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A soft gasp escaped Luca’s lips, echoing in the sudden silence. His feet left the marble floor as he startled upward, the soft material of his lavender sweater rising to reveal a sliver of pale skin as he floated. Papers scattered. Someone’s coffee cup crashed to the floor. The marketing director’s presentation clicker skittered across marble.

“Easy there, little bat.” Archer’s arm circled his waist, drawing him back to earth with gentle efficiency. “Though I have to say, the floating thing is new.”

Luca made a sound somewhere between a squeak and a whimper. The marketing team stared, frozen between shock at their reclusive prince’s appearance and uncertainty about proper protocol when said prince suddenly defied gravity.

“Time for a tactical retreat,” Archer declared cheerfully, guiding his mortified brother toward Zane’s office. “Sorry about interrupting. Carry on with the, what was it? ‘Youthful but mature, fresh but sophisticated, innovative but classic’ campaign?”

Luca’s attempt to merge with Archer’s suit jacket only intensified as he ushered him through the office door. Ryker closed it behind them, shutting out the whispers and stares.

The cherry blossom scent filled Zane’s office, delicate yet impossibly potent. His wolf stirred restlessly, wanting to get closer, to protect, to… He forced the strange urge down, though he noticed both his brothers subtly shifting closer to where Luca still attempted to hide behind Archer.

“I wasn’t spying,” Luca mumbled into Archer’s jacket. “I was just… observing. For educational purposes.”

“Of course you were,” Archer’s grin softened as he guided him to one of the leather chairs. “And your educational floating technique was very impressive.”

Luca sank into the chair, immediately drawing his knees up to make himself smaller. “I didn’t mean to float. Sometimes gravity just… forgets about me when I’m startled.”

“It’s good to see you exploring,” Ryker said carefully, his usual diplomatic tone gentled further. His wolf, typically the calmest of the three, paced with unusual agitation. The sweet scent of cherry blossoms seemed to call to something primitive and protective in all of them.

“The company is part of your world now,” Zane added, watching as Luca swallowed hard, his tiny fangs catching his bottom lip again. He’d been doing that more frequently in thepast few minutes, a sure sign of hunger. “When did you last feed?”

Luca shook his head, then seemed to realize what he’d admitted. “I… I was going to. After the presentation. I mean, not that I was watching the presentation. I was just… passing by.”

Archer snorted. “Sure you were, sugar fang.”

“You haven’t eaten,” Zane stated, noting how he kept his eyes carefully averted from all of them. His wolf growled at the thought of him skipping meals.

“This morning?” It came out more like a question. “I’m fine, really…”

“That’s it.” Archer stood, scooping Luca up into his powerful arms before he could protest. “You need blood. No arguments.”

“But—” Luca squeaked, cradling against Archer’s chest. “I…” His protest died as Archer strode toward the elevator. He cast one desperate look at Zane but found no ally there—his wolf absolutely refused to let him skip meals.

Chapter 6

One would have thought that waking up as a vampire prince in an alternate reality would have come with some sort of instruction manual—a helpful guide to navigating one’s new supernatural corporate empire, perhaps. Alas, no such luck.

After my library adventure—and minor collision with an unfairly attractive brother—I had decided to do what any reasonable person would do: explore the massive skyscraper I apparently called home. The Whitlock Tower wasn’t merely a building; it was its own gleaming ecosystem. Sixty-eight floors of corporate dominance, where the Whitlock Group exercised their influence over… well, everything.

Real estate. Technology. Fashion. Hospitality. If it generated wealth or power, the Whitlocks had mastered it. The scope of their empire made my former company’s quarterly reports look like a child’s lemonade stand accounting.

Thanks to my newfound vampire stealth abilities—and possibly months of avoiding my previous boss—I had managed to explore undetected. Or so I thought. In my defense, vampire grace only functioned when one wasn’t thoroughly distracted bythe overwhelming scent of three ridiculously attractive brothers that seemed to permeate every floor.

Zane’s scent had dominated the executive suites—rich musk and amber that made my new fangs ache with its sophisticated power. Ryker’s warm spice and bergamot had lingered in the financial wing, and Archer’s playful citrus and sunshine had danced through the marketing department. It was like following an intoxicating treasure map where X marked “here be devastatingly handsome brothers whose blood smells like the finest vintage.”

I had maintained my composure admirably until I reached the 67th floor and encountered the marketing team struggling with their Beyond Beauty presentation. The same presentation I’d mastered in my world, except here they were missing every crucial mark. Their demographic analysis wandered aimlessly, their market positioning lacked focus, and their visuals…

“It needs more sparkle,” I had murmured before sense could prevail. “Elegant sparkle—like diamonds in moonlight, not a nightclub’s desperate attempt at glamour…”

And that’s when Archer had materialized behind me like some aristocratic wolf-ninja, and apparently surprise made baby vampires float. A rather crucial detail omitted from all vampire lore I’d previously encountered.

Now here I sat, curled in what was apparently my private sitting room and drinking AB negative from a crystal bottle with a lavender straw, while Archer watched me with unsettling intensity. Benedict hovered nearby, likely ensuring I neither floated off again nor discovered new walls to crash into.

“You’re supposed to finish all of it,” Archer reminded me, his silver eyes tracking every movement. “And do stop eyeing that door. I can literally hear you contemplating escape.”

I wasn’t contemplating escape. I was considering a strategic withdrawal—an entirely different matter.

“I’m perfectly fine,” I demurred around my straw, trying desperately to ignore how his scent filled the room, making my fangs tingle. “Really. You needn’t watch me drink.”