Page 9

Maya

The scent of roasted garlic and seared meat fills the catering kitchen as I inspect the latest round of samples. Chef Marcus slides another plate toward me—filet mignon, perfectly seared and glistening. My wolf perks up at the rich aroma, and I have to resist the urge to devour it whole.

"We've adjusted the seasoning as you suggested," Marcus says, his experienced eyes watching my reaction. "Less pepper to accommodate the enhanced senses of our shifter guests."

I take a careful bite, letting the buttery richness melt on my tongue. The meat is tender enough to satisfy even the most discerning supernatural palate, while the subtle blend of herbs won't overwhelm sensitive wolf noses. Perfect.

"This is exactly what we need," I say, jotting notes in my planner. "The vampires might not eat, but the shifters will appreciate this."

My mind drifts to the menu planning session with Adrian a few days ago. He'd insisted on being involved in every detail of the gala, looming over my shoulder as we reviewed options. I remember the way his breath caught when I'd reached past him for a menu, the electric tension that crackled between us.

Marcus's voice pulls me back to the present. "We'll have stations set up exactly as discussed—seafood here, carving station there." He gestures around the kitchen. "And the blood-wine bar will be separate, as requested."

I nod, checking another item off my list. The gala isn't just a corporate event anymore—it's a statement. A chance to show the supernatural community that we aren't just surviving, we're thriving. And somehow, I've become integral to making it happen.

My phone buzzes. Another message from Sawyer about security protocols. The hunters have everyone on edge, and Adrian's insisting on unprecedented precautions. Extra wards, enhanced patrols, background checks on every server and vendor. Part of me wants to call it paranoid, but after the recent attacks...

"The dessert course?" I prompt, pushing away darker thoughts.

Marcus grins, producing an elegant plate of dark chocolate mousse topped with gold leaf. "For our more traditional guests. And..." He reveals a second plate. "Blood orange sorbet for our vampiric attendees. A little culinary wordplay."

I can't help but smile. It's exactly the kind of detail that will help bridge the divide between species—something I've learned is crucial in my months at Blackwell Corp. When I first started, I thought Adrian's obsession with these details was controlling. Now I understand he sees what I couldn't: every choice is political, every detail matters.

This is the work I always wanted to do, even if I didn't know it while slinging hash browns at the diner. Making a real difference, helping build something lasting.

After approving the final menu items, I shake the chef’s hand and gather my things. My heels click softly against the tile floor as I weave through the back hall toward the exit.

I check my phone as I walk through the kitchen's back hallways. Several messages from Olivia flash across the screen:

**Olivia:** *Dress fitting at 3 tomorrow! Don't you dare be late.*

**Olivia:** *Also... so are we pretending you're NOT excited to see your broody boss tonight?*

I roll my eyes, fighting back a grin.

**Me:** *You're ridiculous.*

**Olivia:** *I'm right and you know it.*

A warm flutter settles in my stomach. She is right, damn her. The memory of the pack run floods back—Adrian's wolf, huge and powerful, running beside mine through moonlit woods.

My wolf pushes closer to the surface, remembering. Wanting.

I force myself to focus on my checklist. Flowers confirmed. Security briefing completed. Seating arrangements triple-checked to avoid any territorial disputes. Being Adrian's assistant means anticipating problems before they arise, and tonight has the potential for plenty.

The Howling Pines pack still isn't happy about Blackwell Corp's presence in town. Theo tries to hide it, but I catch the tension in his jaw whenever Adrian's name comes up. And the vampires... Lucien D'Arcy's RSVP came with so many conditions and caveats that it took two days just to negotiate where his coven would be seated.

I push through the kitchen's back door into the evening air, writing a quick message to Adrian. The sun has nearly set, painting the sky in deep purples and blues. My wolf suddenly goes still, every instinct screaming that something's wrong.

The usual scents of asphalt and pine are tainted by something sharper—acrid sweat, metal, and a chemical tang that makes my nose burn. My heart pounds as I realize what my wolf already knows: we're not alone.

I whip around, but it's too late.

A figure lunges from the shadows. I barely have time to snarl before a needle pierces my neck. Wolfsbane. Fire ignites in my veins, spreading like molten lead through my blood. My muscles seize as the poison works its way through my system.

I stagger, trying desperately to shift, to let my wolf take over. Another set of hands clamps silver-lined cuffs around my wrists. Agony sears through my skin, the metal burning like acid.

"Got her," a rough voice mutters.

Fighting through the pain, I slam my elbow backward, feeling cartilage crunch as I connect with someone's face. A curse. The satisfaction is brief—my limbs are growing heavier, my thoughts clouding. The wolfsbane is working too fast.

My phone clatters to the ground. Adrian. I need to call... but my fingers won't cooperate. My vision swims, dark spots creeping at the edges.

A cloth presses over my mouth, reeking of chemicals. My wolf's fury turns to panic as our shared consciousness begins to fade.

No. *No.*

The last thing I hear before the darkness swallows me whole is a low chuckle.