The night had teeth.

Rain slicked the streets of Manchester, washing the city in shades of silver and smoke. Inside a narrow bar tucked between brick buildings, laughter and low music mixed with the hum of conversation. It was one of those places where shifters came to forget what they were, it had dim lights, cheap whiskey, anonymity.

And that was why Ghost liked it.

He sat in the far corner, gloved hands wrapped around a half-empty glass, the skull mask hiding most of his face. The others gave him a wide berth. They always did. Some out of respect, but most out of fear. Rumor had long outgrown the truth: that the Lieutenant of Task Force 141 was more shadow than man, that he’d killed whole packs without blinking. No one cared to test it.

It suited Ghost just fine.

He’d stopped expecting to find a mate years ago. Some wolves were born to bond; others were made for blood. He’d accepted that his purpose was the latter. His body carried the proof of it; scars that crossed his chest and arms like faded map lines, every one of them earned in the name of someone else’s safety. It was easier that way. No ties. No weakness. No reason to come home alive if the mission went south.

Until tonight. He felt it before he saw them.

It started as a shift in the air, a pulse beneath his skin. Then came the scent: warm, soft, and utterly disarming. It cut through the haze of alcohol and smoke like a clean blade, filling his lungs until he forgot how to breathe. His wolf surged up at once, snarling and wild, demanding closer.

Ghost's gloved hand flexed around the glass, knuckles whitening. Every instinct in him screamed, Mine.

His gaze tracked through the dim crowd and found the source: standing by the counter, laughing at something the bartender said. Light from the hanging lamps painted a halo across their hair. They didn’t notice him, not yet, but he was already undone.

The rest of the room blurred out, sound folding inward until all he could hear was the rhythm of their heartbeat. His own answered it, rough and unsteady. The bond slammed into him like a hit to the ribs, raw and absolute. For the first time in his life, Ghost’s control, the thing that kept the monster in his chest on a leash, fractured.

He stood, slow and deliberate. The other patrons turned away at once, instinctively bowing to the authority that rolled off him like thunder. His boots echoed against the worn floorboards as he crossed the bar, the skull mask gleaming faintly under the yellow light.

The omega looked up, startled, and their eyes met. Time stopped.

Every wall he’d built, every scar he’d carried, meant nothing in the face of that connection. It was terrifying in its simplicity. One look, one scent, and Ghost knew.

He had just found the one thing in this world he could never walk away from.

The sound in the bar dulled to a low hum as Ghost crossed the floor, boots striking the worn boards with measured weight. Every step tightened the coil in his chest, that wild, restless energy clawing at his ribs. He could feel it, that unmistakable pull of the bond snapping into place. It wasn’t just him; the air itself seemed to shift, electric and heavy, thick enough that even the omega by the counter straightened and glanced around as if sensing something unseen.

When their eyes met, the current between them sharpened. His wolf growled low inside him, the sound vibrating behind his ribs like a warning and a plea. Ghost’s throat went dry. He wasn’t used to this. The words, to softness, to the feeling of his pulse stuttering like he’d taken a hit to the chest.

He stopped a few feet away, enough distance to keep from scaring them off, though every instinct screamed to close it. “You shouldn’t be here alone,” he managed, his voice low and gravel-rough behind the mask. He could hear their heartbeat now and it sent a shiver crawling down his spine. The wolf in him leaned forward, pressing at the edges of his control, aching to mark, to claim, to protect.