Page 2

Chapter two

Viktor

Viktor’s bare feet slammed against the forest floor, each stride eating up the distance, driving him deeper into the primal dark. Moonlight slashed through the canopy in silver ribbons, flickering over his skin as he vaulted fallen logs, ducked low branches, his breath sharp and steady.

A howl split the night to his left. Through the trees, he glimpsed another wolf already closing in on their human prey, bodies tangled in the age-old chase. The air was thick with heat, with hunger—lust and fear bleeding together into something heady, something electric. It crawled under Viktor’s skin, sharpening every instinct.

He growled low, shaking it off. Not yet.

Faster. He pushed harder, chasing the wind, chasing the feeling. The weight of the world—boardrooms, spreadsheets, expectations—peeled away with every pounding step. No suits, no forced civility, no aggravating humans questioning his every move.

Just speed. Power. Freedom.

Something real .

Another werewolf barreled past, chasing their chosen mate with single-minded focus. Viktor barely spared them a glance. His body ached for release, but not just from any warm body.

He pushed harder, lungs burning, the wind whipping through his hair. Somewhere in these woods, his mate for the night awaited—someone who would submit to his strength, who would meet him in that primal space, fierce and unyielding before finally breaking apart beneath him. A challenge. A fire. Someone who wouldn’t just roll over, but would push back, test his patience, make the victory sweeter when they finally gave in.

The thought sent a fresh jolt of hunger through him, but beneath it, something else lurked. A memory. A scent. A particular brand of defiance that had been getting under his skin for months now—quick-witted barbs, sharp blue eyes narrowing in irritation, a voice dripping with disdain that only made Viktor want to press in closer, to see how long that resistance would last.

Viktor clenched his jaw and ran faster.

He wasn’t thinking about that. Not tonight.

He'd been denying himself too long, letting work and responsibilities consume him. Tonight was about primal instinct, about claiming and marking and losing himself in pure sensation.

He leaped over a small stream, water droplets sparkling in his wake like scattered diamonds. The night was young, and the hunt had only begun.

Frustration gnawed at him. He passed another, then another—each one a potential mate, each one leaving his blood as cold as the night air. The moon loomed above, tugging at him, urging him to take , to mark , to mate —and yet nothing, no one, called to him.

The forest pulsed with heat, bodies tangled in desperate collisions of hunger and instinct. To his left, a wolf had their human pinned against the rough bark of an ancient oak, bare skin gleaming in the moonlight as they surrendered to the inevitable. Further ahead, a different kind of surrender unfolded—three wolves circling a single human, their movements slow, teasing, their prey’s breathless laughter cutting through the night.

Viktor’s pulse pounded, his skin tightening with the sheer force of the need saturating the air. The scent of sweat, sex, and surrender hit him like a drug, his body responding whether he wanted it to or not. He clenched his fists, pushing past, willing himself to focus.

He needed this. He needed to take .

A blur of movement to his right—his instincts snapped to attention. A human male, quick and lean, vaulting over a fallen log, heart hammering loud enough that Viktor could hear it.

He gave chase.

The thrill ignited his veins, sharp and hot, pushing him faster. The human gasped as Viktor gained on him, their steps a frantic duet of pursuit and resistance. Close—so close—Viktor could already imagine the moment of impact, the weight of a body beneath his, the way the fight would bleed into surrender.

But then—hesitation. A flicker of uncertainty. No challenge. No spark.

Viktor veered off with a growl.

Another. This one taller, broader, muscles flexing as he dodged between trees. Viktor surged forward, reaching, testing —but when he closed in, the moment felt wrong. Hollow.

With a snarl of frustration, he veered off and ran.

The moon loomed above, tugging at him, urging him to take, to mark, to mate—and yet nothing, no one, called to him. Annoyance curled in his gut. Maybe he should’ve stayed home, buried himself in work, drowned out the ache with spreadsheets and deadlines. At least Excel didn’t leave him with a racing pulse and an aching cock.

Then he smelled it.

The scent hit like a punch to the gut—familiar, sharp, impossible. His wolf lunged forward with such ferocity that Viktor’s foot snagged on an exposed root. He caught himself against a tree, bark biting into his palm, but he barely noticed. He inhaled deeply, needing to be sure he wasn’t mistaken.

Beneath the crisp bite of adrenaline was something specific , something that had no business being here. Warm skin touched by too much caffeine and too little sleep. The ghost of printer ink and ballpoint pens, the sharp, clean bite of peppermint gum chewed absentmindedly during meetings. A hint of soap—simple, unscented, the kind a man used without thinking about it. And underneath it all, something purely him —something that prickled under Viktor’s skin in a way that had nothing to do with instinct and everything to do with long days spent tolerating his presence.

The way he leaned against doorframes when he thought no one was looking. The low, thoughtful hum he made when picking apart a report. The heat of his glare when he was on the verge of snapping, when Viktor had pushed just the right buttons, when—

No.

Viktor’s fingers dug into the bark, muscles coiling, his body tightening like a predator spotting prey.

This was wrong. Impossible.

And yet his wolf knew.

A growl rumbled low in his chest as he pushed off the tree, instincts taking the reins. His pulse pounded in his ears as he followed the scent, each step pulling him closer, winding through the underbrush, closing the distance.

The scent wrapped around Viktor like a leash, tightening with every step. It filled his lungs, seeped into his blood, sent a growl vibrating low in his chest. Every stride brought him closer, muscles coiled, instincts locked onto their prey.

A flicker of movement—there. A figure slipped through the underbrush, their gait fast and efficient—but not efficient enough.

Human. Alone.

His .

Fear spiked sharp and sweet in the air. Viktor’s blood roared. His wolf lunged.

Impact .

A startled cry, the crunch of bodies hitting the ground. Leaves and twigs snapped beneath them as they rolled, Viktor’s weight pressing his prey down, pinning them effortlessly.

Then the scent hit him full force.

Beneath him, Nick gasped, his chest heaving, his pulse pounding hard enough that Viktor could hear it. Their eyes met—Nick’s blown wide with shock, confusion flashing into something sharper, edged with panic.

“Viktor?!” Nick’s voice was raw, breathless. “What the hell—?”

Viktor’s grip tightened, his body refusing to let go even as his mind scrambled to catch up.

Nick squirmed, shoving at his shoulders. “No. No way. Not you .”

A dangerous growl curled from Viktor’s throat. “Me.”

His wolf howled in triumph.