The amber liquid in Damian Blackwood’s glass swirled lazily as he traced the rim with his index finger, his golden eyes half-lidded in boredom. Across the table, one of his most trusted men droned on about the successful opening of their newest club, detailing profits, security measures, and clientele. It was good news, but predictable—nothing he hadn’t heard before.

When the meeting finally ended, his men filed out, leaving him alone in the dimly lit room. Damian stood, stretching his shoulders before moving toward the floor-to-ceiling window. The city sprawled beneath him, lights flickering like dying embers in the night. His reflection stared back—calm, composed, but with a restless edge simmering beneath the surface.

A sharp knock at the door cut through his thoughts.

“Come in,” he said, his voice smooth yet commanding.

The door swung open, revealing one of his guards. But it wasn’t the guard that caught Damian’s attention—it was the young woman who stepped in behind him.

The moment she entered, something shifted.

She smelled different.

Not human. Not werewolf. Not anything he had ever encountered before.

Damian’s grip on his glass tightened slightly. For the first time in a long while, something—or someone—had truly piqued his interest.