Tempting Fear

ONE (1)

ONE
"Grace, please put the top on," my manager's voice sounded weary. I couldn't blame him; I was tired of this conversation too.

As I swept my rag over the bar, the overhead lights illuminated the sparkle of the expensive ebony stone. Even though it was noon, the interior of the club was dimly lit. Jack Johnson's voice floated through the air, bouncing off the textured black and white walls.

"I still don't feel comfortable with the way it emphasizes my cleavage," I lied effortlessly, continuing to wipe down the bar.

"You agreed to wear the uniform when you got the job. The owner is coming in and he'll fire both of us if you don't comply," Callum, my manager, walked around to the other side of the bar, folding his skinny arms across his chest. Standing at about 5'7" and weighing less than 120 pounds, with his artfully-spiked blue hair, he was about as intimidating as a toothpick. "You know you're my favorite bartender. If you wear the top when our boss is here, I won't bring up the uniform again."

It was tempting.

Very tempting.

Callum shifted his weight to his other foot, and I caught an unexpected scent. Fear. Callum was genuinely afraid of our boss. If his blue hair and our six months working together taught me anything, it was that Callum wasn't easily scared. So, the fact that he was afraid...

Not a good sign.

I crossed over to the side of the bar I hadn't cleaned yet before responding.

"Fine."

Relief washed over Callum, so palpable that it filled the air. I couldn't always detect emotions through scent; they had to be incredibly strong for me to pick up on them. But Callum was practically emitting emotions.

Was our boss some kind of mobster?

"Great." Callum tried to maintain his sense of authority, but we both knew who was in control. My beastly side always kept me asserting dominance in subtle ways, and Callum noticed.

I finished cleaning the bar before striding through the doors that led to the kitchen. Tossing my rag into the sink, I headed for the break room and opened my locker. The day before, I had finally taped a photo of my mom and me to the inside of the metal box, marking it as mine after six months.

My fingertips brushed over my mom's face in the laminated picture. She had cinnamon hair framing pale white skin and hazel eyes that leaned more towards green than brown. She was beautiful, but it was her infectious smile that lingered in my memories. My throat tightened, and I tore my gaze away from the photo. Grabbing the sleek black tank top that had been sitting on the floor of my locker since my first day of work, I made my way to the bathroom.

I locked the door behind me and then tugged on it to make sure it was securely locked. Like Callum, there wasn't much that frightened me. Being caught off guard while changing didn't make the list. But if I were cornered, there would be no controlling my reaction. Transforming from human to massive wolf just to tear someone's head off for startling me in the bathroom wasn't exactly on my to-do list, so it was best to ensure that door was firmly locked.

My eyes scanned my reflection in the mirror. So much of me resembled my mother. I had her hazel eyes, although mine never appeared as green, and her facial structure and body shape. As far as smiles went, I wasn't sure how closely mine mirrored hers. It had been a long time since I genuinely smiled.

The only noticeable difference between our appearances was my hair. A vibrant reddish hue that I refused to admit bordered on pink, it must have come from my father.

Whoever and wherever he was.

The back of my thin, long-sleeved black top formed a deep V with a single thin strap holding it together at the shoulder blades, revealing most of my back. The front of the shirt rested at the base of my neck, covering my chest but, more importantly, my collarbone.

With a sigh, I pulled the top over my head and tossed it onto the counter beside the sink. The black glitter in the stone matched that of the bar, contrasting against the faded black fabric of my shirt. Cream-colored walls made the bathroom feel larger and cleaner than the dark interior of the nightclub.

My gaze fell upon the marking on my collarbone that I had spent the past thirteen years trying to ignore. It was always there, a brand that exposed me and marked me as different. A three-inch, faded, and stretched black ink tattoo of a single word:

WOLFSBANE.

The title I had been given at eight years old by the numerous werewolf Alphas who fought over me, passing me back and forth between packs as they tore each other apart. They had marked me with this word so that no matter where I ran, any other wolf who saw me would know exactly who and what I was.

I had been terrified of them at the time, and that fear had transformed into a burning hatred.

The air felt heavy in my lungs as I pulled on the skin-tight tank top. Though it modestly covered my average-sized chest, my tattoo was on full display. The chances of encountering another werewolf in a nightclub in the heart of New York City were incredibly slim, but there was still a possibility.

Shouldn't have given in to Callum.

I released my hair from its high ponytail, shaking it out. The strands cascaded almost to my waist, luckily without any creases from being tied up. After arranging my hair to cover the tattoo as much as possible, I left my own top in the locker and returned to the bar.

Callum whistled when he saw me.

"I see why you don't like the uniform. Every straight man who walks in here will hit on you."

I rolled my eyes and turned my attention to a pair of customers, two well-dressed men. They exuded an air of sophistication, like most people willing to pay the exorbitant prices at our Manhattan club.

"Hello, beautiful. I haven't seen you here before," the first man's gaze fixed on my hair before lingering on my chest. "Why wolfsbane?"

Just as I had expected.

The hair captured their attention, the tattoo held it, and then the cleavage took over.

ONE (2)

“I usually work nights, and that’s personal. What can I get you?”
"I typically work nights, and that's personal. What can I get you?" I took their orders and swiftly made my way to the bar to prepare their drinks before they could pry any further. Callum, my coworker, flashed a knowing smile as he assisted me in mixing the beverages. Once they were ready, I returned to the men.

The one who hadn't engaged in any flirtatious behavior thanked me and headed towards one of our booths. However, the persistent flirtatious man seemed oblivious to my disinterest. He slid a folded $100 bill across the bar, his practiced smile revealing his true intentions.

Little did he know, I was just as skilled at manipulation.

"Tell me the story behind the tattoo," he insisted, his eyes once again wandering towards my chest. Annoyed by his gaze, I glanced at the cash, feigning indifference, before meeting his gaze. 

"My personal life is worth more than a hundred bucks," I retorted, hoping to dissuade him from pursuing this line of conversation.

To my surprise, the wealthy man took it as a challenge and slid another hundred dollar bill my way. Without missing a beat, I discreetly tucked both bills into my bra and turned to walk away.

"You owe me a story, brown-eyes," he called after me.

"Don't remember promising one," I shot back, confident in my ability to manipulate the situation. The man hesitated, and I knew I had him hooked. With an extra sway in my step, I sauntered back to his seat, determined to extract as much money from him as possible.

He took a leisurely sip of his old-fashioned, then slid two more bills across the counter. His fingers remained firmly on the money, challenging me.

But I never backed down from a challenge.

Well, unless it involved running for my life.

"My mom was murdered a couple of months ago. The tattoo serves as a reminder to fight against the predators who would do something like that," I lied, my voice filled with a concoction of pain and determination.

The man's eyebrows shot up as he finally lifted his fingers from the money. I swiftly pocketed it alongside my other tips, planning to settle the bar's cut at the end of the day.

"I'm so sorry," he murmured, his flirty mood extinguished by my fabricated story.

"Enjoy your drink," I replied, walking away once more. This time, he didn't stop me.

Returning to Bohdi, my coworker, I assisted him in making drinks for the rest of our customers. He discreetly extended his hand below the bar, and I high-fived him, acknowledging his appreciation for my skill in handling wealthy patrons.

"This is why you're my favorite bartender; you know how to handle rich guys," Bohdi remarked.

"I've had my fair share of experience with men who believe the world revolves around them," I replied dryly.

"Clearly," he chuckled.

As I served more customers, I settled into my routine. Each time someone inquired about my tattoo, my story evolved slightly. The truth remained hidden, as it wasn't theirs to know.

Suddenly, a tall, dark-haired man entered the establishment in the early afternoon, immediately capturing my attention. His scent permeated the air, triggering my primal instincts. I fought to suppress the urge to shift into my wolf form and flee. Before I could make my escape, Callum grabbed my arm, preventing fur from breaking through my skin.

I despised being touched.

"I feel sick, I need to go," I pleaded, attempting to free my arm from his grasp. But Callum's grip was stronger than I anticipated.

The other werewolf approached us, and I exerted every ounce of willpower to remain in my human form. Escaping was futile, and staying human felt equally impossible.

"Mr. Howard," Callum greeted the werewolf as he settled onto a stool in front of us.

Shit, he was the owner of the nightclub.

With his towering 6'3" frame, blue designer suit, and meticulously styled hair, the man exuded wealth and confidence. Callum, on the other hand, radiated fear. I didn't blame him. My own encounters with dominant men left me yearning to escape just as desperately, if not more so.

"Callum," Mr. Howard responded, devoid of any nod or smile. His gaze locked onto me. "And who are you?"

I could sense that I had surpassed Callum on Mr. Howard's scale of importance solely through my scent. Folding my arms, I narrowed my eyes at the werewolf before me. While I couldn't determine if he was an Alpha or not, I could discern his strength. Stronger than me, at least. Male werewolves possessed different strengths than females, and if this man pursued me, he would catch me.

But it didn't hurt to attempt intimidation.

"This is Grace Garcia, our star bartender. I mentioned her to you over the phone," Callum stammered, uncertain due to Mr. Howard's lack of acknowledgment.

"Grace Garcia," Mr. Howard repeated my name, his gaze roaming up and down my body. My hair partially concealed the "NE" of my "wolfsbane" tattoo, but his eyes immediately honed in on it.

"And you?" I dispensed with pleasantries, knowing that I would be leaving New York the moment this man departed. He wouldn't be my boss for much longer.

"Henry Howard. Callum, can I have a minute alone with our star bartender?" Henry finally tore his gaze away from me, still ignoring Callum.

"Sure. I mean, if it's okay with Grace..." Callum trailed off, turning to me.

He instantly became my favorite person. It had been years since someone asked for my consent. The fact that Callum cared, despite his fear of the werewolf in front of us, made me feel like the four hundred bucks tucked inside my bra.

"Sure. Can you take care of them for me?" I tilted my head towards the couple waiting on the other end of the bar. Callum left me alone with Henry.

As the owner, the werewolf was aware that I had been working for him for six months. There was no point in trying to convince him that I was merely visiting New York or any other fabricated story. I would need an impeccable lie to navigate this situation.

"You've been encroaching on my territory for half a year. What pack are you from? Wolves are supposed to register with the Alpha as soon as they relocate," Henry spoke rapidly, his voice barely audible to anyone else.

ONE (3)

“My pack is out in Washington. My Alpha said he was going to call you for me.” I lied. Not well enough.
"My pack is out in Washington. My Alpha said he was going to call you for me," I lied, attempting to sound convincing but failing miserably.

"If he had, you wouldn't be out here unprotected. This city isn't a safe place for a woman to walk around alone." Henry glanced around the room, his bored expression masking his true intentions.

Was this just a front or his real personality?

"I'll register with your pack as soon as I get off work. Where can I find them?" I asked, already planning my escape.

"They're close by. I'll take you to meet the Alpha when I'm done with the manager." Henry stepped away from the bar, pulling out his phone. His fingers danced across the screen, and I couldn't help but wonder if he was texting his Alpha.

I glanced towards the kitchen, contemplating my escape route. But I could feel Henry's eyes on me, knowing he was watching my every move. Running away while he was paying attention would be foolish, not to mention impossible. He was a wolf, after all, and I knew he would relish the chase.

The feeling of his gaze disappeared as he walked over to Callum, but it quickly returned. It seemed like this guy wasn't going to look away from me for long.

I needed to act normal. I continued serving customers, playing the role of a rich girl to earn generous tips. One customer even left me $150, though I knew it wouldn't be enough to buy anything at the boutique they were raving about. But I played along, pretending to be interested.

Callum showed Henry around the building as they met, but the werewolf's attention never wavered from me for more than a few seconds.

Joining Henry's pack was out of the question. He may not have known the meaning behind my tattoo, but someone in his pack likely would. And that was a risk I couldn't take.

When Callum and Henry approached, I waved them over. "I need a quick bathroom break," I told my manager. Callum took his place behind the bar, and I locked eyes with Henry, projecting confidence. If he had any doubts about me, he would follow me to the bathroom. Male wolves were relentless, and when they set their sights on something or someone...

In my experience, they always got what they wanted.

Henry nodded, and I suppressed an eye roll. As if I needed permission to use the bathroom.

Walking into the back room, I tried to maintain an air of confidence. I acknowledged the bartender who would be taking over for Callum and headed straight for my locker, panic slowly creeping in. I grabbed my shirt from the bottom, tore my photo off the inside of the locker door, and slung my purse over my shoulder.

Then I ran.

Slipping out the back door was easy, but I had no car or anything to mask my scent as I made my escape. This was New York, after all. If I could just reach the subway, I might have a chance at getting away with my freedom intact. It was only a few blocks away.

I cursed myself for not changing clothes immediately upon leaving. Despite the crowds and the sun still high in the sky, it was freezing cold. October weather in New York City was harsher than I anticipated.

The first block passed without incident, and I allowed myself to relax just a little. Although the humans around me would have masked Henry's scent if he was following me, I was certain he would have caught up to me by now if he knew who I really was and where I was going.

The second block came and went, and I felt a surge of giddiness.

Just one more block, and I would be home-free.

After the third block, I let out a long-held breath and almost smiled. Almost.

My foot was about to descend onto the first step leading down to the trains when a large hand wrapped around my wrist and pulled me back. I spun around, my chest colliding with the front of the man who had grabbed me.

My chin tilted upward to meet a pair of intense dark blue eyes belonging to a guy with more muscles than anyone I'd ever seen. The contact between his hard chest and my soft curves sent a jolt of electricity through me, making me want to purr like a damn cat.

What the hell was wrong with me?

"Grace Garcia," he growled in a low, sexy voice. He looked young, probably only twenty-three or twenty-four. At twenty-one myself, that was the perfect age for the sexiest man I had ever encountered.

Except every fiber of my being told me he was the one in charge of the New York Pack.

And Alphas were assholes. Every single one of them.

I mentally shook myself. Regardless of this guy's looks or my inexplicable attraction to him, I needed to get away before he realized who I was and tried to take advantage of it.

"Let go of me," I said, attempting to sound threatening. Standing next to the Alpha and his towering six and a half feet of muscle, I knew I looked about as tough as a pencil. So my odds of being released were slim to none.

To my surprise, he released me and took a step back.

"My name is Zayden Ellis. I'm the Alpha here," he stated, as if it wasn't blatantly obvious.

"Well, thanks for stating the obvious, Zayden," I retorted sarcastically. "Great. I'm just going to head back to my pack in Washington now, if you don't mind." I pointed over my shoulder with my thumb and took a step backward. Unfortunately, I forgot that there were stairs behind me. My ankle twisted as my foot hit the top step, and I stumbled backwards.

Zayden caught me around the waist, his strong arm keeping me from falling. I wouldn't have believed an arm could be a turn-on until that moment, but damn.

"I can't let you leave," he said, his voice lacking any remorse as his eyes focused on the tattoo on my collarbone. I narrowed my eyes at the towering Alpha.

"I don't remember giving you permission to make decisions for me, Alpha," I snapped, stepping out of his grip without thanking him for saving me from a twisted ankle.

"Come to my pack's headquarters. We'll find a solution that works for both of us, Wolfsbane," he asserted, not backing down.

He had no problem standing up to me.

Pencil, meet boulder.

I wished I was the boulder.

"Can I at least get a please?" I asked, already knowing his answer.

Zayden rolled his eyes but captured my wrist in his hand, leading me back in the direction I had just come from. His eyes darkened as they fell upon the scars on my right hand, remnants of the hell I had survived.

"Please," he said, though we were already walking.

For some reason, it satisfied me.

TWO (1)

TWO
I had never encountered a pack with a designated "headquarters" before, and I considered myself well-versed in the realm of packs. Most packs either had a pack mansion or an Alpha House, but a headquarters? That was a new one.

When I laid eyes on the place, I understood why they didn't refer to it as their pack mansion. It was nothing short of a towering skyscraper.

"You own this place?" I couldn't help but view the colossal Alpha in a whole new light. He was clad in a gray hoodie, black joggers, and a baseball cap. Hardly the type of man you'd expect to own a skyscraper.

"Yup."

Zayden nodded at the receptionist on the ground floor, and I trailed behind him as we ventured further into the building, past the first elevator. As we approached a second elevator, he pressed a button, and we stood there together, engulfed in an uneasy silence. It wasn't exactly awkward, but it certainly wasn't comfortable either.

And I still struggled to connect this giant in a hoodie with the wealthy men who were willing to hand me four hundred dollars just to hear the story behind my tattoo. Especially since Zayden had let go of me earlier when I asked him to.

Having encountered enough Alphas, I knew that wasn't something a powerful man would do. He must have been playing me.

The elevator chimed, and we stepped inside. My eyebrows shot up to my forehead when I saw that the buttons extended all the way to forty-five.

Forty... five... floors.

What on earth could one pack possibly need forty-five floors for? I had never come across a pack with more than two hundred members, which meant there would be a mere four people per floor. And how big was each floor? 10,000 square feet? Maybe even 20,000? It all seemed rather ridiculous, considering I resided in a studio apartment that measured a grand total of three hundred square feet.

"How many people are in your pack?" I inquired. It was better to know than to wonder, especially if I needed to make a swift escape.

"Twelve-hundred." I felt his gaze on me as he spoke. Concealing my shock was no easy feat, but I managed to maintain a neutral expression. Escaping twelve-hundred werewolves would undoubtedly prove to be quite the challenge.

We ascended slowly from the ground floor to the very top. People entered and exited the elevator as it rose and stopped and rose some more, casting peculiar glances in our direction. We paid them no mind.

When the elevator finally chimed again, I felt a wave of nausea wash over me. A pack with this many members and this much wealth would stop at nothing to compel me to join them. Just when I had finally obtained my freedom, one single work meeting, one solitary day shift, threatened to cost me everything.

Of course, it had to be my luck to end up working for a freaking werewolf.

I followed Zayden into a room just outside the elevator. It was a rather spacious office, perched atop the skyscraper, indicating that it belonged to him. No Alpha would tolerate having an office below someone else's.

Two of the walls were entirely made of windows, while the other two sported a pleasant neutral gray paint.

Sinking into the sleek black loveseat against the wall, I crossed my arms over my chest. The only other pieces of furniture in the room were a gargantuan desk and chair, seemingly custom-made to accommodate the colossal Alpha. Werewolves could grow slightly larger than humans, thanks to the Alpha power coursing through their veins like steroids, but Zayden could legitimately pass as a giant.

"What do you want from me?"

Zayden's gaze stirred something within me, something I refused to acknowledge. My attraction to him was inconsequential; he was an Alpha.

"What do you think I want?"

"I think I've been manipulated by enough men to recognize when someone is trying to extract information from me. Either tell me what you want or let me go. Let's not waste time with the bullshit," I retorted.

There was no point in beating around the bush. Swearing at the Alpha, provoking his anger, that was the only way I would get somewhere.

Zayden remained on his feet, leaning against the wall. He didn't need to sit behind that colossal desk to exude authority; strength and power radiated from him. Not just Alpha power, which was rather impressive.

Most Alphas struggled to contain the power they used to control their wolves, allowing it to spill out uncontrollably. If Zayden Ellis truly governed over twelve-hundred wolves while maintaining control over his power, he possessed an incredible amount of willpower.

"People refer to you as 'Wolfsbane'," he stated. I managed to suppress any flinch at the mention of the name.

That name had served as an excuse for people to abuse and mistreat me for years, and I still hadn't grown accustomed to it. I doubted I ever would.

"They claim that whichever pack you belong to becomes immune to the nightly pull of their wolves."

Werewolf folklore had some truth to it, but humans were oblivious to a significant aspect of our existence. Some referred to it as the curse of our kind, while others simply regarded it as the baggage that came with being a werewolf.

Every evening, around ten or eleven, werewolves lost control over their ability to choose their form. They shifted into wolves and remained that way until the early hours of the morning. It was a loss of control that every werewolf experienced.

Except for me. And whichever pack I belonged to.

"So?" I neither confirmed nor denied his statement. I was a skilled liar, but the word tattooed across my collarbone served a purpose. Lying seemed like a futile effort at this point.

"Is it true?"

"What does it matter? You're going to force me to join you regardless."

Following my lead, Zayden also refrained from confirming or denying the statement. Any sane Alpha would desire my gift for their pack, and I understood that. I simply wasn't willing to trade my freedom and happiness in exchange for their possession of it.

"Why did you get the word tattooed on your skin if you don't like it?" he inquired instead. My eyebrows shot up.

"You think I tattooed this on myself?" I gestured to my collarbone.

I usually managed to keep my emotions in check, but when it came to my past, I couldn't help but become heated.

TWO (2)

“I was eight years old when an Alpha murdered my mother and pack right in front of me and then pinned me down while some lady tattooed me. I’d never write this on my body.”
"I was merely eight years old when an Alpha mercilessly slaughtered my mother and pack right before my very eyes, leaving me helpless as a lady etched a permanent mark upon my skin. It's not something I would ever choose to inscribe upon my body willingly." 

For a moment, he stood eerily still, as if engaged in an internal battle with his own primal instincts. I couldn't fathom the reason behind his sudden change in demeanor. Eventually, he relaxed slightly, though only enough to exit the room. The force with which he slammed the door reverberated through the entire frame.

"Now you've done it," I muttered to myself, sinking back into the plush leather cushions of the couch and closing my weary eyes. Surprisingly, the furniture proved softer than it appeared.

If there was any possibility of escape, I would have attempted it. However, I possessed enough common sense to understand that evading a pack of shifters spanning forty-five floors was an impossible feat. The self-defense classes I had taken and the countless YouTube videos I had watched had failed to equip me with the knowledge required to disable twelve hundred beings.

Retrieving my phone, I mindlessly scrolled through Pinterest for a few minutes until a yawn overcame me, stretching my entire face. It had been an eventful day, to say the least. A couple more minutes passed, and yet another yawn escaped me.

Since it seemed I would be waiting for quite some time, I decided to make myself comfortable. The modern couch lacked pillows or any other form of comfort, but as a stomach sleeper, I made do. Rolling onto my belly, I propped my shins against the armrest, allowing my body to align lengthwise. Supporting my head with my arm, I continued scrolling until my eyelids grew too heavy to resist.

"It's rather impressive, don't you think? The fact that she managed to fall asleep in the Alpha Male's office," a foreign female voice pondered.

A male voice responded with a rumble that suspiciously resembled, "Everything about her is impressive."

But that couldn't be right, could it? I forced my eyes open, tilting my head to catch a glimpse of the speakers. Zayden stood beside his desk, accompanied by an effortlessly beautiful girl sporting large round glasses and a messy ponytail.

Was she his mate?

While humans could marry on a whim, werewolves chose their life partners meticulously, as the bond was meant to last a lifetime.

A part of me despised the notion of this monstrous man being mated to someone other than myself, but I quickly extinguished that thought.

Why should I care if he was taken?

"Hello, Grace. I'm Fleur, the Alpha Female," she greeted tentatively.

I did not reciprocate her salutations. After all, I was essentially a captive, about to be coerced into joining their pack. Zayden had likely brought his mate along in an attempt to soften the blow. But it wouldn't work; there were just as many cruel women as there were men, albeit in different ways.

"Zayden informed me that you've been forced to join other packs due to your unique ability," Fleur observed, studying me intently. I ignored her prying gaze.

"Ability? I would consider it more of a curse." There was no point in denying it any longer. None of us questioned my true identity.

"Well, it could prove beneficial for our pack," Fleur remarked, pausing momentarily. "If you wish, we will allow you to leave right now."

Did she just...

What?

I could only blink at her for what felt like an eternity.

"Just like that?"

It seemed too good to be true.

"Indeed," Fleur shrugged. "You're a person, and so are we. You haven't done anything wrong, and you've been within our territory for approximately six months now."

I refrained from confirming or denying the duration of my stay, fearing it may lead to an unforeseen caveat. There was always a catch.

"I can leave?" I inquired once again, directing my gaze towards the male Alpha.

"You can," he confirmed. "However, we have a proposition that you might find enticing."

Were the leaders of this pack genuinely extending kindness towards me?

What in the world was happening?

"I think I'll just go. Thank you, though," I nodded at the Alphas, reaching for the doorknob. Just as I swung the door open, Fleur called out,

"Three hundred thousand dollars."

I froze, the door ajar and my face turned towards the elevator. My opportunity for freedom.

"Just like that?"

It seemed far too good to be true.

"Indeed," Fleur replied with a shrug. "You join our pack for one year, and we compensate you with three hundred thousand dollars. That offer was devised within twenty minutes. Given a bit more time, I'm certain we could extract double that amount from the pack." She paused, a confident smile playing upon her lips. "Furthermore, you'll reside in our skyscraper free of charge, surrounded by unrivaled security measures and a thousand werewolves willing to do whatever it takes to ensure your presence within the pack."

I stared out into the hallway.

Leaving would be effortless. They had assured me they wouldn't impede my departure, and they didn't appear to be toying with me.

But no one had ever offered me anything to be part of their pack. I had always been forced into it, often enduring cruel and agonizing methods.

There was no doubt that my former Alpha hadn't given up on finding me. I knew he would eventually locate me, but if he discovered me within the confines of this pack's headquarters, I would at least have a fighting chance to retain some semblance of freedom.

Moreover, considering my lack of savings, I didn't possess many resources. New York was an expensive city. If I stayed for a year, the pack's monetary compensation would go a long way in securing my permanent freedom.

"What's the catch?" I finally turned back towards the Alphas. Zayden stood rigidly, as if carved from stone, while Fleur exuded an air of relaxation and confidence. She knew she was offering something that would be difficult for me to refuse.

"The individuals funding this endeavor wish to ensure the safety of their investment. Therefore, you would require an enforcer by your side whenever you leave the skyscraper."

Enforcers served as the Alpha Pair's trusted right-hand men and women, often trained in combat to some extent.

Well... one guard wouldn't be too bad. I could always use them as a shield between myself and Ledger when the Colorado Alpha revealed his demonic visage. Having a strong individual watching my back wouldn't harm me.

"Fine. Deal," I acquiesced, pausing momentarily. "But I want six hundred thousand instead."

Fleur's grin widened.

"I knew you weren't a fool. Remove your shirt, and let us officially welcome you into the pack."

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