The Meridian Hotel's grand ballroom glittered like a jewel box, all crystal chandeliers and gold leaf moldings that spoke of old money and older power. New York's business elite had gathered for the annual Charity Foundation Gala, an event where million-dollar deals were disguised as philanthropic conversations and social climbing masqueraded as humanitarian concern.
It was the perfect hunting ground for someone like me.
I stood at the edge of the crowd, champagne flute in hand, surveying my prey with the patience of a predator who knew her quarry was already trapped. Three weeks had passed since I'd started working at Cross Financial Group, three weeks of watching Damien fall deeper under my spell while I gathered intelligence on his business dealings and personal connections. Tonight was about expanding my reach, making contact with the other players in this deadly game.
Margaret would be here, of course. The Blackwood Foundation was one of the event's primary sponsors, which meant my dear adoptive mother would be holding court somewhere in this glittering crowd, accepting accolades for her charitable work while running a company built on my father's murder. The irony was delicious.
"Elena Sterling, as I live and breathe!" The voice belonged to Victoria Ashford, society columnist and professional gossip, whose ability to spread rumors rivaled her ability to consume champagne. "You look absolutely stunning, darling. That dress is divine."
I glanced down at the midnight blue silk gown that hugged every curve before flowing out in an elegant train. The color brought out the green in my eyes and complemented the auburn fire of my hair, which I'd styled in an elaborate updo that showed off the diamond chandelier earrings I'd chosen for maximum impact.
"Thank you, Victoria," I said with the kind of smile that suggested we were old friends rather than recent acquaintances. "You look lovely yourself."
She preened under the compliment, even though we both knew her pink ruffled monstrosity was more suited to a teenage prom than a sophisticated charity gala. Victoria was useful for information, but she had the fashion sense of a colorblind peacock.
"So tell me," she continued, leaning in conspiratorially, "what's this I hear about you working for Damien Cross? The rumor mill is absolutely buzzing about his mysterious new hire."
I let my smile turn just slightly mysterious. "Mr. Cross needed someone with my particular skill set. I'm always happy to help when the terms are... mutually beneficial."
Victoria's eyes lit up like Christmas morning. She lived for this kind of barely veiled innuendo. "I see. And how does the lovely Mrs. Cross feel about her husband's new acquisition?"
Mrs. Cross. The words hit me like a physical blow, even though I'd been expecting them. Damien had married Vivian, just as I'd suspected he would. My sweet, innocent sister was now the wife of my former fiancé, living in the life that should have been mine.
"I haven't had the pleasure of meeting Mrs. Cross yet," I said evenly, proud that my voice remained steady. "I'm sure she's everything her husband deserves."
Victoria cackled with delight. "Oh, my dear, you are deliciously wicked. I absolutely must introduce you to some people. Come along."
She latched onto my arm with the tenacity of a barnacle, steering me through the crowd toward a cluster of Manhattan's most powerful business leaders. I allowed myself to be led, using the opportunity to scan the room for familiar faces.
There was Jonathan Pembridge from Pembridge Industries, deep in conversation with Senator Williams about some upcoming legislation. Rebecca Chen from Chen Technologies was holding court near the bar, surrounded by younger entrepreneurs hoping to catch her attention. And there, across the room near the auction display, I spotted my target.
Margaret Blackwood stood elegant and composed in a black Chanel suit, her silver hair perfect as always, accepting congratulations from a group of medical industry executives. She looked exactly the same as she had three years ago – poised, successful, completely untroubled by the knowledge that she'd murdered her husband and daughter.
The sight of her sent a wave of rage through me so intense that I had to grip my champagne flute to keep from crushing it. Cora stirred restlessly in my mind, wanting blood, wanting justice, wanting to tear that calm smile from Margaret's face and show her what real monsters looked like.
"Soon," I promised my wolf silently. "But not here. Not yet."
"Elena, darling, I'd like you to meet Marcus Richardson from Richardson Holdings," Victoria was saying, oblivious to the fact that I was plotting murder just a few feet from the canapé table. "Marcus, this is the divine Elena Sterling I was telling you about."
I turned my attention back to the conversation, forcing my predatory instincts into the background. Marcus Richardson was in his fifties, silver-haired and distinguished, with the kind of quiet confidence that came from old money and older power. He was also, if my research was correct, one of the few humans who knew about the supernatural world that existed parallel to his own.
"Ms. Sterling," he said, taking my hand with old-world courtesy. "Victoria tells me you're making quite an impression in our little corner of the financial world."
"I like to think I bring a unique perspective to traditional business practices," I replied, letting just a hint of otherworldly authority creep into my voice.
His eyes sharpened slightly, and I saw recognition flicker across his features. He could sense what I was, even if he couldn't identify it precisely. Good. That would make future negotiations much easier.
"I'd love to discuss some potential collaboration opportunities," he said carefully. "Perhaps we could arrange a meeting?"
"I'd be delighted," I said, handing him one of Elena Sterling's business cards. "I'm always interested in expanding my... network."
Victoria was practically vibrating with excitement at the barely disguised business flirtation happening in front of her. "Oh, this is too delicious! I simply must get a photographer over here. This could be the social coup of the season!"
Before either Marcus or I could object, she was waving frantically at a nearby photographer, who immediately began making his way toward us. I was about to excuse myself – the last thing I needed was my picture plastered all over the society pages before I was ready – when a scent hit my nostrils that made every nerve in my body come alive.
Pine and winter storms. Leather and something darker, more dangerous. Pure, undiluted Alpha male with an undertone of power that made my newly awakened Moon Queen bloodline respond like a tuning fork struck by lightning.
I turned toward the source of that intoxicating scent, and the world stopped.
He was standing near the bar, engaged in what appeared to be an intense conversation with two other men, but I could only see him. Tall – at least six-foot-three – with the kind of broad shoulders and lean muscle that spoke of physical power held in perfect control. His midnight black hair was slightly tousled, as if he'd been running his hands through it, and when he turned his head slightly, I caught a glimpse of a profile that belonged in a Renaissance sculpture.
Then he looked up, scanning the room with predatory awareness, and our eyes met across the crowded ballroom.
The impact was devastating.
Ocean-blue eyes, deep and fathomless as storm-tossed seas, locked onto mine with an intensity that sent shockwaves through every cell in my body. For a moment that felt like eternity, the rest of the world faded away. The conversations, the music, the clinking of glasses and rustling of silk – all of it disappeared until there was nothing but him and me and the electric current that seemed to arc between us like lightning.
My wolf went absolutely insane.
Cora threw herself against the barriers of my control, howling with recognition and desperate hunger. She wanted him with a primal intensity that terrified me, wanted to go to him, submit to him, claim him, mark him as ours in the most fundamental way possible.
"Mate," she snarled in my mind. "MATE!"
No. That was impossible. I'd already had a mate bond with Damien, and it had been broken when he betrayed me. Lightning didn't strike twice, and fairy tale second chances didn't happen to people like me.
But even as I tried to rationalize what I was feeling, I could see the exact same recognition in those storm-blue eyes. Whatever this was, he felt it too.
He started moving toward me, cutting through the crowd with single-minded determination, and I watched in fascination as other party guests unconsciously stepped aside to let him pass. There was something about his presence that commanded respect and submission, something that marked him as a predator even among a room full of apex humans.
"My God," Victoria breathed beside me, "who is that magnificent creature?"
Marcus Richardson's expression had gone carefully neutral, which told me more than any words could have. He knew exactly who the dark stranger was, and judging by his sudden tension, it wasn't good news.
"That," Marcus said quietly, "is Adrian Nightshade."
The name hit me like a physical blow. Nightshade. One of the five families that controlled New York's supernatural underworld. The family that had been enemies of the Blackwoods for generations, locked in a blood feud that had claimed dozens of lives over the decades.
According to the history I'd learned at my father's knee, the Nightshades were responsible for the death of my great-grandfather and the near-destruction of our pack in the 1940s. They were ruthless, amoral, and utterly without honor. My father had taught me to hate them with every fiber of my being.
And I was looking at their heir with naked hunger in my eyes.
Adrian was close enough now that I could see the details of his face – the strong jaw shadowed with just enough stubble to look dangerous, the high cheekbones that spoke of aristocratic breeding, the full lips that were currently curved in a slight smile that promised sin and salvation in equal measure. He was wearing a perfectly tailored black tuxedo that emphasized every line of his powerful body, and when he moved, it was with the fluid grace of a predator completely confident in his own lethality.
He was the most beautiful man I'd ever seen in my life.
He was also my family's sworn enemy.
"Ms. Sterling," he said when he reached our little group, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through my bones. "I don't believe we've been introduced."
His accent carried just a hint of something European – Italian, maybe, or Spanish – that made my name sound like poetry on his lips. When he extended his hand toward me, I noticed that his fingers were long and elegant, with calluses that suggested he didn't rely entirely on others to do his fighting for him.
I knew I should refuse to shake his hand. Knew I should make some polite excuse and walk away before this insane attraction could develop into something more dangerous. Knew that everything about this situation was wrong on every level that mattered.
Instead, I placed my hand in his.
The moment our skin touched, electricity shot up my arm like I'd grabbed a live wire. Adrian's pupils dilated instantly, his nostrils flaring as he scented me, and I heard a low growl rumble deep in his chest. Around us, the temperature seemed to rise by several degrees, and I was dimly aware of other supernatural beings in the crowd turning to look in our direction with expressions of alarm.
"Elena Sterling," I managed to say, my voice coming out huskier than I'd intended. "And you're Adrian Nightshade."
His hand tightened around mine, and I felt the barely leashed power in his grip. He was fighting for control just as hard as I was, his wolf clearly as affected by our proximity as mine was.
"You know who I am," he said, and it wasn't quite a question.
"I know what you are," I replied carefully. "The question is whether you know what I am."
His smile widened, showing teeth that were just a little too sharp to be entirely human. "Oh, I know exactly what you are, Elena Sterling. The question is what you're doing here, and whether you realize how dangerous this game you're playing really is."
Victoria was practically hyperventilating with excitement at the sexual tension crackling between us, but Marcus looked like he was watching a natural disaster unfold in slow motion. He clearly understood the implications of a Blackwood and a Nightshade being drawn to each other, even if he didn't know my true identity.
"Perhaps," Marcus said carefully, "we should move this conversation somewhere more private?"
Adrian's eyes never left mine as he replied, "An excellent suggestion. Ms. Sterling, would you care to join me for some air? The balcony is lovely this time of evening."
I should say no. I should make an excuse, walk away, pretend this moment had never happened. Adrian Nightshade was everything I should hate and fear, the heir to a family that had spent generations trying to destroy mine.
But when I looked into those storm-blue eyes, I saw something that called to the deepest part of my soul. Recognition. Hunger. A loneliness that matched my own and a darkness that promised he would understand the monster I'd become.
"I'd like that," I heard myself say.
He offered me his arm with old-world courtesy, and I placed my hand on his sleeve, feeling the corded muscle beneath the expensive fabric. As he led me through the crowd toward the balcony doors, I was acutely aware of every point of contact between us, every brush of his body against mine as we navigated the room.
Other party guests watched us pass with varying degrees of interest and alarm. The humans saw two beautiful people who were clearly attracted to each other. The supernatural beings in attendance saw something far more dangerous – natural enemies being drawn together by forces beyond their control.
The balcony was blissfully quiet after the noise of the ballroom, offering a stunning view of Manhattan's glittering skyline. The spring evening was warm enough to be comfortable, with just enough breeze to stir the ends of my carefully arranged hair.
Adrian led me to the far end of the balcony, away from the few other couples who had sought privacy in the night air. When we were alone, he turned to face me, and I could see the hunger burning in his eyes like blue flames.
"So," he said conversationally, though his voice carried an undercurrent of barely controlled desire, "Elena Sterling. Mysterious businesswoman with no history before six months ago, working for Damien Cross, attending charity galas thrown by Margaret Blackwood. Tell me, what's a nice girl like you doing in a family feud like this?"
My breath caught. He knew. Somehow, he'd figured out the connection between Elena Sterling and the Blackwood family.
"I don't know what you mean," I said carefully, but he stepped closer, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from his body.
"Your scent," he said softly, his eyes beginning to glow with an otherworldly light. "It's familiar. Old blood. Powerful blood. Blood that my wolf recognizes even if it's been... altered somehow."
He was close enough now that I had to tilt my head back to meet his eyes, close enough that his proximity was making rational thought nearly impossible. My body was responding to his nearness in ways that had nothing to do with logic and everything to do with the primal recognition that was driving both our wolves to distraction.
"You're wrong," I whispered, but even I could hear how unconvincing I sounded.
"Am I?" He reached up and traced one finger along my jawline, the touch so gentle it was almost reverent. "Then why does every instinct I possess tell me to either claim you or kill you? Why does my wolf recognize you as something precious and dangerous and absolutely forbidden?"
His touch was setting my skin on fire, sending waves of sensation through me that made it hard to breathe. I'd never experienced anything like this, not even with Damien during the height of our supposed love affair. This was deeper, more primal, more terrifying in its intensity.
"Because," I said, abandoning all pretense of denial, "you know exactly what I am. The question is whether you're brave enough to do anything about it."
For a moment, we stood frozen like that, his hand cupping my face while the air between us crackled with enough sexual tension to power half of Manhattan. I could see the war playing out behind his eyes – desire warring with duty, hunger fighting against centuries of inherited hatred.
Then his control snapped.
He kissed me with a desperation that spoke of need and denial and three years of dreams he'd probably tried to forget. His lips were firm and demanding, his hands fisting in my carefully arranged hair as he pulled me against him with enough force to steal my breath.
I kissed him back with equal fervor, my hands sliding up his chest to tangle in that midnight hair as three years of loneliness and pain and desperate hunger poured out of me. He tasted like sin and salvation, like everything I'd never known I wanted and everything I'd been afraid to dream of.
When we finally broke apart, we were both breathing hard, our carefully constructed facades in tatters around us.
"This is insane," he said roughly, his forehead resting against mine. "You're supposed to be my enemy."
"I am your enemy," I whispered back, my lips still tingling from the kiss. "And you're mine. But right now, I don't care."
He laughed, a sound that was part humor and part despair. "Do you have any idea what you're doing to me? My wolf is going absolutely mad. He wants to claim you, mark you, drag you back to my den and never let you leave."
"And what do you want?" I asked, surprised by my own boldness.
His eyes met mine, and I saw heat and hunger and something deeper that made my heart skip a beat. "I want to know who you really are. I want to know why you smell like Blackwood blood but look like a moon goddess. I want to know what game you're playing and whether you realize that it could get us both killed."
Before I could answer, the balcony doors opened and other party guests began spilling out into the night air. Adrian stepped back immediately, his expression smoothing into the mask of polite interest that successful businessmen wore to social functions.
"Ms. Sterling," he said formally, though his eyes still burned with the intensity of what had just passed between us. "Thank you for the conversation. I hope we'll have the opportunity to continue it soon."
He handed me his business card, his fingers brushing mine in a contact that sent another jolt of electricity through my system. "Call me," he said quietly, his voice pitched low enough that only supernatural hearing could have caught it. "Soon."
Then he was gone, disappearing back into the crowd with the same fluid grace that had brought him to my side. I stood alone on the balcony, my lips still tingling from his kiss, staring down at the business card in my trembling hands.
Adrian Nightshade, CEO, Nightshade Industries. There was a phone number embossed in elegant script, and on the back, written in strong, masculine handwriting, were four words that made my heart race:
"The hunt begins now."
I looked up at the moon hanging silver and full over Manhattan's skyline, and felt my fate shifting like tectonic plates beneath my feet. I'd come here tonight to gather intelligence on my enemies and further my plans for revenge.
Instead, I'd found something far more dangerous.
I'd found my mate.
And he was the one person in the world I was supposed to hate above all others.
End of Chapter 3