"Take this, Maeve, the storm out there is an absolute nightmare." Thorne shoved his heavy wool trench coat into my arms, the damp fabric releasing a sharp gust of cold air and the suffocatingly sweet lavender perfume of my younger sister, Clara. Resting right on the dark velvet collar was a single, impossibly long strand of platinum blonde hair.

I stared at the bright thread against the black velvet. My own hair is dark, cut sharply at the shoulders. Clara is the only person I know who bleaches her hair to that exact, icy shade.

"You're freezing," I said, my voice tight. I folded the collar inward, hiding the hair from view.

"I parked three blocks away." Thorne rubbed his hands together, his knuckles red from the chill. He kicked off his soaked leather shoes, leaving wet marks on the rug. "Traffic was backed up for miles. I thought that merger meeting would never end."

He stepped closer, leaning in to press a kiss to my cheek. The lavender scent grew stronger, wrapping around my throat like a snare. I turned my head just enough so his lips grazed my jaw instead.

"A long night?" I asked.

"Brutal," he sighed, missing my evasion entirely. "The clients kept arguing over pennies. I need water. Is there any sparkling left?"

"Top shelf of the fridge," I said.

He reached out, his warm fingers brushing my shoulder. "You look pale. Are you feeling alright?"

"Just a headache," I lied, stepping back to hang the coat. "Go get your water."

Thorne walked down the hallway, his heavy footsteps echoing against the hardwood.

I stood frozen in the dim foyer. I raised the lapel closer to my face. The floral scent punched me in the lungs. Clara bought that custom blend from a boutique downtown. She wore it everywhere, dabbing it behind her ears and along the curve of her throat. No client meeting smelled like my sister.

I lowered the coat. I pressed the wrinkles flat against my chest, smoothing the velvet the way I always smoothed everything in this house. The strand of platinum hair drifted to the floorboards. I watched it settle against the dark wood.

Down the hallway, the refrigerator door opened. Ice rattled into a glass. Thorne hummed to himself, relaxed, certain I had swallowed his lie whole.

"Find the sparkling water?" I called out. My voice came out perfectly even.

"Top shelf," he answered. "You were right."

"I usually am," I murmured.

I hung the coat on the brass hook by the door. Then I reached into my jacket and pulled out my phone. My thumb hovered over the tracking app I had installed the month his pack received the security threat. The red dot still pulsed quietly against the map, harmless, waiting.

I did not open it yet. I had a shift starting in an hour. The motel strip on Route 9 always flooded during a storm like this, and dispatch would need a unit out on patrol.

I slid the phone back into my pocket and picked up my keys.

Tonight, I would do my job. And I would find out exactly where my fiancé went when he thought no one was watching.

"Unit Four, do you copy? The West District storm drains are backing up."

"I hear you, dispatch," I spoke into the radio, keeping my eyes on the slick asphalt. "I'm doing a final sweep of the motel strip on Route 9. Then I'll head back to the precinct."

"Copy that. Stay dry."

I clicked the radio off and tossed the mic onto the passenger seat. The windshield wipers slapped back and forth, pushing away heavy sheets of rain. I parked the cruiser two blocks down from the flashing neon sign of the Midnight Motel.

I killed the engine.

Stepping out into the storm, the icy downpour instantly soaked through my uniform jacket. I ignored the cold. My tracker app glowed brightly on my phone screen, the red dot sitting exactly over the motel's coordinates. Thorne thought he left his watch in his car. He forgot about the spare tracker I slipped into his briefcase after his pack received a security threat last month.

I walked past a row of rusted sedans and overflowing dumpsters. Mud splashed against my boots.

Room 104.

The brass numbers hung crookedly on a peeling green door. A narrow sliver of yellow light spilled through the gap in the window blinds. I pressed my shoulder against the wet brick exterior and leaned closer to the glass.

Thorne had Clara pinned against the cheap floral wallpaper.

He buried his face in her neck. His hands tangled tightly in her platinum blonde hair, pulling her head back to expose more skin. Clara wrapped her legs around his waist, knocking a cheap bedside lamp onto the floor. The bulb shattered, but neither of them stopped.

"Wait," Clara giggled, pushing his chest weakly. "What if she calls you?"

"My phone is on silent," Thorne replied. His voice sounded muffled through the glass, but the tone sliced straight through my chest. "She thinks I'm exhausted from the merger meeting. She won't bother me."

"You told her that?" Clara laughed again, tracing a finger down his jaw. "Poor Maeve. Always so trusting. Does she know you hate her cooking, too?"

"Don't talk about your sister right now," Thorne muttered.

"The wedding is in two months, Thorne. I need to be careful."

"Kaelen doesn't care," Thorne answered, kissing her collarbone. "He barely looks at anyone."

"He's an Alpha," Clara replied, arching her back. "He notices everything."

"He doesn't notice this," Thorne said.

He crushed his mouth against hers. Clara pulled his shirt over his head, discarding it onto the dirty carpet.

My hand dropped to my duty belt.

The leather strap of my holster snapped open under my thumb. I drew my service weapon. The heavy metal felt cold and solid in my grip. I didn't plan to shoot them. I wanted to kick the door off its hinges and watch them scramble. I wanted Thorne to look me in the eye and try to lie his way out of this room.

I took a step toward the door. I raised the barrel level with the lock.

"Put the gun away."

A rough, calloused palm clamped hard over my mouth.

Before I could swing my elbow back, an arm like an iron beam locked around my waist. The stranger lifted my boots completely off the concrete.

I kicked backward. My heel struck solid muscle, but the man didn't even grunt. He dragged me forcefully into the pitch-black fire alley behind the motel, pulling me away from the door and the neon light.

I bit down viciously on the hand covering my mouth. I tasted rain and copper.

"Quiet," a deep voice rasped right against my ear.

I thrashed in his grip. I twisted my wrist, trying to bring the gun up to point over my shoulder. The man caught my forearm, applying precise, agonizing pressure to a nerve cluster. My fingers went numb. The weapon clattered onto the wet asphalt.

"Let go of me!" I screamed against his palm.

He spun me around and shoved me backward. My spine hit the damp brick wall hard enough to rattle my teeth.

Then the scent hit me.

Pine needles, dark earth, and ozone. A storm breaking over a dense forest.

My inner wolf slammed violently against my ribs. She didn't growl. She didn't bare her teeth at the attacker. Instead, she let out a frantic, desperate whine that vibrated through my chest. She clawed at the edges of my mind, demanding submission.

My knees gave out.

The man caught my weight effortlessly, pinning me flush against his broad chest to keep me from sliding to the ground. The rain battered the back of my neck, freezing and sharp, but it did nothing to stop the sudden, violent surge of heat erupting at the base of my spine.

A scalding wave rushed through my bloodstream. My skin flushed so hot it stung the freezing air. I gasped, my lungs pulling in more of his intoxicating scent. The heat pooled low in my stomach, melting my anger into a trembling, terrifying weakness.

"What did you do to me?" I choked out, my voice barely a whisper.

"I stopped you from making a mistake," he replied, his tone low and even.

"Get off me." I pushed against his chest.

My hands flattened against his soaked shirt. Beneath the fabric, his heart beat in a slow, steady rhythm. The physical contact sent a jolt of pure electricity up my arms. My wolf howled, a sound of pure longing that echoed in my skull.

He didn't move. He kept me trapped against the wall, his large frame shielding me from the worst of the wind.

"Shooting your boyfriend isn't in your job description, Officer."

"I wasn't going to shoot him," I argued, my breathing turning shallow.

"Your safety was off," he pointed out.

He leaned closer. His nose brushed past my temple.

"You smell like lavender," he noted. "Her perfume."

"It rubbed off on Thorne's coat," I managed to say, fighting the heavy fog settling over my brain. "Why do you care?"

A massive crack of thunder rattled the narrow alleyway. Lightning flashed overhead, tearing through the darkness for one blinding, brilliant second.

The stark white light illuminated his face.

A sharp, unforgiving jawline. A jagged scar cutting through his left eyebrow. Dark golden eyes staring intensely into mine.

Kaelen.

The Alpha of the Obsidian Pack.

Clara's fiancé.

He stared at my parted lips, then dragged his gaze up to my feverish cheeks. The rain plastered his dark hair to his forehead, but he looked completely unfazed by the storm.

"Because she's my problem," Kaelen stated, his voice a dangerous rumble.

He reached down, his knuckles grazing my waist as he picked up my discarded gun from the puddle. He wiped the mud off the barrel with his thumb, then pressed the cold metal grip back into my trembling hand.

"You're going into heat," Kaelen said, his golden eyes narrowing as he pinned my wrists against the brick wall.

"I am not in heat." I shoved my hands against his solid chest, forcing him to release my wrists.

Kaelen dropped his hold, stepping back just enough to let the freezing rain rush between us. The sudden distance felt like a physical blow. My inner wolf clawed at the walls of my mind, desperate to close the gap, to bury my face in the curve of his neck and inhale the pine and ozone scent pouring off him.

I curled my fingers into tight fists. I drove my neatly trimmed nails straight into the center of my palms. The sharp, biting pain grounded me. I took another step backward, putting a rusted dumpster between us.

"Your pupils are blown wide," Kaelen noted, his golden eyes tracking my retreat. "Your pulse is hammering against your throat. Don't lie to me, Officer."

"It's the adrenaline," I snapped, wiping the wet hair from my forehead. "I just caught my fiancé screwing my sister in a cheap motel. Forgive me if my heart rate is elevated."

"Then channel that adrenaline into something useful." Kaelen crossed his arms over his soaked shirt. The storm raged around us, but he stood perfectly still, an immovable force in the dark alley. "We take them apart. Piece by piece."

I stared at him. "You want to team up."

"They made fools of us both." His voice dropped, a dangerous rumble that vibrated over the crack of thunder. "Clara thinks she can play the innocent bride while spreading her legs for another Alpha. Thorne thinks he can disrespect my territory. I don't let insults go unanswered."

"Why do you need me?" I asked, keeping my tone flat. "You run the Obsidian Pack. You could snap Thorne's neck before sunrise and bury him in the woods."

"Because murder leaves a mess," Kaelen replied smoothly. "And an Alpha's execution sparks a pack war. I want him ruined, not martyred. You know his accounts. You know his routines. You have the police database."

I pressed my bleeding palms against the cold, wet fabric of my uniform pants. The logic was sound. Thorne wasn't just a cheating bastard; he was a parasite. He built his entire pack's wealth on my blind trust, using my police clearance to bypass city zoning laws.

"Fine," I said. "But we do this my way. I don't just want him embarrassed. I want him stripped of everything."

Kaelen tilted his head. "Name your terms."

"I want full access to the Obsidian Pack's North District commercial network," I demanded.

His jaw tightened. The jagged scar through his eyebrow pulled taut. "That network handles my pack's private logistics. It's classified."

"Thorne uses three shell companies to funnel his construction money," I countered, stepping out from behind the dumpster. "He routes the payments through your North District supply lines to avoid tax audits. If I have your network keys, I can freeze his assets by Friday. Cut his funds, and his pack turns on him."

Kaelen studied my face. He searched for any sign of hesitation. The rain battered us both, washing the mud from my boots and soaking my uniform down to the skin. I didn't blink.

"You play a hard game, Maeve."

"I learned from the worst," I replied.

He reached into the inner pocket of his dark jacket and pulled out a heavy, matte-black encrypted comms device. He tapped a sequence into the small glass screen, then held it out to me.

"This contains the backdoor access codes to the North District servers," Kaelen said. "It also has a secure, untraceable frequency. Use it to contact me. Do not use your precinct radio."

I reached for the device.

My cold, rain-slicked fingers brushed against his knuckles.

A violent jolt of static electricity ripped through my skin. The shock bypassed my nerves entirely, shooting straight up my finger bones and striking directly into my heart. I gasped aloud. The device slipped.

Kaelen caught it mid-air. He didn't hand it back immediately. He stared at the point where our skin had touched.

"Did you feel that?" I whispered, the words slipping out before I could bite my tongue.

"Take the comms," Kaelen ordered, his voice suddenly harsh. He shoved the black metal square into my open palm.

I gripped the device tightly, my hand shaking. The heat pooling at the base of my spine flared again, hotter and more demanding than before. My wolf paced frantically, whining at the loss of contact.

"Call me when you freeze the accounts," Kaelen instructed. He turned his collar up against the wind.

"Wait," I called out. "What are you going to do about Clara?"

He paused at the edge of the alleyway, the neon light from the motel sign casting long, twisted shadows across his face.

"I am going to plan a wedding," Kaelen answered.

He stepped backward, melting entirely into the pitch-black shadows of the storm. The heavy scent of pine and ozone lingered for a fraction of a second before the wind tore it away, leaving me alone in the freezing downpour.

I shoved the comms device into my tactical vest. My chest heaved as I tried to force my racing heart back to a normal rhythm. I needed to get back to my cruiser. I needed to run Thorne's shell companies through the police database before my shift ended.

My personal cell phone vibrated violently against my hip.

I unclipped the waterproof pouch and pulled the phone out. The screen glared brightly in the dark alley.

A single text message sat on the lock screen.

It was from Dr. Aris, my pack's private physician.

I swiped the notification open.

The encrypted text loaded onto the screen.

Your blood panel results are in, Maeve, and your progesterone levels have doubled.