The office felt different at night now, charged, electric, like the building itself was waiting. Selene was early. Deliberately early. She'd spent the day failing to convince herself that last night meant nothing. At seven, she heard the stairwell door open. She didn't look up.
"You're early," Damon said.
"You said you'd order food. I didn't want it to get cold."
A pause. Bags being set on the conference table. "Thai. I didn't know what you liked, so I got everything."
Now she looked. He stood by the table in dark jeans and a sweater, hair disheveled. He looked nervous. Damon Valkor, the man who made billionaires sweat, looked nervous about sharing takeout with his assistant.
"That's a lot of food."
"I didn't know what you liked." He finally looked at her. "I don't know much about you, Selene. But I'd like to."
Don't, she wanted to say. Don't get close. Instead, she sat.
They ate in silence. Charged. Every glance felt like a question.
Finally, Damon spoke. "The dreams haven't stopped."
Selene's chopsticks paused.
"Every night. The same forest. The same moon. The same wolf." He looked at her. "The same you."
"Maybe it's just stress"
"My brain is not making me tear my sheets with claw marks, Elle."
She froze.
"Claw marks?"
"This morning. My sheets were shredded. Like something tried to escape from inside me." He set down his food. "I don't have claws. But I know it's connected to something"
Selene's heart hammered. Her ghost screamed. "Tell him he's like us".
"Say something," he said quietly. "Tell me I'm losing my mind."
"You're not."
"Then what's happening to me?"
She looked at him. The shadows under his eyes. The fear he was trying to hide. He was terrified just like she'd been two years ago, when her wolf first stirred and she had no one to explain it to.
So alone. So lost.
"Damon, I"
The lights flickered. Both looked up. The building hummed, went dark for a second, then the emergency systems kicked in. Then the window exploded.
Selene moved on instinct. She grabbed Damon and dragged him under the table, her body covering his. Glass rained down. Something heavy crashed through a piece of equipment from across the street, torn loose by a sudden wind.
But there was no wind. The night was calm. Someone had done this. Someone who knew Damon was here.
"Are you okay?" She checked him for injuries, hands moving fast. "Are you bleeding?"
"I'm fine." His voice was rough. "You're on top of me."
She froze.
She was, in fact, on top of him. Her body pressed against his, her hands on his chest, her face inches from his.
"Sorry." She started to move. "I didn't mean to"
His hand caught her wrist. "Wait."
The word was quiet. Intentional. His eyes held hers, and in them she saw something that made her breath catch. Not fear. Hunger.
"The alarms are going off any second," he said. "Security will be here in three minutes. We're going to have to deal with reports and explanations."
"I know."
"In three minutes, this moment will be gone."
"I know."
His grip tightened. "I don't want it to be gone."
Selene's heart stopped.
"Damon"
"I know you're hiding something. I know you're scared. I know every time we get close, you pull away." His voice was low, urgent. "But I also know that when that glass shattered, you threw yourself on top of me without thinking. You protected me."
"It was instinct."
"My point exactly." He pulled her closer. "What if instinct is the only thing that's real? What if everything else, the control, the walls, the careful distance is just fear?"
"I am afraid."
"Of what?"
Of you. Of this. Of what happens when I stop running.
"Of losing myself," she whispered.
His eyes softened. "You're not going to lose yourself, Elle. You're going to find yourself. And I'm going to be there when you do."
He reached up. Slowly. Giving her time to pull away. She didn't. His hand cupped her face, warm and gentle. So different from the cold man the world saw.
"Tell me to stop," he murmured.
She couldn't. He leaned in. The first brush of his lips was soft, questioning, asking permission. She didn't push him away.
The second kiss was deeper. Hungrier. His hand slid into her hair, tilting her head, and she made a sound she didn't recognize, something between a gasp and a moan.
This was wrong. He was the enemy. He was buying her homeland but he tasted like coffee and something warmer. Something that made her ghost howl with recognition.
Mate. Mate. Mate.
She kissed him back.
For one perfect moment, there was nothing else. No packs. No secrets. No revenge. Just his mouth on hers and his hands in her hair and the electric burn of skin against skin.
Then the alarms started.
Selene wrenched away. She scrambled backward, hitting the wall, breathing hard. Her lips tingled. Her whole body tingled. She could still feel him, taste him, want him.
"Elle."
"Don't." She held up a hand. "Just don't."
"We need to talk about this."
"No. We need to deal with the broken window and the security team about to swarm this floor." She finally looked at him. "We need to pretend this didn't happen."
His eyes flashed. "I won't pretend."
"You have to."
"I don't have to do anything."
"Damon." She used his first name deliberately. "Please. I can't, not yet. I need time."
Time to figure out what he was. Time to figure out what she was willing to risk. Time to figure out how to save her pack without destroying the man who made her feel alive for the first time in two years.
He stared at her. Then, slowly, he nodded.
"Time," he agreed. "But not forever."
"No. Not forever."
The stairwell door burst open. Security flooded in, shouting questions, checking for injuries. Selene slipped away from Damon, putting distance between them, becoming professional Elle Ross, executive assistant.
But she could still feel his kiss on her lips. She could still hear her ghost singing. She could still see the way he'd looked at her just before the alarms shattered everything like she was his and God help her, part of her wanted to be.
It took three hours to deal with the aftermath. Police reports. Building security. An investigation into how equipment had torn loose on a calm night. Damon handled most of it. Selene answered questions mechanically, signed forms without reading them.
Her mind was elsewhere. On the taste of his mouth. The feel of his hands. The way he'd said what if instinct is the only thing that's real.
By the time she got home, it was nearly two a.m. She stood in her dark apartment, staring at the brick wall, and touched her lips. Still tingling. Still burning. Still wanting.
This is dangerous, she told herself. He's dangerous but her ghost had other ideas.
"He's ours, it whispered. He's always been ours".
And for the first time in two years, Selene didn't argue.
The next morning, she arrived at work to find a small box on her desk. No note. Inside: a single white peony, her favorite flower, though she'd never told anyone and a slip of paper with two words in Damon's handwriting.
"Not forever".
She pressed the flower to her lips and smiled. For the first time in two years, she let herself hope.