Catherine’s POV

I spun around with a startled gasp as the door clicked shut behind me. My back hit the edge of the bed, and there he stood—the most terrifying man I’d ever seen.

Gerald Draven.

The Lycan King of the North filled the doorway like a gathering storm, all raw power and barely leashed control. His black jacket was already discarded somewhere in the hall. The top buttons of his crisp white shirt hung open, revealing a brutal landscape of scars that climbed his thick, corded neck and vanished beneath the fabric. Those golden eyes glowed faintly in the low lamplight, locking onto me with a hunger that stole the breath from my lungs.

He wasn’t surprised to see me. He looked like he’d been searching for me all night.

“You…” My voice cracked. Heat surged through my blood again, fiercer than before. “You need to leave. Please—”

The words dissolved as another wave of scorching need crashed over me. My thighs pressed together instinctively, but it only made things worse—a fresh rush of slick warmth soaked through my ruined panties. I trembled, fighting the pull.

Gerald’s massive hands gripped the wooden doorframe so tightly I heard the wood creak and splinter. His broad chest rose and fell in heavy, deliberate breaths. A low, guttural sound rumbled from deep in his throat, like a desperate groan.

“I can smell you,” he rasped, his voice like a dark siren song. “Sweet and mine.”

I shook my head frantically, even as my traitorous body stepped toward him. My wolf, silent for four long years, slammed against my ribs, howling to break free. She recognized him. She wanted him or more accurately, she needed him with a ferocity that terrified me.

He stalked forward with predatory grace, the door shutting behind him with a heavy final click. His scent—dark pine, woodsmoke, and raw masculine power—wrapped around me, sinking into my bones and making my head spin. My back met the wall. There was nowhere left to run.

He stopped just inches away, towering over me. Slowly, as if I were a frightened deer, he reached out and brushed a stray lock of black hair from my flushed cheek. The unexpected gentleness in that single touch nearly undid me.

“I don’t know what they gave us,” he murmured, those golden eyes burning into mine, “but I won’t take you like a beast unless you ask.”

A broken whimper slipped from my throat. My hands fisted in his shirt of their own accord, yanking him closer. “I… I can’t… it hurts so much…”

That was all the permission he needed.

Gerald’s control shattered. His mouth crashed down on mine in a bruising, devouring kiss. He tasted champagne. His tongue swept inside, claiming every inch of me as his powerful body pinned me against the wall. I moaned shamelessly into his mouth, my hips rocking against the hard muscle of his thigh as it shoved between my legs, giving me something solid to grind against.

“Fuck,” he growled against my lips, the vibration sending sparks down my spine. “You’re so wet already.”

His hands were everywhere—rough yet careful, as if he was fighting not to lose himself completely. He yanked the thin straps of my dress down my shoulders, baring my breasts to the cool air. My nipples tightened instantly under his heated gaze. With a hungry sound, he bent and drew one into his hot mouth, sucking hard while his tongue flicked mercilessly over the sensitive peak. His other hand kneaded my other breast, rolling the nipple between strong fingers until I cried out, my fingers tangling desperately in his thick dark hair.

He dropped to his knees without warning.

In one swift motion, he shoved my dress up around my waist and tore my soaked panties clean away. I barely had time to gasp before his mouth was on me—hot, relentless, and utterly devouring. His tongue plunged deep inside me, then swirled around my swollen clit with devastating precision. Two thick fingers pushed into my aching heat, curling and stroking that perfect spot while he sucked hard on my clit.

Pleasure tore through me like lightning. I came with a shattered scream, my thighs clamping around his head as wave after wave crashed over me. He didn’t stop. He licked me through every pulsing aftershock, growling hungrily as if he couldn’t get enough of my taste, his fingers still working me until I was whimpering and shaking.

When he finally rose, his mouth glistened with my release. His golden eyes were completely feral now.

“On the bed,” he ordered, voice hoarse with need.

I obeyed on shaky limbs, crawling onto the massive hotel bed. Gerald stripped with ruthless efficiency. His body was a weapon—broad-shouldered, heavily muscled, every inch covered in scars that only made him look more dangerously beautiful. His cock sprang free, thick and long and brutally hard, the flushed head already glistening with precum.

He climbed over me, caging me in with his powerful arms. For a heartbeat, he just looked at me, something almost reverent flickering beneath the raw lust in his gaze.

Then he thrust inside me in one powerful stroke.

I screamed at the intense stretch—pain and blinding pleasure twisting together as he filled me completely. He was huge, stretching my walls to their limit. My inner muscles fluttered wildly around him, trying to adjust to the overwhelming fullness.

“Easy, little wolf,” he groaned, forehead pressed to mine, his breath hot against my lips. “Breathe for me.”

He stayed buried deep, rolling his hips in slow, devastating circles until the burn melted into liquid fire. Then he began to move—hard, deep, and utterly possessive. Each thrust slammed into me, driving the air from my lungs. The bed slammed rhythmically against the wall. My nails raked down his back, drawing blood, and he snarled in pleasure, the sound vibrating through both of us.

He hooked one of my legs over his arm, spreading me wider, pounding into me at a new, devastating angle that made me see stars. Every stroke dragged against that sensitive spot inside me while his pelvis ground against my clit.

“You feel it too, don’t you?” he rasped, teeth grazing my throat. “This is more than the drug.”

I could only moan helplessly as another orgasm built like a tidal wave inside me. My wolf howled, pushing against my skin, desperate to merge with his.

Gerald’s pace turned feral. His hand slipped between our sweat-slicked bodies, his thumb pressing tight, relentless circles on my swollen clit.

“Come for me again,” he commanded, voice rough.

I shattered completely.

My body convulsed around him, inner walls clamping down on his thick cock like a vice. Gerald roared, his hips stuttering. At the peak of my climax, he struck—his fangs sinking deep into the curve of my shoulder.

White-hot ecstasy exploded through every nerve. The claiming mark burned gold in the darkness, pleasure so intense it bordered on pain. I felt something ancient and unbreakable snap into place between us as his cock pulsed deep inside me, flooding my core with jet after jet of hot seed. He kept thrusting through his release, grinding deep as if trying to engrave himself in me forever.

We collapsed together, panting, trembling, and locked in each other’s arms.

The last thing I remembered was the reverent brush of his lips over the fresh mark on my shoulder and a whispered word that sounded dangerously like mate.

---

Morning light stabbed through the curtains.

I woke up alone.

My body ached in the most delicious and terrible ways. Between my thighs I was sticky and sore, and the deep bite on my shoulder throbbed with every heartbeat.

I sat up slowly, wincing. On the nightstand sat a crisp cheque for one million dollars—blank except for the amount and his bold signature.

There was no note or an explanation. Nothing.

He thought I was just a staff. A convenient body to fuck and pay off like some cheap whore.

Something fragile inside my chest cracked wide open. Tears burned my eyes, but I forced them down. I had survived Raphael’s rejection. I would survive this too.

I dressed on shaky legs, pulling my hair over the fresh claiming mark to hide it. The bite was deep and unmistakably lycan, already healing with unnatural speed. Inside me, my wolf purred contentedly for the first time in years, completely at peace with what had happened.

I slipped out of the room like a ghost.

In the lobby, the receptionist looked up sharply. “Miss! The gentleman in the penthouse left strict orders—”

I didn’t wait to hear the rest.

I ran.

Out into the grey morning light, heart hammering, the weight of a king’s mark burning on my shoulder and a million dollars clutched in my trembling hand. I disappeared into the streets of Oakhaven before anyone could stop me.

But deep down, I already knew.

The Lycan King would come looking.

And when he found me… nothing would ever be the same again.

Gerald’s POV

I stood before the floor-to-ceiling windows of the penthouse, the city sprawled out beneath me like a glittering toy kingdom I no longer cared about. Dawn had broken hours ago, painting the sky in muted greys and golds, but the view brought me no peace. An emptiness gnawed at the center of my chest, a completely foreign feeling. For thirty-two years I had ruled the North with iron control, bending my inner lycan to my will until it was little more than a weapon I wielded at will. Now that same beast paced and snarled inside me, restless with a sense of loss so sharp it felt like someone had carved a piece of my soul out in the night.

Who the hell was she?

The question had circled in my mind since I walked away from that hotel bed and left her sleeping. I had told myself it was just the drug, just one night, just another warm body to burn the fire out of my system. But my wolf refused to accept that. He paced and snarled, demanding we go back, demanding we find her. The ache of her absence was sharp enough that I had to press a hand to my chest to steady myself.

The door opened behind me.

“My king,” Caius said, his voice carefully neutral. My head of security knew better than to show fear, but I could smell the tension rolling off him. “The woman from Room 14… she’s gone. And she left no traces.”

The glass of whiskey in my hand shattered. I hadn’t even realized I was squeezing it until the crystal exploded and amber liquid mixed with blood dripped down my fingers. The pain that shot through me felt distant and irrelevant.

“Find her,” I said, my voice deceptively calm. Inside, my wolf was roaring. “I don’t care what it takes. Every camera, every contact, every damn fingerprint in that room. I want her name, her pack, her scent trail. Everything.”

Caius nodded once and left without another word.

Alone again, I stalked into the marble bathroom, intending to wash the blood and whiskey from my hands. Something in my reflection stopped me cold. There, just below my jaw on the side of my neck, was a faint but unmistakable mark—crescent-shaped bruises from small, fierce teeth. She’d bitten me in the height of passion, hard enough to leave evidence even on my skin.

A low, surprised chuckle escaped me before I could stop it. Amused. Of all the reactions I expected—rage, confusion, hunger—this faint spark of amusement caught me off guard. The little wolf had marked me. Me, the Lycan King. Most women trembled at the thought of even touching me, yet she’d sunk her teeth in like she had every right.

“Bold little thing,” I muttered, tracing the mark with my fingertips. It tingled faintly, warm under my touch. My wolf preened, the restless ache easing for a split second. Mate, he whispered in the back of my mind. I shoved the thought down hard. Fated bonds didn’t form after one drug-fueled night with a woman whose face I could barely piece together in the haze of memory. This was impossible and dangerous to even think about.

But the emptiness remained.

---

Two days later, back in the cold stone walls of my northern citadel, the obsession had only grown. I paced the war room like a caged animal while reports piled up on the massive oak table. My spies had turned the city upside down. Nothing. She had vanished like smoke. The only traces left were her fingerprints lifted from a champagne glass, the lingering scent on the hotel sheets that still drove my wolf insane every time I caught a whiff, and a maid’s hesitant report: the woman had carried the faint aura of a suppressed wolf and had been wearing old, fine pack silk beneath that cheap dress.

A werewolf. Hiding in plain sight, right under my nose.

I slammed my fist on the table, cracking the wood. “Bring Helen Ashmoor to me. Now.”

Helen arrived pale and trembling, her usual calculated confidence nowhere to be found. She dropped into a deep curtsy, but I could smell the fear-sweat on her skin.

“You arranged the aphrodisiac that night,” I said softly, dangerously. My golden eyes pinned her in place. “Hoping to bind me to you. To elevate your status.”

She broke quickly under the weight of my gaze, confessing everything in a rush of tears and excuses. She had planned it all—drugging the drinks, ensuring I ended up in that room with a “suitable” woman who turned out to be far more than she bargained for. I didn’t know this for sure before now, it was only a guess that she has just confirmed.

What Helen wanted was power, and me all to herself. Hot rage settled over me.

“You are stripped of all titles and privileges,” I declared, voice echoing through the hall. “Banish her to the borderlands. She lives, but she will never again set foot in civilized territory.”

Helen’s eyes flashed with pure hatred as guards dragged her away, but I felt nothing. My thoughts were already elsewhere—on her.

Later that evening, one of my senior spies burst into my chambers with a data pad. “We have something, my king.”

Grainy security footage from the hotel lobby filled the screen. And there she was.

Even in the low-quality image, she was stunning—dark hair tousled, cheeks still flushed from our night, eyes wide with something between panic and determination as she fled into the grey morning. My wolf surged forward so violently I had to grip the edge of the desk to stay upright.

Mine.

I studied every pixel of her face, memorizing the delicate curve of her jaw, the way her lips pressed together in resolve. Something deep inside me clicked into place, sharper and more determined than ever before. This wasn’t just lust or the aftermath of a drug. This was more.

“Find her,” I ordered quietly, my voice carrying the weight of absolute command. “Comb every city, every pack, every backwater town if you have to. But no one touches her. No one frightens her. Bring me her location and nothing more. She is to be treated with the utmost care.

He bowed and vanished to carry out my will.

---

Far away, in a cramped bathroom in another city, Catherine stood before a foggy mirror, adjusting the cheap wig and colored contacts that formed her meager disguise. She was trying—desperately—to forget that night. To forget him. The way his body had felt moving over hers, the way his voice had rasped “mine” against her skin, the impossible pleasure that still haunted her dreams.

She pulled her shirt aside to check the bite mark, muttering under her breath. “Just fade already, you stupid—”

The mark on her shoulder suddenly flared to life, glowing with a soft, golden light that illuminated the entire dingy bathroom like a fucking lantern.

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me,” she hissed, sarcasm dripping from every word. “I’m trying to move on, pretend the Lycan King didn’t ruin me for any other man, and now you decide to light up like a goddamn beacon? Really? Thanks for the subtlety, universe. Could you make it any more obvious that I’m carrying around a walking advertisement for ‘Property of Gerald Draven’?”

She slapped a hand over the glowing mark, but the light pulsed warmly against her palm, mocking her. Her wolf inside purred in contentment.

Catherine groaned, leaning her forehead against the cool mirror. “This is going to end so badly.”

But even as she said it, a traitorous part of her wondered how long it would be before the King of the North came for what he had already claimed.