Steering my car toward the huge brown gates, I blast the horn to announce my presence and wait. In the few seconds it takes for the gate to unravel I appraise myself in the rearview mirror and adjust the brown strands that fallen over my face from the wind as I drove.

As expected it doesn't take up to a minute for me to be granted entry and so I let go of the brakes and drive into the vast compound which housed a beautiful house.

It's a state of the art storey building structured in an L shape with the floor above comprising of only glass. On my first day here I thought it was a show house only to discover later on that it is indeed his residence.

Nicholas Damien Lazarus, 32, handsome, tall, attractive, intelligent and stinking rich is an architect who has made a name for himself outside his aristocratic family. The Lazarus’s were known to be from old money and owned most of the properties here in Los Angeles.

I know you must be wondering why I was in the house of such a renowned man, well Nicholas and I have simple agreement. He needs someone to cook special dishes for him and I need his money.

Parking the car in the garage beside a black range rover, I turn off the ignition and unhook my seatbelt. Stretching over to the passenger side, I retrieve my handbag and basket that contains all the things I need to prepare today's dish.

I give myself a final look in the mirror, my green eyes shining as I check for any hanging leaf from the burger I rushed to gulp down before driving over. Like every other Saturday I alighted from the vehicle, bags in hand.

A ready smile appears on my rosy lips as I catch sight of a familiar face as my black trainers met the concrete. Hair swishing with the light morning breeze I stroll in a red tank top and thigh high jean shorts toward the building.

I nod and wave at the bodyguards who nod in return as I walked past, all dressed in black suit and slacks with a white shirt underneath and blank expressions. There's an eerie aura once you step foot in the compound, one I noticed on my first day.

It wasn't too much to make your skin crawl but enough to make you curious and alert.

“Hey Klein,” I greeted the man whom I could manage to call my friend as I reached the entrance doors. He was one of the bodyguards but appeared to be of a higher rank than the rest hence was the only one whom I had seen about a dozen times since my job unlike the others who seemed to be changed every week.

“Welcome Lu- sorry Chef Lisa,” he bows slightly and smiles at me. He always seems to stutter each time we meet which I find odd hence he isn't a stammer and doesn't appear to be one who would stutter.

“This has become a norm, should I be worried?” I lift a perfectly carved brow and observe him try to compose himself. “Is it normal for you to get my name wrong each time?”

“Sorry Lu- sorry Chef Lisa,” he repeats the same mistake and lets out a groan, brown eyes downcast, nose crinkled, jaw stiff, and thick brows creased.

“It's okay,” I laugh as I watch him and shake my head. “And for the 100th time you can call me Lisa.”

He doesn't a word and bobs his head. I take it as my cue that the conversation is over and kick the mahogany door open with my feet. Inside, I get rid of my trainers and slide into blue flip flops.

I pause for a while and take a minute as I always do whenever I'm here to take in the interior. Despite my frequent visits to his house in the months since the agreement was drawn up I never get tired of staring.

The walls are the same spotless white shade as the outside and in front of me is a single long blue couch that faced a very wide screen TV to my right. The tiles are a brown hue and same shade as the wooden sculptures positioned on the four corners of the living room.

I have always been curious about them hence the first is a half moon, the second was of the head of a howling wolf, the third a full moon and lastly what appeared to be a hand but with very sharp elongated nails.

A chandelier is hung from the ceiling and the light reflecting on the rectangular glass table in the center of the room and other side tables. The white walls help to make the artworks hanged on it stand out making the interior beautiful.

I spiral staircase led to the top floor which I haven't checked out as it is forbidden except if called by the man of the house. Speaking of, I haven't caught sight of him in like two weeks, the only indication of his presence I get is when I hear movements from above whenever in the kitchen.

On that thought my eyes spot the grandfather clock to see it's 20 minutes past ten, meaning I should be in the kitchen and cooking already. Hoisting the bags that seem to slack on my arm from my minute pause I trace my way to my left where a door led to the kitchen.

There I drop my back on the counter and begin offloading the groceries. What I plan to prepare is Chinese rice in the way I like it and not the way I do for my clients.

I'm sure from my little conversation with Klein you should have gotten a hint I'm a chef. At the age of 20 I got a scholarship to culinary school after winning a cooking competition and so after I graduated I decided to set up a restaurant and cartering service.

For someone who had grown up without parents I can say I brush up nicely. After grandma's passing when I was 19 I was left alone to carter for myself with no relatives or family to lean on.

I have always been a loner and therefore have no friends except for one, Josh. He is a nice guy and we are the same age. We met in elementary school and he has been the only one to stick beside me all these years.

Where am today is only because he pestered me non stop to participate in the cooking competition, he even went as far as signing me up for it when I was proving too stubborn.

It turned out to be a good thing hence as God would have it, I aced the competition and got the scholarship. He's a pest though a handsome one and I love him to death.

No romantic feelings are involved though we made a pact to be each other's last resort if none of us gets married at the age of thirty. It seems we might end up doing that thus we are both twenty seven and still single.

He is the reason I arrived an hour late today because he thought it best to drag me to a party last night as opposed to our rule of only partying on Saturday nights.

“I wish he will end up getting sick,” I mutter under my breath and turn on the faucet to rinse the utensils I'm going to use. Setting things up, I proceed to cook.

The next hour is spent with chopping, washing, frying, seasoning and tasting. In no time the kitchen is filled with an amazing aroma that brings a satisfied grin to my lips.

I love cooking, ever since my grandma had taught me how to make my first meal, I was stuck in the kitchen. I always love experimenting with food, tasting different delicacies, trying different methods and coming up with my own recipes.

“What a beauty,” I beam at the face of the meal in the pot after I had turned off the cooker. Placing it in it's rightful position, I check the watch on my wrist to note I still have an hour plus before I'm set to leave.

“How about cookies?” I ask no one in particular as the idea pops up and begin shuffling around the kitchen to retrieve the floor, yeast, milk from the fridge and other necessities.

In 30 minutes I'm done arranging them on the two oven trays. I put the first one in and set the timer as I start to tidy up. Before I'm done, the first batch is ready and so I put it to cool and put in the second.

Done with cleaning the kitchen and arranging my things to go I'm exhausted. Checking the timer on the oven to see I have some time till it's ready I decide to sit on the only chair available in the kitchen.

“Damn, my back,” I moan as I lean on it, feeling my muscles relax. It takes only a minute for exhaustion to set in and before I know it I doze off.

******

A beeping sound penetrates the darkness inciting me to groan in irritation as the noise happens to grow louder with each passing second. In a bid to muffle it, I turn on my right, the side of my face pressing to a cold, hard surface.

‘Cold? Hard?’ I murmured in my head and frowned, more so as the beeping becomes fast. ‘Hold up, where--’

“Oh shit!” I clamored, my eyes flashing open in an instant as realization sets in. “What the-” I get cut off by cough as a burnt smell penetrates my nostrils.

“My cookies!” I shriek in panic and fear as smoke coming from the oven cloud my vision. Coughing and now fully awake I hurry and unplug the machine before the fire alarm rings or worse the house blows up.

Heaven knew I'll be as good as dead if I ever blow up Nicholas’s masterpiece of a house, that's if I don't get roasted first.

“Fuck, Nicholas, house,” I ramble and freeze the next second as it all sets in. “Shit, the time.”

“Fuck fuck fuck,” I mutter in fear as the watch on my wrist reads 2:47 PM. “Okay Lisa, deep breathes,” I say to myself.

"You just need to dispose off this burnt babies," I utter as I produce the tray from the oven and cough more as the smoke hits different. One arm over my nose I carry the tray in my right, thankful for mittens as I dispose the cookies in the trash.

Thankful that's out of the way I place the tray under running water and bend over the sink to reach the windows. Unlocking the glass, my fingers halt in their task as I spot two cars pull up I the barrage.

"Lord help me," I blurt as I sight Nicholas, his back to me while he stands, legs clad in jeans apart in a powerful stance, wide shoulders stretching the material of a black vest that appears to cling to his muscular form.

I stand frozen as I watch the people in the vehicle alight. A strange feeling creeping in as I observe the bodyguards line up beside the cars.

Despite the distance I can observe the shift in their demanour, even Nicholas though I am not able to see his face appears totally different, a certain air around him.

Slowly my eyes trailed him as he moved, shoulders swishing as he strutted to one of the vehicles. Men dressed in similar attire to the bodyguards pour out of the two cars and they all seem to be waiting.

Nicholas halts in front of the black jeep wrangler just as the door shoves open from inside. He bows slightly as an elegant woman clad in a floor length blue dress steps out.

My breath hitches as I recognize her as Marietta Lazarus, his mother. She appeared more beautiful in person with her midnight hair the same shade as her sun, striking blue eyes, a straight nose, and plump lips.

It's as if she heard the simple action as the next thing I know, my green eyes clash with her blue ones. I'm unable to move as her vision strays from my face to my toes and back. She turns back to her son and the next thing I hear in the silence is. "Why is a human here Nicholas."

"Fuck," I hiss, my palm immediately rushing to the back of my head as it feels like it's about to split if I don't hold it together. Gradually unravelling my lids, I stare up at the ceiling and move into a sitting position, my face contorting as I feel another sharp jolt in my skull. "Shit my head is about to combust."

"What a colorful way to greet the world," a thick husky voice reaches me and I freeze hence it sounds familiar and worse, close.

Gulping, I unhurriedly swerv my head in the path the sound is coming from, partly because my brain is pounding and partly in fear. I'm unable to think about my surroundings as my eyes trace from the large bed I am positioned to the brown carpet, signature white walls, an intricately carved wooden stool and finally on him.

"God of heaven!" I gasp, my hand immediately flying to my chest as I register the male sitting on the brown plush couch to my left.

"I thought you were taught never to call the name of your maker in vain," he asserts, raising a thick brow over blue eyes that matches his mother's, his masculine figure relaxed as he watches me.

"True, but I'm allowed to call His name when I'm scared," I declare and blink twice to be certain I'm not dreaming.

"Are you scared?" He implores, angling his head to peer at me, lips curling slightly. "You don't look like you are."

"This blank face has been trained for years," I mutter and scoff, hoping I'm doing a good job in hiding the fear that lurks beneath.

"Good to know," he bobs his head and I frown in confusion. "Because you are going to need it."

"Umm," I clear my throat, my green eyes finally taking note of my environment. "Where am I?"

"You are here, on my bed, in my room, and in my house," he explains, his hands moving for emphasis.

"Thank the heavens," I exhale and slump on the headboard only to sit up again as a thought invades my mind. Hastily my vision runs down my form to see I'm fully dressed. "I got scared there for a minute."

"You thought I bedded you last night?" He implores a smug smile on his lips.

"You seem to be enjoying this," I convey, a pout forming.

"I admit, it was hard not to while I changed you," he murmurs huskily, blue eyes running from my face, down to my chest, my legs, and finally my face again, causing goosebumps to rise on my skin. "I knew you were beautiful but," he pauses, his stare going intense, "your body is a work of art."

My orbs immediately dart to my chest and legs, my lids widening as what I didn't notice stares back at me. As if I can protect myself, my arms instantly go to hug my form as I observe I am clad in only a white t-shirt.

"Shit! When did this happen?" I ask, avoiding eye contact, my cheeks crimson as I imagine him changing me.

"Last night," he states and I'm left perplexed.

"Oh last-" I start but halt. "Wait last night?"

He simply bobs his head in response.

"How did you-- why did you-- hold up how did I let you change me?" I stutter, numerous questions dashing through my mind. "What was I doing?"

"You were asleep," he answers in a shrug.

"No shit Sherlock," I mutter under my breath, exasperation clear on my features. "What I mean is, how did I fall asleep?"

He simply bores his eyes into mine, no response leaving his lips. Inhaling a deep breath to keep myself from cursing I clamp my lids and count to five before unraveling them to match his stare with mine.

"The last thing I remember is peering through the kitchen window to see your mother and---" a shiver runs down my spine as her words, my throat running dry.

"And?" He urges, his eyes changing to a stormy blue.

I gulp, my gaze shifting to my palms as they grow clammy, fear washing over me as slowly all the missing puzzles I have found since I started working here falls into place.

The slight shift in the air once you arrive his residence, the countless bodyguards that happen to stand guard at all times, the hushed conversations I happen to hear in passing, the weird paintings and wood sculptures that seem to carry a hidden message.

"She asked what a human was doing at your house," I whimper, my heartbeat starting to pick up.

"And what do you make of that, dear Lisa?" He inquires, unhurriedly lifting his weight from the couch. If my heart had picked up speed moments ago, it's only fair to say it's about to beat out of my chest at this point.

Step by step he slowly covers the space between us, my whole body becoming paralyzed with fear as unknown expression takes form on his face. I try to look away but it comes off as if I'm transfixed by his blue eyes.

"That you aren't human," I squeak out, my lips quivering, voice shaky.

"That's right Lisa," he smirks coming to stand at the foot of the bed. As I try to come to terms with his closeness, a hand wraps around my ankle and in an instant I am pulled towards him, such that my face is inches below his. "I'm a werewolf."

Every bone in my body goes still, a sweat breaking out on my forehead as my brain processes his statement. “What?”

“I'm sure you expected it.” His eyes dart to my lips as I stand rooted in my spot. My brain screams at me to run but I can't seem to make my legs function.

I open my mouth however no sound happens to leave my lips. Different scenarios run through my mind in the few seconds we face each other. Books and movies I've entertained myself with proving futile as I didn't see this coming.

Praying that this is some kind of joke or prank I gulp and hope my voice doesn't fail me again as I speak. “You are lying.”

He narrows his eyes and straightens, the color of his irises becoming sharper as he says in a quiet but stormy voice. “I don't lie.”

I observe him take a step back, his lips tilting in a smirk. Right in my face his eyes change to a deep red, his canines pop out and like something out of a movie but scarier his nails elongate and become like sharp thorns.

“Wh- wh-”

“Does this look like a lie?” He implores in a low growl and the color drains from my face. Slowly his body returns to normal and he smiles wickedly. “That's only a half shift. If you are that scared then what will happen if you hear the next thing I'm about to say?”

“What is that?” My mouth releases the words before my brain can tell me to shut up.

“That I'm the Alpha of the Light Pack and you my dear Lisa,” he comes to stand in his previous position and pecks my cheek. “Are my mate.”

I jolt back on the bed, my arm hitting the headboard and causing me to hiss in pain. He brushes his nose with his forefinger and stares at me in amusement, lust and excitement swirling in his orbs.

“No,” I shake my head not wanting to believe. “This is a dream. It can't be real.”

“Believe it Lisa,” his voice reduces an octave, his eyes becoming serious.

“No, I must still be sleeping,” I argue, my breath coming out hard and fast. “The last thing I remember was making cookies in the kitchen, so there's no way I am here.”

“There is,” he declares, eyes unblinking. “Because I commanded your body to shut down.”

I gasp in horror, a sob threatening to break out of my throat but I hold it in and ask in the a voice I can muster, “you did what?”

“Keep your curiosity for later,” he states and turns on his heel. “Right now you need to leave.”

“What?” I clamor out in query.

“I need you back here by-” he paused to stare at the Rolex on his wrist. “7pm. My mother and a few others will be waiting for you.”

Thumb stuck in my lips, I nip at my nail as I pace across the perimeter of my living room in lounge yellow shorts and a black tank top. The coolness of the white tiles meet my feet with each step as my brain strives to process the events of earlier.

I just arrived my apartment which is situated on the outskirts of LA half an hour ago and since then I haven't sat down to rest as the thoughts swirl around in my head.

The sound of utensils from the kitchen to my right reminds me Josh's presence. My bestfriend had showed up a week ago at my apartment with a bag and when I asked what he was doing his answer was simply that he was bored out of his mind at home.

Josh is a cheerful person and fun to hang with however he comes off as a loner as he finds no reason to start up conversations with strangers or make friends, making me his only friend as he was my only friend.

We lived together for 3 years before his girlfriend at the time insisted she wanted privacy. It wasn't a big deal for me thus I understood from her point of view and so we decided to live separately.

“I know you are crazy but the fact you've been pacing for the past hour is beginning to scare me,” Josh announced as he strolled into the living room in only a pair of black tennis shorts, his chest and abbs on display.

“You won't understand,” I assert and pause for a moment as he makes himself comfortable on one of the four plush chairs. They are arranged in a circular form around a long mahogany table that sits below a flat screened TV on the maroon painted wall.

“Definitely I won't,” he concurs in a sly smile on his lips, brown eyes teasing and nose angled upwards as he gapes at me, a strand of his curly Mexican hair falling over a thick brow. “However, I suggest you eat first.”

“What's that?” I implored and watched as he set two covered plates on the table.

“Lasagna,” he beamed and removed the cover from each of them, a satisfied expression on his face.

“Was there a need to cover it in the first place?” I asked in a scoff, shaking my head at him.

“It's for dramatics,” he contested. “There's a feeling you get after uncovering a food and seeing something delicious and appetizing. How it feels to have the scent waft into your nostrils and straight to your stomach.”

“You are a chef Lisa, you should know this,” he continues as I gawk at him with a blank expression.

“I don't think I can stomach any of this,” I blurt, my stomach doing a backflip as I stare at the meal, my brain not able to forget the change in his eyes, the sight of his canines and the sharp thorns on his nails.

“What's wrong Lis?” Josh inquires, his lids narrowing as worry depicts on his facial features. “You don't look so good.”

Tears gather in my eyes, and a lump forms in my throat at his expression, all the weight from the happenings since yesterday threatening to crash down on me.

“Josh,” I call out, biting on my bottom lip.

“Tell me Lis.” He stretches to a standing position. “I know something is up.”

I clamp my lids to keep the dam from breaking and begin pacing again. My fingers find their way into my strands as I feel like pulling on it in a bid to wake me from the joke my life seems to be turning into.

“Josh,” I stop, hands still in hair and peered at him with a serious look.

“You are scaring me Lis,” he groaned, his expression shifting between worried and exasperated.

“I'm doomed Josh,” I pronounce covering the distance to the chair on his left. I sit with a thump, shoulders slumping as I bury my head in my thighs and moan. “Josh I'm doomed.”

“How are you doomed?” He inquires, his hands rubbing my arms which I use to cradle my forehead as I curl in a foetal position. “Did you get scammed? Are you being stalked? What exactly is going on Lisa?”

“Josh I--” my sentence gets cut short by the sound of the doorbell. Panic rises in my form as I lift my head to see a frown appearing on his forehead.

“Are you expecting someone?” He implores and glances towards the door.

“No.” I shake my head dread coming toward the forefront of my mind as I have sense of what may be. I gulp and ask, “you?”

“It's a Sunday afternoon, I have no plans of meeting anyone till tomorrow,” he explains and stands, his fingers still wrapped around my arm. “Who may that be?”

He tries to walk towards it but I hold unto him unconsciously, heartbeat speeding up. “I'm just going to get the door hold on.”

My hand falls to my thighs as he strives to the wooden door. I watch in a panic as he peers through the peephole. His browe scrunch up in confusion and he whirls to send me a look to which I raise a brow in inquiry.

He simply shrugs in response and I feel my heart hammer in my chest as the locks shift and he pulls the door open. My fear gets confirmed as I spot Klien standing in his signature bodyguard attire.

“Who are you?” Josh interrogates the stranger, his voice coming off as cold and calculated.

“I’m Klein,” he introduces and stretches out a palm which Josh reluctantly takes. “Chef Lisa is acquainted with me.”

“What are you doing here Klein?” I ask, my tone low as I gradually move to a standing position, my fingers folded in a fist to keep them from shaking.

“How do you know my house?”

Josh scowls after hearing that, a glare directing at Klein who has a blank expression as he answers. “It was on the employee form you filled out.”

I nod, not allowing myself feel stupid for asking such an obvious question. “I thought I was invited to come over later in the day and not this early in the afternoon.”

“Mr Lazarus has asked me to come and escort you to his residence,” he conveys. “His mother decided to show up earlier than expected and she's asking for you.”

“What's all these about Lisa?” Josh questions, the lines on his forehead evident as his lips thin out in a straight line.

“I'm-” I attempt to speak but the stare Klein was sending me prevented me from doing so. “I'll explain later.”

“”””””””

I waved at Josh and sent him a reassuring smile to help ease his worried expression as Klein waited for me to get into the backseat of the black range rover.

At his slight nod, I breath a small sigh and hope he doesn't worry himself more than necessary.

Adjusting the fabric of the red off the shoulder styled frock, I climb into the awaiting vehicle and shut the door after. The engine is immediately turned on and the car is steered out of the parking lot of my apartment building.

“Why do I have to where a dress? An expensive looking frock at that?” I blurt out my curiosity after minutes of silence and peering at the delicate material and handwoven flower designs.

“It's a custom to dress formally when meeting the Queen of the Light pack or as we address her, the Luna of the Light pack,” he explains. “It shows a sign of respect and recognition for her status.”

His words are enough to shut me up as the carry information that let my mind wander as thoughts swirl in my head. Thoughts like, will she like me? Where do I fall under this status thingy Klein talked about? If Nicholas is the next Alpha does that make me the next queen and Luna? Do I have to kiss up to some old stuck ups? Do I have to pretend to be someone I'm not?

A sigh leaves my lips as I peer out the window at the houses, scenery and people we breeze by, the questions trying to consume me. My gaze remain stuck to the glass hoping the flashing objects will maybe help to distract me.

“I hope I didn't in any way offend you Lu- Chef Lisa?” Klein inquires from the driver’s seat.

I raise my head and gawk at the rearview mirror to spot him offer me a concerned glimpse. Frowning in confusion I ask, “why would you think that?”

“It's just that I've been sensing an aloof energy from you since I showed up at your house per Master Nicholas’s order,” he conveys and I lift a brow.

“Well that's expected,” I murmur in a smile. “It's normal for me to react that way after you appear on my door unannounced.”

“I'm sorry,” he apologizes.

“Don’t worry I'm not mad at you,” I assure and he nods. “You were simply following orders.”

“Thank you Lu- Chef Lisa,” he says and a question pops in my head. I decide to risk it hence I am already roped into something more crazy than I could have imagined.

“Why do you always stutter when talking to me?” I ask and observe shock and fear run through his features from the mirror. “It comes off as of you are always about to say something but correct yourself.”

“Ummm,” he lets out.

“Go ahead and say it,” I urge. “I'm meeting Nicholas’s mother so I'm certain it should explain a lot.”

“I always end up about to call you Luna on instinct but end up correcting myself,” he answers, his head bowed low in defeat.

“Why so?” I interrogate. “From what you said earlier, Luna means Queen of a pack.”

“Yes,” he declares. “Master Nicholas is the next Alpha and the fact you are his mate automatically makes you a Luna.”

My heart stops and my breath seizes for seconds as the statement that confirms my thoughts sink in. Inhaling a shaky breath I say in an exhale, “well that answers one of my questions.”