Elsa

I could feel his eyes on me from across the table. Even surrounded by two dozen members of the Black Obsidian pack, seated at the long mahogany table in the Stone family estate, I was hyper-aware of only him.

Drake Stone. My Alpha. My employer. My tormentor.

Fucking hell, why does he still affect me like this? As one of the few Omegas in the Black Obsidian pack, I’d grown accustomed to being scrutinized. The Stone family had controlled the pack’s core power for generations, and their estate.

His leg stretched under the table, deliberately hooking around my ankle. I am his high-level assistant, and lover. Keep it together, Elsa.

“I need to freshen up,” I murmured, rising from my seat. Several pack members glanced my way, but only momentarily. An Omega’s movements weren’t worth tracking.

I slipped away from the dining hall, exhaling only when I reached the second-floor corridor. My womb clenched painfully—something felt wrong. Different from the usual monthly cramps. I’d been feeling off for weeks. Shit, this hurts more than usual. Something’s definitely wrong.

“Running away, Elsa?”

I froze. Drake stood at the end of the hallway, his tall frame blocking the light. He’d followed me. My heart is hammering against my ribs like it wants to escape—exactly how I feel.

“I just needed a moment,” I said, backing up instinctively. My body already betraying me, preparing for his presence—wetness between my thighs, pulse quickening. Traitor body. Traitor biology.

His nostrils flared. “Your scent changed. Something’s different.”

Before I could protest, he was beside me, one hand gripping my wrist, the other unlocking a door. His private quarters. He pushed me inside and locked the door behind us. No, no, no. Not here with his entire family downstairs.

“Drake, this is a family gathering, we can’t—”

“Can’t I?” His eyes flashed gold, wolf eyes replacing human ones. “After ten years, you still question what I can and can’t do with you?”

He pressed me against the door, his mouth at my neck. No one knew—officially I was just his assistant, while Vera Horton was his proper mate. Not a disposable Omega like me.

“You are driving me crazy,” he growled, tearing at my blouse. I felt buttons pop and scatter across the floor.

I tried pushing him away, my hands flat against his chest. “Please, not here. Your family—” They’ll hear us.

His answer was a deep growl as he turned me around, pushing my skirt up around my waist. “They know better than to interrupt me.”

His teeth grazed the small black birthmark at the nape of my neck. God, I hate how wet I get, how my body submits while my mind screams in protest.

Suddenly, sharp pain knifed through my abdomen. Not the usual ache of desire, but something wrong—deeply wrong. Like something inside me was tearing apart.

“Drake, stop!” I gasped. “Something’s wrong. It hurts!”

He didn’t stop. The pain intensified, and in desperation, I bit his forearm, hard enough to draw blood.

He jerked back, snarling. “What the fuck, Elsa?”

I collapsed to the floor, curling around my abdomen. “It hurts,” I whimpered. The pain was unlike anything I’d felt before, shooting through my pelvis in waves.

Drake’s eyes narrowed as he noticed blood trickling down my thighs. He sniffed, then stepped back, adjusting his clothing. His expression shifted from lust to cold indifference in seconds.

“Your cycle’s early,” he said flatly. “Use the back staircase. Don’t let it affect the pack gathering.” Not even a hint of concern. I could be dying and he’d still prioritize his fucking pack.

Back in the present, my phone buzzed at 11 PM. Drake’s voice cut through without greeting: “Bartlett Plaza. Twenty minutes. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

“I’m in the hospital.” You heartless bastard. I just lost your child.

“I don’t care if you’re in hell. Twenty minutes.”

I swallowed pain medication, sprayed scent neutralizer to mask my hospital smell, and called a ride-share. In the car, I applied makeup to hide my pallor and changed into the spare outfit I always kept in my emergency bag. Fuck you, Drake.

The Summit Restaurant’s private dining room reeked of expensive whiskey and male werewolf when I arrived. Three Moon Shadow executives looked up, their eyes traveling down my body with undisguised interest. Great. More wolves treating me like meat.

“Finally, the pretty assistant arrives,” one said, pulling me to sit beside him, his arm snaking around my waist. His fingers dug into my hip, possessive and presumptuous.

I looked for Drake, finding him at the head of the table with Vera – a new intern assistant, pressed against his side. She wore a clingy black dress, her hand possessively on his thigh. He met my eyes without emotion. Not even a flicker of concern after what happened today. Not a single fucking text asking if I was okay.

“Gentlemen, this is just my assistant,” Drake introduced me. “Taking care of clients is her job description.” Just his assistant. Just a service provider.

I endured three hours of being pawed at, while watching Drake protect Vera from similar attention. When they left early—”Vera needs her rest”—I remained behind to finalize the contracts, as ordered. Of course precious Vera needs protection, while I’m thrown to the wolves.

At 3 AM, I collapsed into Drake’s private car, my body fevered from pain medication wearing off. I thought he’d gone home with Vera, but he slid in beside me, smelling of expensive cologne and Vera’s perfume.

“You were useful tonight,” he said, handcuffing my wrists before I could protest. “But you need reminding of your place.”

He unzipped his pants, exposing his already hard length, and roughly pushed my head down. “Use your mouth. Now,” he commanded.