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The large, vaulted window in my office affords me a commanding view of the town square, and from my desk, I watch Willow walk toward the lab. She’s wrapped in one of her large warm coats since there has been fresh snowfall, but I can still make out the gentle sway of her hips that drives me crazy.

Everything about her drives me crazy: her impossibly soft auburn hair, how her pale skin marks so easily under my touch, and the way her tight body welcomes me in…it took everything in me not to stop her from walking away this morning, I would rather have dragged her back to bed.

I lean against the glass, amused at my own lack of self-control. In truth, I haven’t felt like this in a very long time. It’s not that I hadn’t enjoyed women all my life—especially when I was younger, and the world was full of new challenges, battles that raged for centuries, and the riotous celebrations that followed. I never thought I’d tire of the chase and conquest of my younger years. And I certainly never thought I’d find my mate.

And yet, tire I did, until I met her.

It is quite remarkable how all the women I have known, all the writhing bodies and endless pleasures I have tasted, all paled to insignificance the moment I first held her.

After, rather unceremoniously, taking her virginity in the kitchen like a madman, our bond has only deepened, and so has my desire. This would all be rather perfect if it weren’t for the nagging sense of self-awareness that lingers at the back of my mind, whispering, She will run if she knows the truth. The pack alliances will fall. The pack will become a target. This is what always happens.

This is what always happens.

I am old, too old. Far too old for her, even though I look damn good for it. I’m also old enough to remember a time before vampires were extinct. They were hunted, of course; shifters hunted in packs, and humans were more vulnerable, but numbers still counted. There were so few vampires, often living solitary lives. They were fierce in their own right but vulnerable to those filled with hate.

Were the vampires evil? No more than the bloodthirsty shifters, calculating witches, or the warmongering humans, I guess.

The war between shifters and vampires intensified in my second century when a shifter pack fell to a half-vampire alpha who became obsessed with the power that halflings possess and tried to force mating to create an army of powerful beasts. Vampires had so few children that their numbers were dramatically smaller than shifters. The shifters revolted at the notion that their bloodlines would be forever altered and turned on the few halflings that had been accepted. The rest, as they say, is history. Wars fought by people who could barely remember how it all started, hatred passed down through generations.

Was my mother evil? Her last act was to sacrifice herself to save me, leaving me at the orphanage and leading the hunters away. My father was already dead, her heart broken. No, she wasn’t evil.

Once the vampires appeared to be extinct, the elimination of the halflings was an ongoing horror. I’ve seen enough death and destruction for all ten lifetimes and dished out enough of my own as I grew stronger. But after centuries of bloodshed, one thing became undeniably clear—you cannot stop hate. My pack is formed of those halflings and their descendants who wanted to find some peace. That has been my goal.

The hunters and the Order, and by extension, the other shifter packs I’ve come to know, all threaten that peace. Even Willow threatens it, even though she doesn’t know what she’s looking for when she pores over our DNA, puzzled as to why it’s different from our fellow shifters.

This was always the danger, but the Volva magic, the alliance, and any new information to destroy the Order had to be worth the risk. My pack’s vampire DNA is no doubt diluted through centuries of new matings, meaning the risk of detection is reduced. Only my own DNA will raise questions, being the purest hybrid—my beta Griffen follows by the smallest margin, as his mother was a pure hybrid.

However, despite the diminishing risks of detection, my pack has every right to be cautious. History bears witness to what happens when vampire hybrids have been discovered. Our alliance with the shifter packs is strong, but new. I’ve come to care for my fellow alphas and their packs, but can I trust them not to turn on us?

Can I trust Willow not to reject me?

An alert on my cabin security announces Griffen’s arrival, and I see him give a brief wave on the screen as I let him in. Willow has long since entered the lab, and I turn away from the window, stoking the fire as my beta walks in and shakes the fallen snow from his coat onto the floor.

I roll my eyes. “Really, Grif?” I scold lightly.

He flashes me one of his annoyingly charming smiles that ceased to work on me over five hundred years ago and flops into one of my worn leather chairs.

“It’s snowing,” he replies with the slightest shrug of his enormous shoulders.

I sigh, resigned to my old friend’s ways. Although I haven’t known him all my life, it’s been long enough. Griffen and I met when we were barely ninety, both on the run. Both outcasts. He understands what is at stake more than anyone else here; he lived it, too, and I haven’t forgotten his sacrifices.

“So,” he says, stretching like a cat in front of the fire and shrugging off his coat, a smirk teasing his lips. “How goes things with your little mate? Worth waiting for?”

He won’t be expecting a direct response; he just likes to push my buttons, so his face is a picture of surprise when I say, “Yes, it is. She’s more than I ever expected.”

Although startled for the briefest of moments, he quickly recovers and barks with laughter. “Wow, she must be something special to capture your attention. I never thought one woman could hold your eye.”

My wolf feels restless and bristles at his tone, but I temper my emotions, as I usually do where Griffen is concerned. “She is special. And you will talk about her as such,” I growl.

Griffen chuckles, looking into the fire. “Fair enough, alpha,” he nods. “And the research? She’s not just a pretty face.”

I shoot him a warning look but ignore his teasing. “If you’re asking whether she’s making progress, she is. You’ve met with Sara about the Volva in our pack. More than we assumed?”

“Yes, some families went to great lengths to hide females that didn’t have their wolves. You’d think that our pack would understand differences more, yet it appears we were not immune from discriminating,” Griffen replies thoughtfully.

“Was it not more pity they feared?” I reply, knowing how much pride shifters take in their connection to their wolves. I am no different myself.

“And who wants to be pitied in our world?” he mutters, not taking his eyes off the fire. I wince slightly as I consider how much I do pity my old friend. His mate is lost to time, and I never realized the depth of that sacrifice until I found my own.

I roll my shoulders, not wanting to open that can of worms. “Questions have been raised about some of the DNA results, but it’s nothing we weren’t expecting. Most of the pack have majority shifter DNA, so I don’t think it will be an issue. Rian did his job ensuring he reviewed the data first so there were no unexpected surprises.”

Griffen silently listens, but I can feel his mood shift. I pause and wait for him to speak his mind. Glancing up, he sighs. “Don’t you think that’s a little optimistic?”

The slightest lilt to his accent betrays his origins and mine, reminding me that he knows me all too well.

“I will make it so,” I say firmly, “She cannot identify vampire DNA because she has no reference point. We are, ironically, safe because of our very extinction. I will control the narrative, and Willow will find the other answers she seeks. The alliance will stand, and the hunters will be destroyed.”

“And if the Order already knows about us?” Griffen asks, and not for the first time. With so little known about the Order, one has to consider how much more they know about us.

“The Order will be destroyed for many reasons. If they know about us, that will simply be one more reason,” I say in an attempt to brush off his concerns.

Griffen nods, “You know that I am with you, Rowan. Always have been. But there is real fear here, and I’d be lying if I said everyone in the pack is comfortable with how closely Willow studies us. Rian is quick to tell people how meticulous she is about our data.”

“She’s studying all the packs, Grif. She’s not focused on us, and the whole point of building the lab here was so we could have some control over the situation. Rian knows that,” I say, though I already have my own concerns about how much young Rian is on board with the plan. He became beta as a favor to his father, who died fighting the hunters. He comes from a long line of good shifter hybrids, but is young, reckless, and outspoken. He’s also educated and the perfect fit for the lab. I greatly respected his father, and I’m willing to extend that to his son. For now.

“Aye,” Griffen laughs, bringing me back to the moment. “Some control over the situation in your bed.”

Suddenly seeing red, I fling my glass at him. It narrowly misses and smashes against the wall. He holds his hands up in mock surrender. “At ease,” he laughs. I’ll only say it in these four walls. And I know your mind is on what’s best for the pack, too.”

“It is what’s best for the pack.” I snarl. “The alpha alliance is strong, and this is not the Old World. Times have changed.”

Griffen grows serious once more. “And you would put that theory to the test? You’d trust our new friends with the truth? I’m not sure the pack would be with you on that, and god knows they love you, Rowan.”

“It won’t come to that,” I assure him.

Pulling his coat back on, he stands to leave. “Aye, let’s hope not. We have enough on fighting rogues and hunters. I’d rather not add to the list.”

“Not like you to broker peace, Grif.” I chuckle.

He scoffs as he walks away, but I hear him mutter, “I must be getting old,” before he closes the door.

***

Stepping into the lab later that afternoon, I greet a few pack members on my way toward Willow’s office. The lab is a hive of activity now, and the large glass doors connecting to the medical center allow me to see a few wolves waiting to see Sara. I know our medic is thrilled with her new clinic—another reminder that this entire project has been worthwhile. If it frustrates me that some pack members may doubt my decisions, I cannot show it. I’ve learned a good leader must acknowledge their followers’ concerns; being stubborn only leads to unnecessary friction.

However, as I see Willow leaning over a microscope, I admire the subtle curve of her body and the way her soft lips purse in concentration, and I know without a shadow of a doubt that I would destroy anyone who came between us.

The thought pulls me up short, and I stop in my tracks. I pride myself on my ability to manage my dual nature—after all, that wasn’t always the case. But deep down, my beasts only grow in their determination to have their mate. And, more importantly, keep their mate.

And suddenly, I understand why wars have been waged over women, I muse as I walk toward her.

As if sensing my presence, she looks up, recognition and desire alight in her eyes. I don’t even think she realizes she’s doing it, but she looks at me like no one ever has before. As though she really sees me. I hope that the parts she does see are enough, because I cannot afford to get swept up in these new emotions and risk not only myself but the entire pack.

I may be a fool for her, but I have to keep my head where my pack is concerned.