Devon POV
The black convoy sliced through the streets of Astria like a predator on the hunt — sleek, dangerous, and impossible to ignore. Inside the armoured car, I tugged at my tie for the fifth time. The fabric suddenly felt like a noose, tightening with every breath I took.
The injection was supposed to suppress this.
It always had.
But not this time.
My wolf — that primal, ancient beast tethered inside me — was fighting back. And it had a reason now—a reason it refused to surrender to the drug's grip.
Mate.
That single word had been echoing in my head since the breakfast table. Since those green eyes met mine.
Jimmie.
I groaned, dragging a hand down my face, fingers trembling.
"Sir? Are you alright?" Franco's voice came from the front seat. Cool. Professional.
I straightened in my seat, forcing my breathing to slow. "Fine. Just...hot in here."
Lie.
The car's air was chilled to perfection, but my skin burned.
Images of Jimmie flickered unbidden — the shy way he smiled when Eleanor introduced him, the faint flush that crept over his cheeks. He wasn't tall, no, but there was a kind of rugged innocence in him. A subtle strength. A man, all the same. And that should've made it easier to ignore.
But my wolf didn't care for reason or rules.
All it cared about was claiming.
I clenched my fists, nails biting into my palms hard enough to draw blood.
You're the President, dammit. You don't fall apart over a damn scent. Over a damn...man.
But the beast inside howled in defiance.
Mine.
Another groan slipped out before I could stop it.
This was bad. Worse than I thought.
I could feel the injection's effect thinning like cheap paper against fire. My wolf was pushing. Hard. It had tasted hope — and it wasn't letting go. Not this time.
"ETA five minutes, Sir," Franco called again.
I grunted in response, staring blankly out the tinted window. The city blurred past, unaware that its leader was fighting a battle within his skin.
I wasn't just losing control.
I was slipping.
And gods help me — I caught myself thinking about Jimmie again. About the way his scent wrapped around me this morning like a fucking drug.
Sweet. Warm. Like cedarwood and fresh rain.
My throat tightened.
Why him? Why now?
I yanked the tie loose entirely and threw my head back against the seat, chest heaving.
This wasn't supposed to happen. I had controlled this beast for years. I had chosen my path — Eleanor, my children, the presidency. This bond, this mate thing...it threatened everything.
Everything.
My phone buzzed on the seat beside me.
I glanced at the screen.
A message from Eleanor: "Hope your morning is going better now. Jimmie says thank you again for the warm welcome. He's adjusting well!"
I cursed under my breath. My fingers hovered over the reply button, but my vision blurred — and not from tears. No. From the golden flicker I caught at the edges of my eyes. My wolf was surging again.
Mate. Now.
"Sir, we're pulling in now," Franco announced.
I barely registered his words. My pulse roared in my ears.
The car slowed.
My hand tightened around the door handle.
And then—
Jimmie's scent hit me again. Stronger. Closer.
I froze.
No. No, he couldn't be here. Not at the office. Not now.
But as the door opened and fresh air rushed in, that sweet, intoxicating scent wrapped around me like a vice.
I stepped out — and there he was.
Jimmie.
Standing by the front entrance. Smiling faintly as he spoke with one of my aides. Oblivious. Innocent. Unaware that the predator locked inside me was seconds from snapping its leash.
I blinked hard, trying to steady myself.
My wolf roared.
Claim him.
"Sir?" Franco stepped closer, sensing my tension. "Something wrong?"
I didn't answer. Couldn't.
Because my eyes, now flickering gold, were locked on Jimmie.
And for the first time in my life, I wasn't sure I could hold the beast back.
Not this time.
The shift was coming.
Fast.
Hot and brutal like a fever under my skin.
The injection in my bloodstream, that damn suppressant, wasn't holding this time. Not with Jimmie so close.
His scent ,gods, his scent , was thicker now, wrapping around me in waves. Sweet and sharp, like fresh rain soaked into sun-warmed cedar, and just a hint of something softer underneath. My wolf snarled, drinking it in like it was oxygen after drowning.
I clenched my fists until my nails bit deep, drawing thin lines of blood in my palms. I couldn't lose it. Not here. Not in front of all these people — security, aides, staffers, cameras.
But something was off.
I could feel my spine stiffen, muscles locking up like they did right before the shift. My body wasn't mine anymore. My wolf was moving — taking me forward, step by step, toward the one person I absolutely should not go near right now.
Jimmie.
Gods help me, my legs moved on their own.
I barely heard Franco call my name once, sharply.
Didn't care.
All I could see was Jimmie, standing too close, still smiling faintly at whatever my aide was saying. Oblivious to the storm about to break loose.
My wolf surged.
Ours. Claim him.
I took another step forward—
And then Franco was suddenly there, stepping between me and my target like a wall of stone.
His dark eyes flashed with something I couldn't quite name — challenge, maybe. Or warning.
My wolf growled, low and dangerous.
It felt challenged now. Threatened by the one man daring to block its path.
I could feel my upper lip curling back, a snarl clawing its way up my throat.
My hand shot forward, ready to shove Franco out of my way —
Ready to snap —
Shick.
A sharp sting bit into my side.
Cold. Metallic.
Franco's voice dropped low as he leaned in, breath hot against my ear.
"You need to get control, Sir. We're in public."
My head snapped back, blinking.
The silver sulfate.
It burned like acid, flooding my veins with cold fire. My wolf reeled, howling in rage and pain.
I staggered, vision going fuzzy at the edges. My knees threatened to buckle, but Franco's strong grip caught my elbow, steadying me.
"Easy," he muttered under his breath, voice calm but firm. "Breathe through it."
I could barely process his words as everything around me tilted — lights too bright, sounds too sharp. The ground felt like it was swaying.
But Franco was already barking soft orders to the other guards.
"Clear a path. Now. Private route. Move."
They obeyed without question, closing ranks and shifting formation in that quiet, deadly efficiency only my elite team could manage. To the watching crowd — staff, civilians, even reporters — it just looked like standard security protocol. An overcautious escort for their president.
They didn't see the cracks under the surface.
They didn't see that their leader was seconds from losing himself.
Franco's grip tightened on my arm as he guided me toward the side passage.
"Head down, Sir. Stay with me."
I could barely nod, my body half limp but still burning from the silver. My wolf whimpered, beaten back but not defeated.
Not yet.
And then, as I was half-dragged toward the private elevator, my head turned.
Unwilling. Reflexive.
My eyes found Jimmie again.
Those damn green eyes.
And this time —or just a flicker — I saw his smile falter. His brows knit together in concern as he watched me being ushered away.
Concern.
For me.
The bond snapped taut, like a live wire.
My wolf clawed weakly against the suppressant, desperate.
Mate. Don't leave him.
I groaned, biting back the sound. Franco tightened his grip, dragging me faster.
"Almost there, Sir. Hold it together."
But deep inside, I knew this wasn't over.
Not even close.
Because no amount of injections, no amount of silver, was going to stop this thing from building.
Not now that it had tasted its mate.
And somewhere in that dazed, half-shifted haze, a terrifying thought broke through:
Next time… I might not be able to stop it.