where it hurt. Chloe's face flushed red, and she pointed a manicured finger in my face. "Who do you think you are? You're just a stray dog nobody wants! Without an Inner Wolf, you can't even trigger the Recognition Ritual. No man will ever claim you as his Mate!" "Who says I don't have a Mate?" The sharp buzzing in my ears made my head throb, and to protect my last shred of pride, the lie slipped out before I could stop it. "Ha! You expect me to believe that?" Chloe laughed loudly. "Go ahead and call this pathetic Mate of yours out here right now!" Passing doctors and wolves slowed down, whispering and pointing at the scene we were making in the hallway. Backed into a corner with my chest heaving, I caught sight of a tall figure rounding the pillar out of the corner of my eye. Without even looking at his face, I lunged forward and grabbed the man's suit sleeve. "He is my Mate!" I announced loudly, trying to cover the panic in my voice. The noisy corridor went dead silent. The mocking smiles on Tristan's and Chloe's faces froze as if they had just seen a ghost. Sensing something was horribly wrong, I slowly turned my head and followed the expensive black fabric of the sleeve upward. I stared straight into a pair of icy silver-gray wolf eyes and the chiseled, furious face of the lunatic officer who had just cornered me in the blood-draw room. My heart dropped into my stomach. I tried to pull my hand back as if I had touched hot iron, but it was already too late. The man looked down at my fingers clutching his arm, a dangerous, calculating glint flashing in the depths of his eyes. "Your... Mate?" he murmured in a voice low enough for only the two of us to hear, every word heavy with threat. My pulse went crazy. I widened my eyes in a silent plea and whispered under my breath, "Help me out. Please." Chloe recovered first. Even though she didn't recognize Demian, the terrifying upper-class aura rolling off him made her voice shake. "You... you think grabbing a random stranger will fool us?" Tristan swallowed hard, refusing to meet the man's eyes as he chimed in, "Emilie, stop embarrassing yourself." Instead of shaking me off, the man suddenly turned his palm over and laced his fingers tightly through mine. The scorching heat of his skin shot straight up my arm like an electric current. He tilted his head, locking his dark gaze onto my face as a chilling smile curved his lips. "Since you already announced it to the whole floor," he said, leaning down so his warm breath brushed my ear, "how could I possibly let you down, my... little Mate?"