Demon Pact she wolf: Now I'm the Damn Problem

The wolfsbane-laced merlot stained my lips like blood as Father clinked his glass against mine, his smile as false as the diamond cufflinks adorning his wrists. "To your new life, my dear," he purred, watching me drain the wine-oblivious that the potion would unravel my world.

To secure an investment and buy a gift for his bastard daughter, Father drugged me with wolfsbane-laced wine and delivered me to his sworn brother's bed.

The penthouse overlooked Manhattan's skyline, but I registered only the raw strength of the man beside me.

His hands on my skin, the scent of cedar and wild wolf that clung to the sheets-we burned through the night, a box of condoms strewn across the silk sheets like casualties of war.

When consciousness clawed back, sunlight seared my eyes, and a growl rumbled from the throat of the man who'd claimed me.

"I'm your father's blood brother," he snarled, his wolf eyes glowing gold with disgust.

Look at you," he sneered, tossing me a silk robe that reeked of his scent.

"So desperate for a wolf that you'd drug your father's brother. Pathetic."

His gaze raked over me like a branding iron, each word a lash.

"Tell your father he can keep his blood money. I'll never touch a cur who crawls into bed with trickery."

He flung my naked form back to the Charles manor, vowing never to see me again.

Fearful of offending the Davis pack, Father tossed me into the Silverwood Asylum that very night. There, I endured beatings with silver-tipped batons, electroshocks from silver-lined restraints, and degradation by the director and his lackeys-werewolf hunters masquerading as orderlies. When they wheeled me toward the operating table for "werwolf experimentation" on a werewolf hybrid, I leaped from the rooftop.

As my wolf's lifeblood ebbed, a disembodied growl rumbled in my mind:

"Little pup, give me your heart, and I'll grant you rebirth."

The air reeked of ozone l as my claws scraped the concrete.

I remember nothing but waking with a hollow chest, where once my werewolf heart beat.

The asylum director-who'd once relished my screams-now cowered before me.

"Miss Charles-no, mistress!" He thrust a discharge paper forward, his hands shaking. "We've called your family. Mercy, please!"

I flexed my claws, recalling the demon's pact.

He'd taken my gentle heart, the one that craved pack bonds, and left me a rabid she-wolf.

Now, clutching the asylum papers, I laughed at the approaching limousine-its windows tinted against the moon.

Finally, I could make them taste silver.

When I staggered into the Charles manor, the laughter died.

Jason instinctively shielded Annie Charles behind him, her scent cloying with victory.

Father curled his lip at my blood-stained gown-crusted with my own drying wounds and the gore of my tormentors.

"Back so soon?" he sneered.

"Wearing that ragged trash to play the martyr?"

I traced a scar on my forearm, where silver had burned me.

Jason's gaze flickered to the mark, his wolf nose catching the stench of old pain.

But he only growled: "Three years in Silverwood didn't cure your depravity. Try seducing me again, and I'll chain you there forever."