Eli
These damn formal events are going to be the death of me.
I tug at my collar for the hundredth time, feeling like I'm being slowly strangled by Italian silk.
The ballroom of the Blackwell estate glitters with more wealth than I've ever seen in one place—crystal chandeliers throwing rainbow prisms across marble floors, candlelight dancing on polished surfaces, the air thick with perfume and power.
And tension. Always tension when this many alphas gather in one place.
I snag a whiskey from a passing server and take a long drink, scanning the crowd.
I spot Adrian near the balcony, surveying his kingdom with that characteristic intensity. The hunter attack is still fresh in everyone's minds—a reminder that danger lurks beyond these walls. But tonight isn't about fear. It's about showing strength.
I make my way through the crowd, nodding at familiar faces.
Theo stands near the entrance, deep in conversation with Sawyer—no doubt discussing security protocols.
Lucien D'Arcy lounges by the bar, swirling a glass of blood-infused wine with elegant fingers, watching the room with detached amusement.
Adrian doesn't turn as I approach, but his posture shifts slightly—a silent acknowledgment.
"I'll never get used to this," I mutter, adjusting my collar again. The wolf inside me chafes at the confinement, the formality, the pretense.
Adrian arches a brow, still watching the crowd. "Used to what?"
"This," I gesture broadly at the spectacle before us. "Dancing, small talk, pretending we're civilized creatures."
A hint of a smirk touches Adrian's lips. "You're the one who insisted on attending."
I shrug, taking another sip of my drink. "Had to see it for myself. You, of all people, hosting a damn gala." I can't resist needling him a little. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you're starting to enjoy this whole community-building thing."
Adrian doesn't respond, but I know him well enough to read the subtle shift in his expression. The lone wolf is learning to run with a pack again.
"You're not a lone wolf anymore, you know," I say, voicing the thought.
Before Adrian can respond, something catches my attention—a flicker of movement near one of the grand columns at the edge of the ballroom. My senses sharpen, focusing on the disturbance.
A child. A small girl with wide eyes, peeking out from behind the pillar.
Something in my chest tightens. Children don't belong at an event like this—too many predators, too many politics.
"Were kids invited to this thing?" I ask, already moving toward her.
"No," Adrian replies, his tone wary.
I sigh, already stepping away. "I'll take care of it."
"Eli." Adrian's voice stops me. "Everything alright?"
I pause, glancing back. Something stirs in my chest—an inexplicable pull toward the child, a protective instinct that feels both foreign and familiar.
"Always is," I say, flashing my trademark grin to mask the strange feeling. "Go find your mate, Adrian. Some of us have more important things to deal with than fancy parties."
I move through the crowd with purpose, keeping my eyes on the little girl. She doesn't run when she sees me approaching—just watches with curious eyes that seem too knowing for her age.
As I draw closer, a scent hits me—wild, earthy, threaded with something softer. Something that makes my wolf stir with sudden interest.
What the hell?
I crouch down a few feet away from her, making myself smaller, less threatening. "Hey there," I say softly. "You're not supposed to be in here."
The girl tilts her head, studying me with unnerving intensity. She can't be more than six or seven, with a delicate face and bright, intelligent eyes.
"You're a wolf," she says simply. Not a question.
I blink, surprised. "Yes," I admit. "I am. How did you know that?"
Instead of answering, she steps forward and presses her tiny hand against my chest, right over my heart. The gesture is so unexpected, so disarming, that I go completely still.
My wolf, normally restless in these formal settings, quiets. Protect , it whispers. Pack .
"Where are your parents?" I ask gently.
The girl hesitates, glancing toward the staff entrance. I follow her gaze and spot a woman in a server's uniform frantically searching the room, her movements sharp with panic.
And then it hits me—the full force of that scent I'd caught earlier, now unmistakable as the woman turns in our direction.
She's stunning in the most unassuming way—warm brown eyes wide with worry, her long, wavy chestnut hair hastily pulled back from her face.
I can see the graceful curve of her neck, the delicate line of her collarbones visible above her shirt.
There's a quiet strength in the way she holds herself, shoulders squared despite her obvious distress.
Something about her draws me in—not just her beauty, but a resilience that radiates from her like heat.
My wolf goes utterly still.
Mate .
The realization slams into me like a physical blow, leaving me momentarily stunned.
I hadn't been expecting it—hadn't even thought about finding a mate, not after thirty-six years of nothing.
And she's human . The shock of it freezes me in place, my mind racing to catch up with what my instincts already know with bone-deep certainty.
My wolf doesn't care about my confusion. She's ours .
I clench my jaw, forcing myself to stay still, to not react. If she were a shifter, she'd recognize the bond too—but she's human, which means she has no idea what's happening between us. What's happening to me.
It's the first time in my life that I feel truly off-balance. I've faced down hunters and rival packs without flinching, but this—this unexpected connection—makes my heart hammer against my ribs.
The little girl tugs at my sleeve. "That's my sister," she whispers, pointing toward the woman. "She's looking for me."
Sister, not mother. I file that information away as I watch the woman's frantic movements. There's fear in her posture—the kind I recognize from years of working with displaced supernaturals. It's not just worry; it's the hypervigilance of someone who's been hunted.
"I should go back," the girl says, but she doesn't move. Instead, she looks up at me with those too-wise eyes. "Are you one of the people building the safe place?"
I nod, unable to look away from her sister. "I am."
"Good." She smiles, revealing a missing front tooth. "Grace says we need to find the safe place."
Grace. My mate's name is Grace.
The sound of it resonates through me, settling into my bones like it belongs there. Grace. I've never been a poetic man, but there's something about the name that fits her—the quiet dignity in her movements, even as panic drives her forward.
The woman—Grace—finally spots us, and for a moment she freezes, relief washing over her features before wariness takes its place. She moves through the crowd with purpose, her eyes never leaving the little girl.
And fuck, my mate is afraid.
I can smell it on her—the sharp tang of fear mixed with determination. She's not just worried about the girl; she's afraid of what happens next. Of me.
My wolf bristles at the thought. Every instinct in my body screams to protect her, to make her feel safe, but I force myself to remain still. The last thing a frightened woman needs is a strange man making sudden movements.
Grace reaches us and immediately pulls the girl close, her grip firm but not unkind. "Willow," she breathes, dropping to her knees. "What did I tell you about wandering off?"
"I wanted to see the wolves," Willow says, unrepentant.
Grace's eyes flick to me, wary and defensive. She stands, keeping Willow partially behind her. "What were you saying to my sister?"
The protective gesture should irritate me, but instead, something in my chest tightens. She's fierce, this human woman.
I cross my arms, trying to appear casual despite the riot of instincts inside me. "Relax. She found me."
Grace's lips press into a tight line, her reluctance to engage evident. But before she can pull Willow away, I sense Adrian approaching. His scent carries notes of authority and suspicion.
"Is there a problem, Eli?" His voice is all business, his eyes assessing the situation with cold precision.
Grace stiffens, recognizing the power in his stance. Her heart rate spikes—I can hear it, a frantic drumming that makes my wolf pace restlessly. She's terrified, but she lifts her chin, meeting Adrian's gaze.
"I apologize for the interruption," she says, her voice steadier than her pulse. "My sister wandered off."
Adrian's eyes narrow. "Staff aren't permitted to bring family members to events."
"I know." Grace swallows hard. "I'm not actually staff. I... borrowed the uniform."
Shit. I almost laugh despite the tension. She snuck in. My mate has balls.
"You infiltrated a private event," Adrian states flatly.
"I needed to find you." Grace's fingers twist in the fabric of her skirt. "Or—whoever's in charge of the sanctuary."
Adrian's posture shifts subtly. "Why?"
I watch as Grace struggles with herself, the battle between pride and necessity playing across her face. It's fascinating, this conflict—and it makes me curious. Who is this woman, and what is she running from?
"We need somewhere safe," she finally says, the words clearly costing her. "I heard... I heard there was a place being built. For people like Willow."
Adrian's gaze flicks to the child, reassessing. "And what exactly is your sister?"
"Half-shifter," Grace says, her voice dropping. "Wolf."
The pieces click into place. The girl's uncanny perception. The way she recognized what I was. The strange pull I felt toward her—not mate, but pack.
"Where are her parents?" Adrian asks, his tone softening almost imperceptibly.
Grace's jaw tightens. "Dead. Hunters."
The single word hangs in the air between us. I see Adrian's expression harden, memories of his own losses reflected in his eyes.
"Please," Grace adds, the word sounding foreign on her tongue. "We've been running for months. I just—I need to know if there's a place for her."
I can see it in the stiff set of her shoulders, the way her grip on Willow tightens—she's about to bolt. One wrong word from Adrian, and she'll disappear into the night. And something in me rebels at the thought of letting her walk away.
Before Adrian can respond, I step forward. "Let's talk outside," I say, keeping my voice low and calm. "No pressure. Just a conversation."
Grace's eyes meet mine, wary but desperate. Something flickers in her gaze—confusion, maybe, at the intensity with which I'm looking at her. The hesitation is brief, but then she exhales and nods.
"Adrian," I say, not looking away from Grace. "I've got this."