As Elena Carter walked under the lone orange glow of streetlights, Damien Blackwood loomed eighty-two stories over the city, encased in glass and steel. The world outside his office window was a silent, shimmering tapestry of light, a kingdom he had conquered and commanded. Each pinprick of light was a life, a story, a struggle he could not comprehend and did not want to. His kingdom was not one of struggle; it was one of raw, overwhelming domination.
His office was enormous, spare, and chilly. His desk was a single hunk of black marble, now empty except for a dark, streamlined laptop. The air was clean, antiseptic, redolent of the faint, costly scent of leather and his own personal signature—ozone and authority. He wore a charcoal, bespoke suit, the jacket thrown over the back of a chair, the white silk shirt creaking tight across his wide shoulders. He stood poised, hands behind his back, but within him, a hurricane raged.
For weeks, it had been a whisper. A faint, distracting aroma on the breeze that his sharp senses would pick up and lose, a ghost of a smell that promised… something. Something vital. Now, it was a roar. A persistent, driving tug on his very essence that had worn his iron restraint to the breaking point. It was the smell of petrichor and wild herbs, of an impending storm and a tenacious, hardy bloom growing on a cliff.
It was the smell of his mate. And it was making him crazy.
His wolf, that ancient, age-old creature that lay coiled within him, paced the walls of his mind, snarling with need. It had been centuries since the Blackwood clan had been graced with a true fated mate, and the beast inside him sensed the importance. It was demanding he hunt. It was demanding he locate her. Now.
A low growl rumbled in Damien's chest, a sound he barely suppressed. He turned from the window, his piercing golden eyes scanning the empty room as if he could find the source of his torment there. He had built a global empire on logic, on ruthless strategy and the complete absence of emotional distraction. This… this was chaos. This was a weakness he couldn't afford.
The office door slid open with almost soundless hiss. Marcus, his Beta and the person he trusted most, walked in, tablet in hand. His face, as ever, was serene and unreadable.
"The board is worried about the Helios deal," Marcus replied, his tone level. "You appeared… distracted at the meeting."
"I am," Damien replied, his voice a soft rasp. He moved towards his desk, filling a glass of water he did not need, needing the mundane action to calm him. "It's growing stronger. I can hardly focus. I can smell her in every breath of air that passes through the vents. It's making it more difficult to care about quarterly projections."
Marcus put the tablet aside. He was loyal to his Alpha, and he understood the laws that governed their kind much better than any corporate decree. "The pull is strongest when the bond is on the verge of being sealed. She's close. Damien. Here. In this city." Damien's fingers tightened their grip upon the glass, his knuckles whitening. "She is a distraction I do not need. Hunters have been prowling in the Eastern borders. The Bloodmoon Pack is probing our borders. And I am up here, going mad over a scent."
"She is not a distraction," Marcus gently corrected, his voice firm. "She is your destiny. Your anchor. Your greatest strength, once you find her."
Damien expelled a harsh breath, the sound harsh in the still room. Strength? It felt like madness. A fever that was clouding his mind and causing the wolf to claw at the bars of its cage. He had always been the master of his own will, the Alpha in every sense. To be so utterly undone by a woman he had never even laid eyes upon was a frightening vulnerability.
He shut his eyes. He opened his mind, stretching beyond the clinical walls of the tower, beyond the fumes of the exhaust and the constant roar of the city. He reached out for that solitary thread of smell, that one, vital odor now indelibly printed on his soul.
He discovered it.
Faint, but unmistakable. It was knotted with the scent of grease, bleach, and something else. despair. It was coming from the south. Miles from where his type of money never reached.
His eyes flashed wide open, the gold within them burning with sudden, undeniable intent. The hunt was on. Not with his fangs and claws, not yet. But the hunt had started. The boardroom, the deals, the empire—all receded into irrelevant background. The wolf was in control.
Cancel my morning," Damien ordered, his voice a low, firm growl. He strode toward the door, grabbing his suit jacket. "I'm leaving.".
Marcus nodded only, a flash of comprehension—and maybe relief—on his face. He had been expecting this. For his Alpha to finally accept the inevitable. "And your destination?"
Damien stood in the doorway, the smell drawing him, leading him. He had no face or name, only a far older hunger than any logical mind. "I'll know it when I find it."