[Hugh’s POV]
The darkness wraps around me as I move through the estate grounds, every sense on high alert. My wolf presses against the edges of my consciousness, demanding to be let out, and for once I don't fight him.
I let the shift come halfway—just enough to sharpen my senses without losing myself entirely. The world explodes into detail: the rustle of leaves a hundred yards away, the scent of jasmine, the distant heartbeat of a rabbit frozen in fear.
The security alert pinged from the eastern perimeter, where manicured grounds meet wild forest.
I cover the distance quickly, enhanced vision cutting through shadows. The breach point reveals itself—disturbed earth, broken branches at shoulder height, the unmistakable sign of something large pushing through.
But it's the scent that makes my blood run cold. Not an animal, not quite a human either. Something wrong, something that raises every hackle I have. The trail is faded, hours old at least, but the wrongness lingers.
I crouch, running my fingers through the churned soil, and my wolf snarls.
My phone buzzes and Richard's name glows on the screen.
"Tell me what you found." His voice is tight with fear, the cultured composure stripped away. "Is it them? Hugh, tell me if it's them."
"The evidence is inconclusive." I straighten, scanning the tree line. "Could be wildlife. A deer, maybe, or a large dog that wandered onto the property. But I want to increase patrols. Double the security rotation for the next week."
"Don't patronize me." Richard's breathing comes harsh through the phone. "I know what wildlife looks like, and you wouldn't be calling it inconclusive if you thought it was a goddamn deer. What did you find?"
"Disturbed ground. Broken branches. A scent I don't recognize, but it's old—hours at least. Whatever came through here is long gone."
I pause, weighing how much truth he can handle.
"I'm not going to lie to you, Richard. Something was here. But I can't tell you what, not yet."
"Claire." Her name comes out strangled. "Did you see her tonight? Is she safe?"
"She's in her room. I walked her back myself."
The silence stretches long enough that I check the connection. Then Richard's voice cracks, raw in a way I've never heard.
"I can't lose her too, Hugh. Not after everything. She's all I have left, and if they find her—"
"They won't." The promise comes out like a vow, absolute. "Nothing is going to touch her, Richard. Not while I'm breathing. I'll find out what came through here tonight, and I'll handle it. That's for what I charge you millions, isn't it?"
A sound that might be a laugh or might be a sob. "We both know this stopped being about money a long time ago."
He's right. He's annoyingly right about most things, which is why I've tolerated his friendship for nearly two decades.
I end the call with reassurances I'm not entirely sure I can keep.
I should go back to the guest house. Back to my temporary quarters, back to the careful distance I've maintained for years. The smart move, the strategic move.
Instead, I find myself standing beneath Claire's window like some kind of medieval fool in a romance novel. The light is still on, warm golden glow spilling through gauzy curtains, and I can see her shadow moving inside.
She should be sleeping.
She should be recovering from learning that monsters are real and she's apparently destined to be with one.
I tell myself I'm just checking on her. Making sure she's safe.
Then her silhouette stills, and moves toward the window. When the curtains part, there she is—arms around her middle, hazel eyes finding me in the darkness below. For a long moment, neither of us speaks. She looks at me. I look at her.
The mate bond thrums inside me like a living thing, and I should walk away.
But the ivy trellis on the wall beneath her second-floor window looks steady enough for my weight, and I'm scaling it before my brain catches up. She's already opening the window when I reach the top, stepping back to let me climb through.
"Is everything okay?" she asks immediately, her voice soft. "What did you find out there? You look like you've seen a ghost, which, given tonight's revelations, might actually be possible. Are ghosts real too? Should I be worried about ghosts?"
"Ghosts aren't real." Probably. "The perimeter's clear. It was probably just an animal."
"That's a lie." She crosses her arms, thin pajamas pulling tight across her shoulders. "I can tell when you're not being straight with me, you know. Your jaw does this thing where it gets all tense and broody, like a romantasy hero who's constipated."
The observation startles an actual laugh out of me. "Constipated… That's the comparison you're going with?"
"I stand by it. Now tell me the truth."
"I found something." The admission comes easier than it should. "Evidence that someone—or something—was on the property tonight. But the trail's cold. Nothing conclusive enough to act on yet."
"Am I in danger?"
She steps closer, and I can smell her floral shampoo and something warm and soft and uniquely her, that makes my wolf want to roll in it like a besotted puppy.
"Is this what you and Dad have been arguing about all along?” Oh how I hate how right she is. “The thing you think I deserve to know?"
"I don't know yet." The honesty costs me, but I can't lie to her. Not anymore. "But I promise you that nothing is going to touch you while I'm here. Nothing and no one. Do you understand?"
"I understand you're very dramatic."
But her eyes are soft, trusting in a way that terrifies me.
"What I don't understand is why you climbed through my window instead of just calling.” There’s an almost-smile on her face, a peace offering. “We, humans, have this thing… phone. Very efficient, phones. They've really revolutionized communication."
The question hangs between us, and I owe her an answer even if it damns me.
"I needed to see for myself that you were okay." The words come out rough, scraped raw from somewhere deep in my chest. "Hearing your voice wasn't enough, I needed to see you. To know you were safe."
I need to be near her just for one more moment.
She's sitting on the window sill now, those thin pajamas leaving very little to imagination, and the pull toward her is a physical ache in my bones.
When she reaches out, fingertips barely brushing my arm, every cell in my body screams at me to close the distance. To claim what is mine.
I force myself to step back instead.
"Lock the window after I leave." My voice comes out harder than I intend. "Try to get some sleep, tomorrow we'll figure out our next steps."
"Will you sleep?" She tilts her head, studying me with those too-perceptive eyes.
"No." There's no point lying. "But I'll be close. If anything happens, I'll know."
I'm out of the window before she can respond. Before I can do something stupid like grab her into my arms, crawl into that bed beside her and never leave. But her father wouldn’t approve of that. Hell, perhaps no one ever will.
The night air hits my face, cool and grounding, but it does nothing to quiet the howling in my mind.
Sleep will be impossible for a very long time.