POV – James Ashford
She walked into the office that morning with the quiet grace of someone who believed she belonged entirely in the ordinary world. Her dark hair was pinned loosely, a few strands soft against her cheeks. Her blouse was cream, tucked neatly into a charcoal skirt that moved with subtle elegance. Everything about her seemed meticulously human, precise, controlled — and yet, I knew better.
From the moment she arrived, I smelled it. The faint undercurrent beneath her: wildness, latent power, an instinct she had never named. Most humans walk through the world unaware of what courses through them. But she… she carried something extraordinary, a spark that had lain dormant for too long.
It was impossible to ignore.
I watched her handle the mundane rhythms of her day — emails, meetings, scheduling, conflict resolution — and yet every movement seemed heightened, almost fragile in its perfection. Her attention to detail, the way she folded a report, the faint tension in her shoulders when she answered questions — all of it told me she was meticulous, human in training, unaware of what she truly was.
But I smelled it again when she walked past my office — the subtle surge of energy, the heartbeat that quickened just beneath the surface. My wolf stirred at once, recognizing her in a way my human mind could barely comprehend. That pull, that recognition, was impossible to ignore.
She didn't know. Not yet.
And that made every encounter all the more dangerous, thrilling, irresistible.
I had to remind myself to remain composed. A predator cannot rush; it must wait. Observe. Guide. Protect. She was unaware, fragile in her ignorance of herself. But I could see the stirrings beginning — small flashes, subtle but undeniable. My wolf would have been ready to reach for her immediately, but I restrained it, keeping the mask of the human CEO firmly in place.
Her presence altered the entire office. It was subtle, something only I could feel — a vibration in the air, the way the light seemed to brush differently against polished surfaces when she passed. Other people might notice her, think her simply charming or intelligent, but they would never understand the depth of what she carried inside her.
I found myself thinking of her even when she wasn't near, imagining the curve of her smile, the tilt of her head when she concentrated. Each time she glanced toward my office, I felt the pull of inevitability tighten, like gravity bending toward the center of our connection.
She would awaken soon. That much I knew. And when she did, there would be no turning back.
I could smell the shift in her today — the heightened awareness, the subtle tension in her breath, the quickened pulse under her skin. It was as if the moon itself had brushed against her, brushing against the wildness she did not yet recognize.
I allowed myself a small, imperceptible smile, a silent acknowledgment of what was coming. She was extraordinary. And I would be there when she discovered it — guiding, protecting, even if she did not yet know she needed it.
The rest of the office went on around us, mundane and unaware. But I knew the truth: a storm was awakening inside her. And the moment she fully recognized it, her life — and mine — would never be the same.
The city glittered beneath me as I stepped into the streets of Belgravia, the elegant historic district where my home stood — a townhouse of four stories, discreet yet commanding, perfectly blending the dignity of history with the comfort of modern life. From the outside, it seemed just another refined residence. Inside, it was a sanctuary, a space where I could shed the mask of CEO and embrace the truth of who I was: alpha of the London pack, predator, protector, and strategist.
The front door opened with a soft click, and the familiar scent of cedar and aged wood greeted me. The marble floors reflected the warm glow of lamps I always left lit, casting gentle light across the furniture carefully chosen to balance elegance and functionality. My wolf stirred immediately, stretching beneath the surface of my skin, sensing the quiet of the house, the latent energy lingering from the city outside, and — inevitably — the presence of what I had been feeling all day: Elena Dorne.
She had entered my mind again this morning, unbidden. Her scent, faint yet unmistakable, brushed against the edges of my consciousness. She was human in form but not in essence. Her blood carried something wild, something ancient, something my wolf recognized instantly. I could not act — not yet. She was unaware of her own power, unaware of the pulse that had begun to quicken beneath her skin. But I could feel it, and it pulled at me with a force I had not encountered in centuries.
I moved through the house with deliberate calm. Ground floor: the hall leading to the living room, lined with bookshelves, rare artifacts, and photographs of those I considered family — some by blood, others by loyalty. The scent of vanilla from a single burning candle mingled with cedar and polished wood. My kitchen, modern yet tasteful, awaited the preparation of a simple dinner — tonight, seared salmon with sautéed vegetables. Even in solitude, I maintained ritual and precision. My wolf, restless, obeyed only when commanded.
Ascending to the second floor, I passed my study. Walls of glass framed the city skyline, and inside, every surface was organized with meticulous care: contracts, documents, personal files — the human world that demanded I wear a mask of composure, control, and authority. Ashford Industries relied on me to be infallible, efficient, untouchable. Employees, colleagues, even board members, saw the CEO, the visionary, the untouchable man. They did not see the predator beneath, the alpha who sensed every heartbeat, every whisper, every movement of his pack — and, now, of her.
The upper floors held the private quarters: guest rooms for occasional visitors, a library for quiet reflection, and my own suite — large, austere, but imbued with warmth through subtle touches: a Persian rug, dark wood furniture, and windows wide enough to drink in the night sky. This was where I allowed myself to breathe, to feel, to let the wolf move freely within.
Lucian, my cousin and second-in-command, would often arrive here for strategy discussions, sometimes bringing his sharp humor to challenge me, though he respected the boundaries of authority I maintained. Selene, my sister, visited less frequently, but when she did, the air thrummed with tension and loyalty in equal measure. My pack — my family — operated here, in this sanctuary, as much as it did in the shadows of London.
And through it all, my thoughts drifted inevitably to Elena. She was unaware, fragile in her ignorance, yet extraordinary in ways that set my instincts on fire. Every memory of her — the curve of her lips, the subtle sway of her walk, the pulse beneath her calm exterior — resonated within me. The wolf within me howled in recognition. My human mind restrained it, tempered it, but could not extinguish it.
I poured a glass of bourbon, neat, savoring the burn as I leaned against the window of my suite. The streets below continued, oblivious, human lives moving in neat patterns. Above them, in my domain, I allowed myself a small, private smile. She would awaken soon. And when she did, I would be ready — to guide, to protect, to claim. Not out of ownership, but out of necessity.
Because she was extraordinary. And I had been waiting for someone like her all my life