Valentina Moretti's mind swirled as the black SUV cut through the darkened streets of Rome, carrying her away from everything she knew. Her wrists still tingled where the Rossi guards had clasped them, but she dared not feel too much-fear, anger, shame-all of it would weaken her. She had to stay sharp.

Through the tinted glass, she watched familiar lights blink past: ancient fountains, soaring bell towers, narrow alleys swallowed in shadow. She tried to memorize every landmark, every turn, but the city's grandeur mocked her-she was a captive now, powerless in the clutches of a monster.

She dared to glance sideways. Across from her, in the backseat behind the driver, sat one of Alistair's silent escorts-a tall man, statuesque, expressionless. His eyes flicked to her once, then away, as though acknowledging her without offering comfort.

She drew in a shaky breath. Her heart hammered.

"Quiet," a soft voice said behind her. She flinched. Alistair was already inside, his silhouette framed by the SUV's door. The guard slid aside.

She rose, head held. Her legs trembled. Alistair didn't reach to steady her. He locked eyes with her for a moment-a silent test. Then he turned, motioning the guards forward.

The car stopped. They emerged into a courtyard of high walls and wrought-iron gates. Torches flickered, casting long, wavering shadows. The estate was ancient - stone, turrets, gargoyles perched like watchful sentinels. A low mist curled over the cobblestones.

Inside, servants in black silk paused in their tasks; eyes flickered to Valentina, then looked away. The oppressive hush told her stories: this was not a home. It was a fortress.

Alistair led her across the courtyard, his gait calm and assured. Valentina forced herself to match his pace, though every nerve screamed to run, to scream.

They entered a grand hallway. Marble floors, tall columns, walls hung with tapestries that seemed to move in the torchlight. Portraits of grim ancestors watched her. The air smelled of leather, old books, and something faintly feral-like musky fur.

Alistair paused before a pair of tall double doors. He pressed one open. The room beyond was a library: floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, a massive desk, a roaring fireplace, and windows high above. A dim glow made dust motes dance in the air.

He motioned for her to enter. She obeyed.

He closed the door behind them. The latch echoed in the silence.

He stood for a moment. She studied him: the stiff lines of his shoulders, the dark waves of his hair, the striking silver sheen in his eyes. He looked distant-aloof, yet dangerous.

"Sit," he said, voice low.

She chose a seat at the edge of a velvet armchair. Every muscle in her body remained ready.

He remained standing, hands clasped behind his back. "You likely have many questions."

She nodded, swallowing against the dry hollow in her throat.

He stepped closer, his shadow falling over her like a curtain. "I expect obedience," he said, quietly, "but I won't treat you like a child."

Valentina bit back a retort. She would not appear weak.

He continued, "You will live here. You will bear my name. You will produce my heirs."

She stiffened. "And after that?" Her voice was steadier than she felt.

He studied her. "Then, perhaps, you may leave."

A wave of cold fear passed through her. "Perhaps?"

He smirked. "Yes. Perhaps. Or perhaps you'll stay."

She couldn't read his tone. Was he offering hope-or setting a trap?

He pivoted, moving toward the desk. He picked up a thick ledger bound in dark leather, flipped it open. Under the flicker of the firelight she saw names, numbers, accounts. Blurred margins of debts, alliances, sins.

"This is the Rossi domain," he said, voice soft. "Your name will be tied to this. You will learn its breadth. You'll know our enemies. You may hate me. You may fear me. But you will respect me."

He slid the ledger back. His gaze caught hers. It was colder now, calculating. "Tomorrow, your training begins. You will learn to move like one of us."

A shiver climbed her spine.

He turned to the door. Then hesitated. "Valentina."

She looked up. Her heart trembled in her chest.

He crossed the room, stopping so close that she could feel the warmth from him. He placed one finger beneath her chin and tilted her face. His silver eyes glowed in the firelight.

"Don't expect too much," he murmured.

"You're here to give me an heir."

He withdrew. Her breath came fast.

He smirked and left. The door thudded shut.

She sat trembling. Alone in the silent library.

She clenched her fists.

She had promised to survive.

To save her brother.

To one day break free.

The Rossi estate looked different in daylight.

Soft sunlight spilled through the arched windows, glinting off marble floors and polished brass. The scent of strong coffee and blooming jasmine drifted through the air. Somewhere far off, she heard faint piano notes-low, melancholic, deliberate.

Valentina hadn't slept.

Every time she closed her eyes, she saw him, the flash of silver in his gaze, the heat of his breath against her ear, the calm cruelty in his words. My name. My mark. My child.

The thought alone sent a tremor down her spine.

A maid entered quietly, laying a tray on the nightstand. "Signora Rossi," she murmured, eyes downcast. "The master asks that you join him for breakfast."

Valentina froze at the title. Signora Rossi.

The words felt like iron shackles.

Still, she nodded. "Tell him I'll be down."

The maid hesitated, then added softly, "He doesn't like to wait."

She found him in the sunroom.

The morning light poured through tall windows, setting the gold accents of his cufflinks aflame. He stood near the table, reading the newspaper, a cup of espresso untouched beside him. The scene was domestic-almost peaceful-except for the unmistakable power that clung to him like another layer of clothing.

"You're late," he said without looking up.

She bit back a sharp reply. "I didn't realize my new husband kept military time."

He folded the paper, finally meeting her gaze. "In my world, punctuality can mean survival."

"Are we at war?" she asked dryly.

A hint of a smirk. "Always."

He gestured for her to sit. The table was set with fresh pastries, fruit, and imported cheeses-luxury arranged with precision. She sat stiffly, hands folded in her lap.

He poured coffee for both of them, the act surprisingly... gentle. "Eat," he ordered.

"I'm not hungry."

His gaze lifted, patient but edged. "You will eat."

She reached for the cup instead, her pulse fluttering beneath her calm. "You can't control everything, Alistair."

"Can't I?" he murmured, taking a slow sip.

A silent, invisible war neither of them could name.

He studied her across the table. "You're braver than I expected."

"I'm not brave," she said, staring into her cup. "Just trapped."

He leaned forward, elbows on the table. "Trapped people beg. You challenge me."

Her lips twitched. "Maybe I'm just stupid."

He chuckled, a rare sound, deep and unexpectedly warm. "Perhaps. But I prefer the word fearless."

Their eyes locked. The silence stretched, thick and unspoken. For the briefest moment, the world outside seemed to still.

Then he stood abruptly, breaking the spell. "Come," he said. "There's something I want to show you."

The corridors wound endlessly, each turn revealing another fragment of the Rossi empire: grand halls lined with ancient portraits, rooms filled with quiet wealth and history.

They stopped before a pair of wrought-iron doors leading to the gardens. Sunlight streamed through the glass, turning the air gold.

Alistair pushed the doors open.

The garden was breathtaking. Roses climbed trellises in deep crimson and ivory. A marble fountain trickled softly, surrounded by olive trees that swayed in the breeze. It was the first beauty she'd seen since being taken.

Valentina inhaled deeply. "I didn't think a man like you cared for things that grow."

"Even predators need peace," he said.

She turned to him. "Do you find it here?"

He looked past her, toward the fountain. "Sometimes. When the noise in my head quiets."

There it was, something in his voice, something human. Fragile. Fleeting.

She studied him carefully. "Is that why you wanted me here? To see that you're not all teeth and power?"

He met her gaze, expression unreadable. "I brought you here because I wanted you to know this will be your home. If you behave."

"And if I don't?"

"Then I'll remind you why people fear my name."

The words should have chilled her. But instead, her pulse quickened.

"Is fear all you know, Alistair?" she whispered. "Or are you capable of something else?"

He took a step closer, his presence overwhelming. "Careful, bella mia. Curiosity can be dangerous."

"I'm already in danger," she said.

Their eyes met again, and something shifted between them slowly, magnetic, inevitable. The air grew heavier. He reached out, tracing a strand of hair from her face, his fingers brushing her cheek.

For one heartbeat, she thought he might kiss her.

Then, he froze. His body went rigid, nostrils flaring as if catching a scent. His eyes darkened, glowing faintly silver under the sun.

"Alistair?"

He turned away sharply, running a hand through his hair. "Go inside."

"What."

"Now."

His tone wasn't cruel-it was desperate.

She hesitated, watching his shoulders tense, his breath grow shallow. And then she saw it-the faint shimmer of veins beneath his skin, pulsing like light through glass.

"What's happening to you?" she whispered.

"Nothing you need to see," he said through clenched teeth.

She didn't move. "It's the curse, isn't it?"

He spun, eyes bright and inhuman. "I said go!"

For the first time, she saw it fully-the beast beneath the man. The perfect mask cracking.

But instead of running, she stepped closer. Slowly.

"You're fighting it," she murmured. "You're in pain."

His breathing quickened. "Valentina."

"You hide it from them. From everyone." She reached up, fingers trembling as they brushed the side of his jaw. His skin was burning. "You don't want to be this, do you?"

He caught her wrist, but not harshly. His grip trembled. His eyes, now flickering between silver and gray, locked on hers.

"You don't understand," he rasped. "The more you see me, the less safe you are."

"Then stop hiding," she said softly.

Something broke inside him-she saw it in the way his expression faltered, the way his thumb brushed her pulse like he needed proof she was real.

He leaned forward, lips ghosting dangerously close to hers. "You shouldn't care," he murmured.

"Maybe I don't," she whispered, but the lie was too fragile to stand.

For a moment, time held its breath. His forehead pressed against hers, a low growl rumbling deep in his chest-not anger, not hunger, but something raw and broken.

Then, just as she thought he'd close the space between them.

A scream tore through the courtyard.

It was distant, female, terrified.

Alistair's head snapped up. He released her instantly, the softness gone from his eyes. "Stay here," he ordered, voice all command again.

"Who was that?" she demanded.

He didn't answer. He was already moving-swift, silent, a shadow cutting across the sunlight.

Valentina's heart thundered. The scream echoed again, and then-silence.

She took a step toward the garden gate, but something at the edge of the fountain caught her eye. A glint of metal.

She knelt, reaching into the water.

Her fingers closed around a chain-delicate, gold, familiar.

Her mother's necklace.

The one buried with her years ago.

Her breath caught in her throat.

She looked toward the path Alistair had taken, the rose petals drifting like blood on the breeze.

What was her mother's necklace doing here-on the Rossi estate?

And what did Alistair Rossi have to do with it?

The scream still echoed in Valentina's head long after it faded into silence.

Her fingers clutched the wet chain, her heartbeat loud in her ears. The tiny gold locket-her mother's-glimmered under the sun like a cruel joke.

It wasn't possible. She'd seen that necklace lowered into the grave with her mother. She'd buried it herself.

A chill crawled down her spine.

"Valentina."

The voice made her whirl around. A woman stood at the far end of the garden path. Tall, dark-haired, wrapped in a flowing silk robe the color of blood. Her eyes-sharp and calculating-traveled over Valentina with unsettling ease.

"You shouldn't wander alone," the woman said, stepping closer, the faint click of her heels echoing off the stones. "The master doesn't appreciate disobedience."

"Who are you?" Valentina asked, hiding the necklace in her fist.

The woman's red lips curved. "Someone who was once exactly where you are now."

Valentina's pulse jumped. "You mean...?"

"Yes," the woman interrupted. "His bride."

Valentina stared. "You're lying."

The stranger chuckled softly. "Am I? Tell me, did he look at you the way he looks at prey or possession?"

She took another step forward, and Valentina could finally see the faint scar that slashed down the left side of her throat. The mark looked old, almost healed-but not quite human.

"What happened to you?" Valentina whispered.

"What always happens," the woman said quietly. "The wolf remembers its hunger."

Before Valentina could ask more, footsteps thundered through the courtyard. Guards spilled out from the corridor, and behind them came Alistair-his expression carved in fury, his silver eyes still faintly glowing.

The woman's smile vanished. "You shouldn't have come back so soon," she murmured to herself.

"Lucia," Alistair's voice was a whip, low and dangerous. "You have five seconds to explain why you're here."

Valentina blinked. Lucia. The name hit her like a stone.

She'd heard it once-in the whispered rumors her father's men exchanged late at night. Lucia DeVore. Alistair's first fiancée. The one who had supposedly vanished years ago after betraying him.

Lucia tilted her head, mock-innocent. "Curiosity. I wanted to meet your new bride."

Alistair's gaze cut to Valentina, then back to Lucia. His jaw flexed. "You'll leave. Now."

"Still so charming," Lucia purred. "You think you can bury ghosts, but you forget-they crawl back."

"Guards," Alistair snapped.

The men moved forward, but Lucia only smiled wider. "Careful, darling. You might need me sooner than you think. The curse is growing stronger, isn't it? I can smell it from here."

The silver in his eyes flashed like lightning. "Out!"

Lucia laughed, low and melodic. "Enjoy your honeymoon, Signora Rossi." She brushed past Valentina, her perfume heavy with jasmine and smoke. Her whisper trailed in the air: "Run while you still can."

Then she was gone.

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Alistair stood there, his chest rising and falling, his knuckles white.

Valentina forced herself to speak. "Who is she?"

He didn't answer. He turned, shoving a hand through his hair, muttering something under his breath that sounded almost like a growl.

"She said she was your bride," Valentina pressed. "Is that true?"

He faced her slowly. "She was nothing."

"Nothing doesn't leave scars on your throat," Valentina said softly.

His eyes hardened. "Be careful what you ask, Valentina. Some truths cut too deep."

"Like this one?" She opened her palm. The necklace glittered in the sunlight between them.

Alistair froze.

"Where did you get that?" His voice was suddenly low, dangerous, but not with anger-with something else. Shock.

"It was in your fountain," she said. "This belonged to my mother."

He stared at the locket as though it were a ghost. "That's impossible."

"Is it?" she said. "You tell me, Alistair. How does something buried with my mother end up in your home?"

For the first time since she met him, his composure cracked. His hand came up, then dropped. "Who gave this to you?"

"No one. I found it."

His eyes flicked toward the iron gate, his jaw tightening. "Then someone wants you to find it."

Valentina frowned. "What does that mean?"

"It means," he said slowly, "this wasn't an accident."

Before she could reply, one of his guards rushed in. "Sir, we found her."

Lucia.

"Where?"

The guard hesitated. "She's dead, sir."

Valentina gasped.

The guard's voice shook. "Her body was found by the north wing. Torn apart."

The blood drained from Valentina's face. Alistair's entire frame stiffened.

"Seal the estate," he ordered. "No one leaves, no one enters."

"Yes, Alpha."

The title slipped out naturally-Alpha. Not boss, not sir. Alpha.

When the guards left, Valentina whispered, "It was a wolf, wasn't it?"

His expression gave her the answer she didn't want.

He turned away. "Go back to your room."

"No," she said, heart beating. "If something is out there."

"I said go!"

The sharpness in his tone cut through her, but beneath it she caught something she hadn't heard before-fear. Not for himself. For her.

Still trembling, she obeyed, hurrying down the corridor.

But curiosity gnawed at her.

She slipped past the staircase and turned down a hall that led to the northern wing. The air grew colder, heavier. The lights flickered overhead.

When she reached the courtyard, she stopped.

Blood. Everywhere. Streaked across the cobblestones, soaked into the grass. And there-half-hidden behind the marble arch-was Lucia's body. Or what was left of it.

Her throat burned, bile rising. The scent of iron filled her nose.

She turned to run-and froze.

A low growl came from the shadows.

Her heart stopped.

Two glowing eyes appeared-silver, just like his.

"Alistair?" she whispered.

The creature stepped forward. It wasn't him. The beast was massive, black fur matted with blood, teeth bared. Its size dwarfed any wolf she'd ever imagined.

She stumbled back, tripping on the stones. The thing snarled, crouching low.

Before it lunged, a second growl tore through the air-deeper, angrier.

Another wolf slammed into the first, sending both creatures crashing into the fountain.

Valentina scrambled to her feet, backing away as the two monsters fought. Claws slashed, teeth snapped, the sound echoing like thunder through the courtyard. One wolf was darker, wilder-but the other-its eyes were familiar.

Silver.

Alistair.

Her breath caught as realization sank in.

He wasn't just cursed. He was one of them.

The fight ended in a blur. The black wolf fled into the woods, leaving Alistair crouched on all fours, blood dripping from his muzzle.

For a heartbeat, their gazes met. Man and beast.

Then his body convulsed. Fur retracted. Bones cracked. And before her eyes, he shifted-skin replacing fur, breath heaving.

He knelt there, human again, naked and trembling under the moonlight.

Valentina's mind spun.

He lifted his head, eyes clouded with pain. "You weren't supposed to see this," he rasped.

"You saved me," she whispered.

He laughed weakly, bitterly. "Don't make me sound noble."

She took a hesitant step forward, grabbing the cloak from the statue nearby and draping it over his shoulders. His skin burned under her touch.

"Who was the other one?" she asked.

His jaw clenched. "Not a who. A what. A rogue. Part of a pack that shouldn't exist."

"But it was inside your walls."

"I know," he said darkly. "Which means someone let it in."

Valentina thought of the necklace, the scream, the way Lucia had looked at her. "Lucia," she breathed.

"She was already dead before that beast touched her," Alistair said, voice rough. "The attack was meant for you."

She felt the blood drain from her face. "Me?"

"Yes. Someone wants to send a message. You're not safe here."

Her hands shook. "Then why keep me?"

He stood, the cloak falling loosely around him, eyes burning with something fierce and unreadable. "Because I protect what's mine."

Her pulse raced. "Even if you're the one who caged it?"

He looked at her for a long time. Then, quietly, "Especially then."

The tension between them thickened-fear, heat, confusion all tangled together.

Valentina's voice trembled. "Alistair, if you're cursed-if this is what you are-why marry me at all?"

He stepped closer, the faintest trace of sorrow shadowing his face. "Because the Moon Goddess gave me one chance to break it. A mate born under the red moon."

Her breath hitched. "And that's me?"

He nodded once. "You think I wanted this? That I wanted to chain you to me? I don't. But if I don't claim you, I'll lose everything-my empire, my men, my sanity."

"And if you do?" she asked softly.

His gaze flicked to her lips. "Then you'll lose yours."

The words hung in the air like a spell.

Thunder rumbled again, distant and low. Somewhere beyond the walls, another wolf howled-a cry that sounded both warning and promise.

Alistair turned toward the sound, every muscle tense. "They're coming back," he muttered.

"Who?"

"The rogues."

He looked back at her, eyes glowing faintly silver again. "Get inside, Valentina. Lock your door."

"And you?" she whispered.

He gave a crooked, dangerous smile. "I'm going hunting."

He disappeared into the mist before she could speak, the night swallowing him whole.

Valentina stood there, clutching her mother's locket, heart racing.