Devon
My wolf hadn't stopped growling since we left the estate.
He was pacing under my skin, agitated, restless, a low rumble sitting in my chest like a coiled storm. Not even the wail of sirens clearing our path through Astria's golden avenues could drown him out.
We sped through the city like a burning omen. My motorcade—seven black cars before me, five behind—all polished steel and flashing lights. Pedestrians turned to watch us glide past, some raising hands in greeting, some pressing palms reverently to their chests. The President was passing through.
But I wasn't there—not really. Not when Franco leaned forward from the front seat and reminded me, again, "Sir, you have a press conference at eleven."
I didn't respond.
Because none of that mattered. Not the press. Not the cheers. Not even the diplomatic firestorm was waiting for me in the office.
All I could think about was her.
Nadia.
I tugged at my tie, suddenly too tight against my throat. My knuckles were white on the leather seat.
She shouldn't be here.
She can't be here.
I hadn't seen her in over ten years. A full decade without a trace—no scent, no whispers, not even a false alarm. And now she was standing at my dining table like time hadn't turned to ash between us. Like her presence didn't make my skin crawl and my wolf bristle.
Ten years ago...
Gods help me.
Snow. Heavy, thick, endless.
It was one of those dead-silent winter days in the Northern Woodlands, when the wind held its breath and even the trees stood still. The kind of silence you feel in your teeth.
And then—
A scream.
I remember that part too well.
It echoed through the trees, raw and jagged, cutting through the white silence like a blade. Nadia's voice, broken and desperate. I ran toward it, my wolf already rising in my veins, instinct flaring.
What I found—
Blood.
So much blood.
Red across snow. Red on fur. Red on a body too small, too soft.
A boy. Fifteen at most. Human. Dead.
And standing over him, fangs still out, was her mate.
I remember Nadia falling to her knees in front of me, hands covered in gore, shaking like a dying leaf.
"Devon, please—he thought the boy was a hunter—he didn't mean to—"
But her mate said nothing. Not remorse. Not regret. Not even fear.
He stood tall, chin lifted like he was proud of what he'd done.
I remember the exact words I snarled at her.
"He was a damn boy, Nadia. A child. You think the gods care if he was carrying a slingshot or a rifle? Your mate tore his throat out because he hates humans. That's it. That's the truth."
The Elders demanded justice.
There were laws. Ancient ones. Absolute. We were to remain hidden. Discreet. Coexisting in the shadows, never playing gods. And above all, no killing humans. Never— unless hunted.
The punishment was death. Everyone knew it.
But Nadia... she begged.
She wept. She clung to me like I was still her cousin and not her judge.
"Please, Dev," she whispered. "He's all I have."
I wanted to believe her. Hell, some part of me did.
But her mate?
He spat at my feet.
Then he challenged me.
No apology. No explanation. Just open defiance in front of the entire pack.
So I killed him in a duel.
In the snow. In the clearing. Under the same moon that watched us grow up.
And afterwards... Nadia changed.
She didn't grieve. She didn't crumble.
She turned cold.
Resentful. Bitter. Vicious in every way, her mate had been bold. She undermined me at every turn, sowed dissent where loyalty once bloomed.
I gave her one chance.
Leave.
Or be buried next to him.
She chose exile.
And for ten long years, there was silence.
Until now.
"We're arriving in a few seconds, sir," Franco said, dragging me back into the present.
The motorcade pulled to a stop outside the executive building. I stepped out into a wall of warm air, glass and steel towering around me, the weight of public expectation pressing down from every camera angle.
My secretary was waiting at the entrance, tablet in hand, voice polite but cautious. "Mr. President. We're glad you're back. There were… concerns."
I forced a smile, thin and humourless. "Let's get to work."
She fell into step beside me. Franco trailed silently behind as we entered the glass doors, where the staff greeted me with a mix of forced smiles and furtive glances.
They had questions. I could smell them.
The incident. The footage. My eyes.
The elevator dinged, and we stepped inside.
"You have a press conference at eleven," she began, businesslike. "We recommend addressing the rumours directly, especially the more… speculative ones."
I didn't ask her to define "speculative." I didn't need to.
"After that," she continued, "a private meeting with the Varezen delegation—Ambassador Hollis and her team. They want to confirm the merger still stands and… that the presidency remains stable."
Stable.
They weren't talking about the administration.
They were talking about me.
I nodded once, jaw locked.
"And tonight," she added with a slight pause, "your wife's PA scheduled a family dinner. He emphasised that your presence is expected."
I swallowed back a growl. "Noted."
"Anything else?" I asked as the elevator doors opened to the top floor.
She gave a curt nod. "That's all for now, sir."
I stepped into my office and shut the door behind me. The moment I was alone, I finally exhaled.
My hands moved on instinct. Down to the locked cabinet under my desk. I punched in the code.
Empty.
Of course it was.
The suppressants were gone. Had been for weeks. They'd stopped working anyway.
My control—what little I had left—was fraying.
I reached for the phone. Hit the intercom.
"Your Excellency?" My secretary's voice came through, a little too chipper.
I dropped the pretence. "Send Jimmie to my office. Now."
A beat. "Right away, sir."
I leaned back in my chair, eyes fixed on nothing.
The wolf inside me curled tighter, restless and waiting.
Nadia didn't come back for a family reunion.
She came back with a purpose. With blood in her shadow and old bones to rattle.
And whatever it was she brought with her... it wasn't good.
I needed Jimmie.
Because if things kept unravelling like this—
There wouldn't be enough left of me to stop what came next.