Anya POV
Waking up felt less like rising from sleep and more like surfacing from a deep, dark ocean. My body felt heavy, languid, and thoroughly used, humming with a strange, electric afterglow that I had never experienced before. But as the fog of sleep lifted, the reality of where I was—and who I was with—crashed down on me with the force of a physical blow.
A heavy arm was draped over my waist, pinning me to the mattress. It was solid muscle, hot and unyielding like an iron bar.
I froze, my breath hitching in my throat.
Slowly, terrified of what I might see, I turned my head. Alpha Declan Blackwood was asleep beside me. In the pale gray light of dawn, he looked less like a man and more like a dormant god carved from marble. His dark lashes rested against his cheekbones, softening the harsh, predatory lines of his face, but even in sleep, he radiated a terrifying amount of power.
Panic, cold and sharp, pierced through the lingering haze of alcohol.
Oh, Goddess. What have I done?
I was a wolfless. A nobody. I scrubbed floors and filed paperwork to pay for my mother's dialysis. And I had just slept with the Alpha.
If he woke up and saw me—saw the pathetic, invisible girl he employed—he wouldn't just fire me. In our pack, a wolfless touching an Alpha was seen as a contamination. I could be exiled. Or worse.
I had to leave. Now.
His scent was everywhere. It was a thick, intoxicating blend of rain-soaked earth and ozone that seemed to have seeped into my very pores. It was possessive, wrapping around me like a second skin. I felt a strange, irrational urge to burrow closer to him, to let that scent drown me, but I ruthlessly shoved the feeling down. That was a death wish.
With the precision of a bomb disposal technician, I lifted his arm. It was incredibly heavy. He grunted low in his throat, his brow furrowing, and my heart stopped. I held my breath until his breathing evened out again.
I slid off the bed, my legs trembling as they hit the plush carpet. I grabbed my clothes from the floor, not daring to put them on until I was out the door. I took one last look at him—the dark hair messy against the white pillow, the scratch marks on his shoulder that I had put there—and fled.
The hallway was empty, thank the Goddess. I sprinted barefoot to the elevator, clutching my heels and dress to my chest. I didn't go back to the room I was supposed to share with Camryn. I couldn't face her questions yet.
Instead, I went to the front desk, my hands shaking so badly I dropped my credit card twice. I booked a new room, wincing as the charge went through. That was two weeks of grocery money gone, but I needed a sanctuary.
The moment the door to the new room clicked shut, I stripped and practically dove into the shower. I turned the water up until it was scalding, scrubbing my skin with the harsh, industrial-smelling hotel soap until I was raw and red.
"Get off," I hissed, tears mingling with the spray. "Get off me."
I needed to scrub away the scent of rain and pine. I needed to scrub away the memory of his lips, his hands, the way he had made me feel like I was the only woman in the world.
Once I was dressed in fresh clothes—a stiff corporate blouse and skirt—I grabbed my phone. My thumb hovered over the message thread with Camryn.
Don't play dumb! Either send me a hot warrior, or be one. I'm in room 1501.
I deleted it. Then I deleted the call log. I deleted everything.
It never happened, I told myself, staring at my pale reflection in the mirror. He was drunk. He won't remember. I am invisible. I have always been invisible.
By the time I made it to the hotel lobby for the morning training seminar, I had constructed a fragile mask of normalcy.
"There you are!" Camryn waved from near the coffee station. She looked bright-eyed and annoying. "Where were you last night? I came to the room and you weren't there."
"I... I fell asleep in a spare room," I lied, grabbing a coffee to hide my shaking hands. "Migraine."
Before she could pry further, the atmosphere in the lobby shifted. The chatter died instantly. The air grew heavy, charged with static electricity.
The glass doors slid open, and Alpha Declan walked in.
He was flanked by his Beta, Heath Jacobson, and two Gamma warriors. He was wearing a sharp charcoal suit that cost more than my life's earnings, his hair slicked back, his face a mask of cold, indifferent authority. He didn't look like the passionate lover from a few hours ago. He looked like a king coming to inspect his subjects.
I lowered my head, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. Don't look at him. Don't look at him.
He strode past us, his power rolling off him in waves that made the hair on my arms stand up. He was heading for the exit, leaving. I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. I was safe. He didn't know.
Suddenly, he stopped.
The silence in the lobby was deafening. Declan didn't turn around. He just stood there, rigid, his head tilted slightly as if listening to a frequency no one else could hear. Then, he turned to Heath.
His voice was low, but in the dead silence, it carried like a gunshot.
"Find out who was registered to Room 1501 last night," Declan commanded, his tone icy and laced with a terrifying promise of violence. "Bring her to me."
My blood turned to ice. The coffee cup rattled in my hand.
Beside me, Camryn gasped. She turned to me, her eyes wide with confusion and a dawning, horrified realization. She didn't mean to be loud. She was just shocked.
"1501?" she whispered, but in the vacuum of the silent lobby, it sounded like a scream. "Anya, wasn't that your room?"
