Godiva

The first thing I noticed wasn’t the time.

It was the eyes.

Two faint yellow glints in the dark corner of my room—like a cat’s, but too high, too still, too aware. I blinked hard. A car horn blared outside, and when I looked again, the corner was empty.

Just shadows. Probably just my imagination.

Then my alarm screamed.

I jolted upright. “Crap—seven already!”

The panic hit me like a punch. I threw off the thin blanket and scrambled out of bed, my bare feet slapping the cold floorboards. My room smelled faintly of dust and damp clothes—Aunt Caylee refused to fix the leaking window—and while I tried to smooth my hair down, voices from the kitchen erupted.

“Where is that useless girl?”

“Godiva! Get out here!”

Well. Good morning to me.

I forced my legs forward, each step heavier than the last. The moment I stepped into the kitchen, Aunt Caylee spun around. Her face was red, eyes blazing. Kayleigh, my cousin, stood behind her wearing the expression of someone who’d just kicked over a sandcastle and was waiting to watch the owner cry.

“What did you do to Kayleigh?” Aunt Caylee snarled.

Ah. The daily ritual. No breakfast needed.

“I didn’t do anything,” I said quietly, my fingers curling together. “I just…”

“That money you hid last night—don’t you dare lie. Where did you get it?”

My wrist throbbed where last night’s punishment had left angry marks. A reminder of a hundred-vora bill that went missing from her purse—one I actually saw Kayleigh pocket. But my word never won against hers.

“It was my bonus,” I said. “I need it for new shoes. Mine are ripping.”

Kayleigh scoffed. “Then you should work harder.”

I didn’t get to respond.

The bowl flew before I even saw her throw it. It smashed near my feet, shards glittering like ice. Pain shot through my temple where something clipped me, but I kept my chin up. Crying only made them hit harder.

“Give it to her,” Aunt Caylee demanded. “Or I’ll make last night look gentle.”

My pulse drummed painfully. Each vora bill I’d saved felt like a lifeline—one step closer to leaving this house forever. But I swallowed the bitterness and walked back to my room. My purse was thin. Pathetic. So was my pride, apparently.

I returned and handed Kayleigh the money. She smirked like I’d just served her a dessert.

“Now clean up this mess and make breakfast,” Aunt Caylee ordered. “Move.”

I moved like I always did.

But as I cracked eggs into the pan, I kept replaying the earlier moment in my room—the pair of yellow eyes watching me. It wasn’t like any nightmare I’d ever had. It felt… aware.

Like something was waiting for me to wake up.

**

Twenty minutes later, I was out the door with a quick goodbye no one answered. The morning air hit my bruised face, cold and sharp. I walked fast, every painful step reminding me how badly I needed out of that house.

At the bus stop, I kept glancing over my shoulder. No reason. Just instinct. The kind that made your skin prickle.

Something felt off.

A tingle crawled up my spine—the same sensation I felt a few minutes before Aunt Caylee threw that bowl. Like being watched.

When the bus finally arrived, I practically dove into the packed crowd. Better crushed by strangers than stared at by… whatever that was.

By the time I reached the pizzeria, I had forced my heartbeat to calm.

But Bree greeted me with a whisper-shout. “Girl, boss has been looking for you.”

“Of course he has,” I muttered. My voice cracked.

Mauricio found me near the prep station. His expression melted from irritation to sympathy as soon as he saw my face.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

“Yeah,” I lied. “What’s up?”

He handed me a paper slip. “Urgent delivery. High-end apartment. They requested my best employee. That’s you. Don’t mess it up.”

I nodded, grateful for the excuse to leave the building. Work was the only place I felt remotely safe—even if it meant weaving through downtown traffic on a scooter with unreliable brakes.

**

Sycamore Street was worlds away from my town. The towering apartment complex loomed over me like something out of a luxury magazine. Security checked my ID, and I took the elevator up, feeling more out of place with every beep.

The doors slid open to a pristine hallway.

“Unit ten,” I murmured to myself, checking the slip.

A man in a navy uniform turned at the sound of my voice. His sunglasses hid most of his face, but his jawline was sharp enough to cut glass.

“Unit ten,” he said. “This way. Don't keep him waiting.”

His voice was low, almost too smooth. Something about him felt… wrong. When he removed his glasses for a second, his eyes caught the light—

They flashed yellow.

A chill punched through me. I blinked, and the glow was gone. He was already walking away.

Okay, yeah. I was definitely losing my mind.

I followed the numbers along the hallway until I found 10. I raised a shaky hand to ring the bell—

The door creaked open on its own.

I froze.

“Hello?” My voice barely came out.

The lights flickered—once, twice—then died completely.

Darkness swallowed the hall. Except for one thing.

Two yellow orbs glowed inside the room.

My breath stuttered. My body locked up.

The same eyes from my room. The same feeling of being hunted.

The pizza boxes trembled in my hands as I took a tiny step back. Maybe I could run or scream instantly, but…

A hand shot out of the darkness and clamped hard around my wrist.

I yelped as I was yanked inside, the door slamming shut behind me.

“What the hell—?! Let me go!”

The grip tightened. It felt warm. Powerful. Human… but not human.

A low growl rumbled near my ear—too deep, too primal to belong to any man I’d ever met.

My heartbeat ricocheted painfully against my ribs. My thoughts tangled.

This wasn’t in my job description.

“Godiva Fletcher,” a voice murmured from the dark. It sounded smooth. Familiar. Inescapable.

“You’re late.”

My blood turned to ice.

He knew my name.

My voice finally cracked free. “Who are you?!”

There was a pause—long enough to made me want to scream.

When he finally spoke, the sound wrapped around me like heat.

“You’re my mate.”

The lights blasted back on.

I gasped.

Standing inches from me was a man with a face so striking it didn’t seem real—sharp jawline, dark brown hair, eyes burning yellow not every human had.

And those were the eyes that had watched me in the dark.

The pizza boxes slipped from my hands and crashed to the floor.

But the sound didn’t matter. Because his eyes were still glowing.

And he wasn’t seemed to letting go.

Chapter 2 — The Mark

Godiva

His hand was burning against my wrist.

That was the first thing I registered—heat, pulsing through my skin in waves. I tried pulling away, but his grip held me effortlessly, like I weighed nothing more than a stray feather he’d caught midair.

“What are you doing?” I demanded, breath shaky.

The man—if he was even a man—didn’t answer at first. He stepped closer, guiding me into the room with movements too smooth, too controlled. My back hit the wall. My heart hit my throat.

His eyes glowed again. From yellow to burning golden. Alive. Predatory.

A cold shiver rushed through me. “Please…just let me go. I’m only here to deliver food…”

“Godiva,” he murmured, lowering his head until his breath brushed my collar. “You smell exactly the way I knew you would.”

My eyes went wide. “Wh…what does that even mean?”

He inhaled slowly, savoring the moment, and every hair on my arms rose. Goosebumps raced down my spine. He wasn’t touching me, not really but it felt like he was everywhere.

“You’re my mate.”

“I don’t know you.” My voice broke. “You don’t get to say that.”

His gaze sharpened, golden irises narrowing as though he were trying to read something written beneath my skin.

“You don’t have to understand it,” he said smoothly. “You just have to feel it.”

“No, I—”

He moved faster than my eyes could follow.

One moment he stood inches away, the next his hands were at my waist—gentle but unyielding—holding me still like he’d done this a thousand times before.

“Don’t run,” he whispered.

“I’m not…”

He leaned in. His lips grazed the side of my neck.

The world stopped. Then—

Pain.

A white-hot, stabbing shock exploded through my body as sharp teeth sank into my skin. I screamed, fingers clawing at his arm. Heat surged through my veins, wild and fiery, like molten metal replacing my blood.

“Stop…stop!”

His arms tightened as my knees buckled, catching me before I collapsed.

“Ssh,” he murmured against my skin. His voice was low, soothing, infuriatingly steady. “It’s the mark. It will pass. Breathe for me, precious.”

Precious?

My vision wavered. The room blurred. His face was the last clear thing I saw before darkness swallowed my consciousness.

**

When awareness returned, it came slowly, like wading up through thick water.

Soft sheets. A warm blanket. A faint citrus scent floating in the air.

I blinked.

I was lying on a bed that definitely wasn’t mine. The room was spacious, dimly lit, expensive in a way I couldn’t even begin to describe. My temples throbbed. My neck burned.

I shot upright.

He was sitting in a chair beside the bed, watching me with unreadable eyes.

“Good evening, my precious Godiva.”

My stomach lurched. “What—what happened to me? Why am I here?”

“You fainted after the mark,” he said calmly. “You’ve been asleep for twelve hours.”

“Twelve?!” My pulse spiked. “Why didn’t anyone call me? My boss—”

“I asked him not to.”

“You WHAT—?”

His tone remained maddeningly patient. “I needed you safe. That requires control.”

“Control?” I snapped. “You bit me like some wild—” I stopped before saying the word animal, but his faint smirk told me he heard it anyway.

“You were marked,” he said. “It’s irreversible. Painful at first, but you’ll heal in a few days.”

My hand flew to my neck. A bandage. Tender skin beneath it.

Oh God.

“What are you?” I whispered.

He stood.

The way he moved—quiet, powerful, dominate—made my heartbeat trip over itself. He crossed the room in seconds, stopping just close enough that I felt the warmth radiating off him.

“Castor Melucci,” he said. “Alpha of the Moonstone Pack.”

Alpha, that supposed to be…then pack thing…I was pretty sure some kind of group of animal.

Mate. Oh my God…

My brain scrambled for logic that didn’t exist.

“You’re a—”

“Werewolf,” he finished. “Yes.”

I shook my head, backing up until the mattress hit my calves. “No. That’s—no. That’s impossible. You’re insane.”

He didn’t flinch. “Your denial is understandable. But you know it’s real. You felt it.”

“I felt pain.”

“You felt the bond beginning.”

His eyes glowed—subtly, softly, dangerously—and something in my chest clenched. It wasn’t attraction. It wasn’t fear. It was something between the two, tangled and terrifying.

“Why me?” I asked. “Why choose me?”

“I didn’t choose you,” he said quietly. “The Moon Goddess did.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one that matters.”

My breath hitched. The room felt smaller. Warmer. Too warm.

“I want to leave,” I said. “Right now.”

He stepped aside, gesturing toward the door.

“You’re free to go, Godiva.”

I blinked.

Just like that?

“But remember,” he added softly, “the mark connects us. You won’t get far before you feel it.”

“Feel what?”

He didn’t answer.

Because the moment I stood, dizziness washed over me—sharp, disorienting, hot. My knees almost buckled. A wave of something unfamiliar tore through my nerves like my body had been rewired.

Castor caught my arm, steadying me before I hit the floor.

“Easy,” he murmured. “Your body is adjusting.”

I jerked my hand away. “Don’t touch me.”

His jaw tightened, the first crack in his otherwise calm expression.

“As you wish, mate.”

“I’m not your—!”

The door clicked open suddenly. A phone vibrated in Castor’s hand. He glanced at the screen.

His face darkened.

“We have a problem.”

He turned to me with an intensity that made my chest squeeze.

“Stay here,” he ordered.

“No.”

His eyes flashed. Alpha. Commanding. Almost dangerous.

“Something is happening near your home,” he said. “I have a patrol watching. There was shouting. Breaking glass. Someone—your kind was hurt.”

My heart dropped.

Aunt Caylee’s voice. Kayleigh’s taunting smirk.

No. No, no, no.

Before he could stop me, I pushed past him and ran for the door.

“Godiva!”

But I didn’t look back.

Because something inside me—something instinctive and sharp and deeply wrong was pulling me toward home.

Toward danger. Toward the place he said the mark would drag me back to.

Castor’s footsteps thundered behind me.

He didn’t try to hold me or force me. He didn’t even drag me back to the bed.

He simply followed, close and unyielding.

“Fine,” he said, voice low. “If you’re going, I’m going with you.”

I turned, breath shaking.

“Why?”

His golden eyes met mine.

“Because you’re mine,” he said simply. “And someone out there just want to hurt what’s mine.”

Godiva

Warmth wasn’t what welcomed me home.

It was shouting.

“A little whore! I should’ve never taken you into my house!”

Aunt Caylee’s voice cut through the hallway like a blade as she pressed an ice pack to Kayleigh’s bruised forehead. Kayleigh whimpered dramatically, leaning into her mother.

“Mom, kick her out. I’m cursed because of her.”

“Don’t worry, darling. I will.” Aunt Caylee’s glare snapped toward me, sharp and poisonous. “You heard that, Godiva? Get out before this house gets destroyed again because you’re selling your body to strangers!”

I should’ve been angry. But all I felt was… relief. Finally.

They were throwing me out.

Before I could respond, Kayleigh rose from the couch and met me at my bedroom door. Her palm cracked across my cheek so hard my head snapped to the side. A hot sting bloomed instantly.

“That’s for the man who hit me,” she spat.

I tasted blood on my lip.

I didn’t even know what man she meant. I didn't know what happened while I was gone. They claimed someone had barged into the house, demanded my things, rummaged through my room, took my scarf, and struck Kayleigh when she tried to interfere.

And somehow… it was all my fault.

Every breath, every choice, every existence of mine—always something to blame.

After packed my things, I walked past her without a word. She kept hurling insults, each one uglier than the last. Near the doorway, Aunt Caylee stood with her arms crossed, satisfaction twisting her face like she’d just scraped filth off her floor.

And just outside, under the flickering streetlamp, stood Castor.

He didn’t move as I approached. His expression was cold—colder than the wind slicing through the night. I dragged my small suitcase behind me, refusing to let the weight of everything show.

The city lights blurred around us while we walked. Castor stayed close, silent but sharply alert. I avoided looking at him. The bandage around my neck still throbbed—a reminder of how everything had spiraled since last twelve hours.

“I told you,” I muttered, voice cracked but steady enough. “I’m not your mate. Why are you following me?”

“Yes, you are,” he said simply, quietly. “And I’m staying with you. Come to my apartment. You have nowhere else to go.”

The words hit harder than any slap.

“I’ll find somewhere else,” I said. “A motel. A bench. I don’t need your help.”

“You’re bleeding,” he murmured.

I paused.

The cool breeze brushed my face as I lifted my fingers to my lip. They came away warm and red.

Great.

I tried to keep moving, but he stepped in front of me—calm, unmoving, like a wall carved from stone.

“Godiva,” he said softly, “you don’t have to pretend you’re okay.”

“I’ve been okay alone my whole life,” I snapped. “Without you. Without anyone.”

Something shifted in his eyes—pain, sharp and unmistakable.

“You weren’t supposed to live like this,” he whispered. “Not suffering. Not being hurt.”

“What do you know about my life?”

“Enough,” he answered without hesitation.

He tilted my chin with just two fingers—barely a touch—but it felt like fire tracing down my spine.

“You deserve protection,” he murmured. “Comfort. A place where no one raises a hand against you.”

I swallowed hard and stepped back, breaking the contact.

“I’m not a fantasy you get to save,” I said.

“This isn’t romance,” he replied. “It’s instinct.”

His gaze followed me even as I put space between us—like he could feel every breath, every tremble.

“I don’t want a mate,” I said. “Especially not you.”

The city went eerily quiet.

Castor inhaled slowly. “You can avoid me all you want. The bond won’t disappear. I’ll live with that.” His jaw hardened. “But you walking alone into danger? That I won’t allow.”

Before I could argue, a black SUV pulled up beside us. One of his men stepped out silently and opened the back door.

“Come,” Castor said. “I’ll take you.”

I hesitated for a second… then climbed in.

The ride was silent. Heavy.

Castor sat with his elbows on his knees, fingers interlaced, head bowed like he was fighting something invisible. The car sped through dim streets, weaving through patches of shadow.

And the longer we drove, the tighter the knot in my chest grew.

Finally, the SUV slowed.

His apartment tower—Sycamore Heights—loomed above us, dark and tall, its windows glinting against the night. It looked expensive, modern, safe.

Yet something about it felt wrong.

The elevator chimed softly as we reached the right floor. Castor stepped out first, scanning the hallway with sharp, predatory focus. I followed, gripping my coat around me.

“This is temporary,” he said, glancing back. “Just until we figure out who’s after you.”

Unit 10 waited at the end of the corridor.

But the closer we walked, the heavier the air grew. The lights flickered once. Then again.

A wall lamp was cracked—like someone hit it with too much force.

And then…

A smell curled into my nose. Metallic. Sharp. Coppery.

Blood.

“Castor?” I whispered.

He froze mid-step.

That small pause—tight, sharp, lethal—shot terror up my spine.

His arm went out instantly, barring my path.

“Stay here.”

“But—”

“Godiva.” His voice hardened. “Stay.”

I pressed my lips shut.

He moved toward the door in slow, controlled steps—listening, scenting the air. He reached the threshold—

And stopped.

The door to Unit 10 hung crooked—broken clean off one hinge, wood splintered like something had rammed straight through it.

“Oh my god…” I breathed.

Castor nudged it open with his foot.

The apartment was chaos.

Furniture overturned. Cushions slashed. Shattered glass littering the floor. Deep claw marks raked across the walls.

And near the kitchen counter—

A body.

Marco—the night security guard—lay motionless on the tiles. His skin was pale, lips blue, eyes open in frozen terror. A brutal wound tore into his throat, dried blood staining his shirt.

I staggered backward, hand covering my mouth.

“Why—why would anyone—why come here?” My voice broke.

Castor crouched beside the body, shoulders trembling with barely contained fury.

“He wasn’t supposed to be inside,” he muttered. “He must’ve heard something. Tried to stop it.”

He inhaled deeply. His expression darkened instantly. Predatory.

“Castor?” My voice was barely a breath.

He looked up. His golden eyes glowed.

“It was here,” he said. “Recently.”

“What was here?”

But I already knew. A chill slithered down my spine.

Castor stood and walked toward me slowly, heat rolling off him like a shield.

“The thing like at your aunt’s house,” he said quietly. “The shadow you felt. The hiss in the dark.”

I swallowed hard. “Yes.”

“It didn’t stumble on you by accident.” His voice dropped, dangerous. “It came looking for you.”

My knees weakened.

“You mean—”

“The bloodsucker tracked you here.” He gestured to the trashed apartment.

“It tore the place apart… while searching for you.”

The room tilted.

Fear tightened my chest—but beneath it, something hotter pulsed.

Castor stepped closer. Close enough that I felt warmth radiating from him.

“You understand now?” he murmured. “You’re not safe. Not alone. Not anywhere they can catch your scent.”

My voice trembled. “Then where do I go?”

His answer came without hesitation.

“With me.”

He didn’t touch me. Just waited—steady, fierce, unyielding.

“Let me protect you,” he said softly.

My breath hitched.

And before my mind could catch up—my body answered first.

I nodded.