Page 14

ELEVEN

ISOLDE

I solde watched Nereus storm off the terrace, his broad shoulders tight with tension, and his footsteps heavy enough that she swore the marble beneath her vibrated.

The car keys he had thrown at her glinted in the morning sunlight, scattered across the breakfast table like discarded treasure.

She stared at them without reaching out, feeling the weight of his anger lingering in the air.

Henderson, the estate manager, stood at attention nearby, his thin lips pressed into a disapproving line. The older man's salt-and-pepper hair was as perfectly styled as his immaculate suit, but his eyes held something Isolde couldn't quite place—disdain, perhaps? Or fear?

"I don't need his cars," Isolde said, pushing her chair back from the table. The legs scraped against the stone terrace with an unpleasant screech. "Could someone please just drive me back to my houseboat? I have my own car there."

Henderson cleared his throat. "That won't be possible, Miss Morgan."

"Excuse me?" Isolde blinked, genuinely surprised by the blunt refusal.

Henderson turned away, already dismissing her as he prepared to follow after his master.

"Wait." The word burst from her before she could stop herself. Something shifted inside her at his casual dismissal—a flicker of irritation where normally she would have swallowed her discomfort. "That seems a little disrespectful to your Luna, doesn't it?"

Henderson froze mid-step. When he pivoted back toward her, his expression had hardened into something cold and calculating.

"Luna?" His gaze raked over her, from her practical clothing to her sleep-tousled blonde hair. "You are not the pack Luna until the alpha claims you properly, Miss Morgan. Until then, you're just a mere human who knows more than she really should at this point about our pack."

The words stung like salt water on an open wound. Henderson offered a perfunctory bow before rushing off, leaving Isolde alone on the vast terrace.

"Well, happy birthday to me," Isolde muttered, slumping back into her chair.

The ocean stretched beyond the terrace in an endless expanse of blue, matching her eyes but not her mood.

She traced a finger along the glass tabletop, digesting Henderson's words.

The dismissal struck a familiar chord—how many times had she taken a step back to accommodate others' needs while neglecting her own?

Yet something about this felt different. The way he'd said "mere human" scratched at something new inside her, something that had awakened at midnight along with whatever power had called the wave.

She glanced at the keys on the table. The silver Seafang emblem winked back at her, bearing the image of a wolf with waves cresting behind it.

"Claimed properly?" she whispered, feeling heat rise in her cheeks as she remembered the electric sensations of Nereus's kisses—how her body had responded instantly, almost desperately. "What does that even mean?"

The breeze suddenly picked up. In the distance, waves began to crest higher, whitecaps forming where moments before the water had been calm. Isolde took a deep breath, willing herself to relax, and to her amazement, the waves seemed to settle.

"So it is true," she murmured, staring at her hands as if they might suddenly reveal the secret of her connection to the water.

What did it mean to be Luna to a pack of wolf-people she had just learned existed? What did it mean that she, a human, could suddenly control water? And what exactly did "claiming" entail?

A shiver ran through her that had nothing to do with the ocean breeze and everything to do with the memory of Nereus's intense gaze, the way his muscled body had moved with predatory grace, and the commanding rumble of his voice.

She stood and snatched the keys from the breakfast table, curling her fingers around the cold metal until it bit into her palm.

If Nereus thought giving her a car meant she'd play docile little Luna, he had another thing coming.

The car keys jingled as she strode through the castle, her sneakers squeaking against the polished marble floors.

After several wrong turns and one embarrassing encounter with a young housekeeper who looked at her like she'd crawled out from under a rock, Isolde found the east garage. She pressed the key fob, following the responsive beep to a sleek, silver Aston Martin that gleamed under the garage lights.

"Holy crap," she whispered, running her fingers along the smooth hood. "That's one way to apologize for overstepping."

The leather seat hugged her curves as she slid behind the wheel. The engine purred to life, sending a vibration through her body that felt almost intimate. For a moment, she sat there, gripping the steering wheel and absorbing the luxury that surrounded her.

"This car probably costs more than my entire education," she muttered, pressing buttons until the GPS screen illuminated.

As she navigated through the castle's winding driveway, she was struck by the sheer size of Nereus's territory. In the daylight, the sovereign land sprawled before her like something from a fairy tale—acres of manicured lawns giving way to pristine beaches on one side and dense forest on the other.

The GPS directed her onto a main road that cut through a small, self-contained town.

Quaint storefronts with names like "Seafang Supplies" and "Lunar Bistro" lined the streets.

Children—potential wolf children?—played in a park outside a school building whose architecture mirrored the castle's Gothic elements.

"It's like he's running his own little country," Isolde marveled, slowing to observe a group of impossibly fit men and women jogging in perfect synchronization. "Wolf boot camp? Or just morning exercise?"

The town gave way to a security checkpoint where, to her surprise, the guards simply waved her through after a glance at the car. The atmosphere changed immediately as she crossed the border between Nereus's territory and the rest of the island—less pristine, more lived-in, and more human.

Her hands tightened on the steering wheel as she directed the car toward the northern tip of the island where the research station—her workplace, her second home—had stood.

The ocean came into view on her right, sunlight dancing across its surface.

Was it her imagination, or did the waves reach a little higher as she drove past as if greeting her?

About a mile from the site, orange cones blocked the road. Men in hard hats and safety vests directed traffic away from the area. A sign proclaimed: "PRIVATE RESTORATION WORK IN PROGRESS—AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY."

Isolde pulled to the shoulder, killing the engine. Through the windshield, she could see heavy equipment already at work in the distance, clearing debris. The efficiency was impressive—Nereus certainly hadn't wasted any time.

Part of her wanted to march up to the barricade and demand access. After all, that was her lab and her research. But another part—a new part that had awakened when the wave crashed down—whispered caution.

After several minutes of sitting in the car on the shoulder, Isolde's patience evaporated. Her fingers drummed against the steering wheel, each tap punctuated by a fresh wave of frustration.

"I caused this," she whispered, eyeing the distant cranes and bulldozers. "I should be helping fix it."

With sudden resolve, she pushed open the car door and marched toward the barricade. The ocean breeze caught her hair, whipping it across her face as she approached the two men in hard hats guarding the entrance.

"Excuse me," she called, summoning her most professional voice—the same one she used when addressing skeptical academic panels. "I need access to the site."

The taller of the two men gave her a cursory glance. "Sorry, ma'am. Area's restricted."

"I understand that, but I'm Dr. Isolde Morgan. I'm a marine biologist with the research station." She gestured toward the devastation beyond. "That's my workplace."

The second man shook his head. "Orders are orders. Nobody gets through except personnel from Varon Industries."

"Look, I'm the Luna of the Seafang pack," she blurted out, immediately regretting the words as they fell from her lips.

The men exchanged confused glances.

"The what now?" the taller one asked, his bushy eyebrows furrowing.

"The Luna," she repeated, heat rising in her cheeks. "I'm... I'm Prince Nereus's mate."

The shorter man snorted. "Lady, I don't know what you're talking about, but unless you've got credentials from Varon Industries, you're not getting past this point."

Irritation flared inside Isolde, sharp and hot like a sudden fever. Who was Nereus to deny her access to her own workplace? What right did he have to swoop in and take control when it was her research at stake?

"This is ridiculous," she snapped. "I have a right to be here!"

As her anger mounted, the rhythm of the waves behind them changed. What had been gentle laps against the shore now crashed with increasing force. The workers further down the beach turned to look at the suddenly choppy water.

"What the hell?" the taller guard muttered, shielding his eyes against the sun as he stared out at the growing swells.

Isolde felt it then—the pull in her chest, the strange synchronicity between her rising temper and the agitated ocean.

Nereus's warning echoed in her mind: When that power inside you surges again—and it will—when the ocean responds to your fear or anger or whatever emotion you can't control, you'll wish I had been more controlling.

She swallowed hard, forcing herself to take a deep breath. The last thing they needed was another tsunami.

"I... I'm sorry for the confusion," she managed, backing away. "I'll come back with proper authorization."

Retreating to the Aston Martin, she slumped into the driver's seat. Through the windshield, she watched the waves gradually settle as she calmed herself. The connection was undeniable now.

"I need to learn how to control this," she whispered to her reflection in the rearview mirror.

The drive back to the castle passed in a blur of self-recrimination. By the time she pulled into the garage, her determination had solidified into resolution. She needed help, and the only person who could provide it was somewhere inside this labyrinthine fortress.

After asking a surprisingly helpful maid for directions, Isolde found herself standing outside what seemed to be a state-of-the-art combat facility. The door was slightly open, and the sound of exertion filtered through the gap.

She peered inside, her breath catching at the sight that greeted her.

The space was a perfect blend of ancient tradition and cutting-edge technology—wood-paneled walls adorned with traditional weapons alongside digital training interfaces and high-tech equipment.

But it wasn't the room that captured her attention.

It was Nereus.

Shirtless, with sweat glistening on his sculpted torso, he moved through a series of combat forms with predatory grace.

His muscles flexed and rippled beneath his tanned skin as he wielded a wooden staff against three digital opponents—all of whom appeared to be struggling despite their numerical advantage.

His face bore an expression of intense concentration, his jaw set in a hard line that somehow made him even more devastatingly handsome.

Isolde felt her mouth go dry. The raw power and controlled aggression in his movements stirred something primal within her—something that resonated with the newly awakened energy coursing through her veins.

One by one, his opponents' digital forms faltered. Nereus stood victorious, barely winded, the staff held loosely in one hand while the other pushed back his damp black hair. His commanding presence filled the room, an alpha male in his element.

He turned suddenly as if sensing her presence, and their eyes locked through the doorway. The blue-gray depths of his gaze pinned her in place, making her heart flutter and her legs feel weak.

Isolde knew she should speak, should explain what had happened at the research site, but the words stuck in her throat. All she could think about was how his warning had proven true, how the ocean had responded to her emotions exactly as he had predicted.

And how desperately she needed him to teach her control.