[Claire’s POV]
The next morning Hugh is gone—vanished like morning mist, or like a man desperately avoiding emotional conversations.
The bed I slept in still smells faintly of cedar from his jacket, which I definitely did not fall asleep clutching like a security blanket. That would be pathetic, and I refuse to acknowledge it.
My father finds me in the kitchen. "Hugh left before dawn," he explains, and there's something like relief in his voice. "He's preparing the penthouse for your arrival. Someone named Theo will drive you in about an hour."
"Theo," I repeat. "Is that a werewolf name, or...?"
Dad goes very still. The coffee cup in his hand hovers mid-air, suspended between the counter and his lips. When he finally sets it down, the click of ceramic sounds unnaturally loud.
"So." He clears his throat. "You know."
"Found out in a pretty memorable way. Giant wolf in the guest house. Amber eyes. The whole dramatic reveal." I cross my arms, leaning against the counter. "Were you ever going to tell me? That your business partner turns into a literal predator?"
He rubs a hand over his face, looking older than I've ever seen him. "It wasn't my secret to tell. Hugh's nature, his pack—that's not something humans are supposed to know about. The fact that I do is an exception, not the rule."
"And me? Am I an exception too?"
Something flickers across his face—guilt, maybe, or fear. "You're my daughter. I've spent your whole life trying to keep you safe from things you shouldn't have to worry about."
There's more he's not saying—I can feel it pressing against the silence between us. But he looks so worn down by secrets I'm only beginning to glimpse.
"We're not done talking about this," I warn him.
"I know." He squeezes my shoulder. "But right now, you need to go somewhere safe. Hugh will explain more."
An hour later, a sleek black car pulls up, and out steps someone who looks like he should be modeling watches. Warm smile, easy humor in his eyes, the kind of bright energy that seems incapable of darkness.
"You must be Claire." He opens the passenger door with a flourish. "I've heard a lot about you, princess."
The nickname should make me bristle. Instead, I just roll my eyes. "Princess? Really?"
"Would you prefer 'damsel in distress'?" He grins, sliding into the driver's seat. "Theo, by the way. Official chauffeur and the only person allowed to make fun of Hugh's brooding."
“I might be jealous of your position now,” I sit beside him on a passenger seat. “Care to share what should I major in for that to be included in my my duties?”
Theo chuckles while starting the engine. “It’s more of a character trait thing than a university major thing for Alpha Hugh, I suspect.”
I pause, cringing a bit onto the naming. "Alpha Hugh? You really call him that? Like... the toxic masculinity thing? The whole 'I'm the dominant male, hear me roar' situation?"
Theo nearly chokes. "Oh my god. I'm absolutely telling him you said that." I try not to blush.
He wipes his eyes, still grinning. "No, Alpha is a rank. The pack leader. Didn’t he tell you? Hugh's our Alpha—strongest among all, in charge, makes the decisions. Below him are Beta, his right hand, and Gammas like me. It's less 'toxic masculinity' and more 'military hierarchy with fur.'"
"And is there an Alpha female equivalent?"
Theo's grin fades into something carefully neutral. "The Luna. She should be the Alpha's mate. If he has one."
Well, I totally file that away for later, while we ride up to Hugh’s place.
The penthouse is sleek, controlled, expensive—revealing nothing personal. Theo gives me the tour, and we end up on the couch debating pizza toppings when the front door opens.
Hugh freezes in the doorway, taking in the scene: me tucked into the corner of his couch, Theo leaning close.
His eyes flash amber.
"Theo." The word comes out like a growl, and something primal in me recognizes the danger. But not for me. "You're dismissed."
Theo stands immediately, shooting me a look that says good luck before disappearing.
Suddenly the penthouse feels much smaller. Hugh hasn't moved, his gaze tracking over me like he's cataloguing every place Theo might have touched.
"You two seemed comfortable." His voice is controlled, but I hear the edge beneath it.
"He's nice. We talked." I don't move from the couch. "Is that a problem?"
"We need to establish ground rules. You don't leave without protection. You stay out of my office. You don't answer the door." He lists them as if he’s reading of a paper.
"So I'm a prisoner?" I ask, lifting my eyebrow. Not really a question, though.
"You're protected." He moves into the room, each step deliberate. "There's a difference."
"Is there?" I stand, refusing to let him loom over me. "Because from where I'm standing, protection looks a lot like control. And jealousy."
His jaw tightens. "I'm not jealous."
"Really? You looked ready to rip Theo's throat out for sitting next to me." I step closer, watching his breathing go shallow. "What's the matter, Hugh? Don't like seeing another man make me laugh?"
"You don't know what you're talking about." But his eyes track down my body, lingering on my neck, my collarbone, the rise and fall of my chest.
"Then explain it to me."
Another step. The air between us thickens, charged with something electric. Heat radiates off his body. His pupils dilate as I move closer, the gray of his irises shrinking to thin rings around expanding black.
"Explain why you're looking at me like you want to devour me while pushing me away."
His hands clench at his sides, knuckles going white. A muscle jumps in his jaw. "Claire—"
"You keep making decisions about my life without asking."
I press my palm flat against his chest, feeling hard muscle beneath his shirt, the rapid-fire rhythm of his heart slamming against my hand. His whole body goes rigid at the contact, a visible tremor running through his shoulders.
"I'm tired of you pretending you don't want this. Don't want me."
"You think I don't?" His voice drops to something rough and dangerous.
He moves suddenly—too fast, inhuman fast—and my back hits the wall before I register he's closed the distance. His body cages mine without quite touching, forearms braced on either side of my head, close enough that I can see the amber bleeding into gray at the edges of his irises.
"You think I don't lie awake every night thinking about you?" His breath ghosts across my lips. His chest heaves with each controlled exhale, the buttons of his shirt straining. The tendons in his neck stand out like cables.
"About the sounds you made when I touched you? About how badly I want to finish what we started?" My breath catches.
This close, I can see the war playing out behind his eyes—the amber pulsing brighter with each heartbeat, then dimming as he wrestles for control. His body trembles against the invisible barrier he's maintaining between us, every muscle locked tight.
"Then stop fighting it." My voice comes out breathless. "Tell me the real reason you're keeping me locked up here with you."
His eyes flash full amber, molten gold swallowing the gray entirely. The air crackles between us like static before a storm.
His hand moves—rough and desperate—gripping my jaw, tilting my face up toward his. His thumb drags across my lower lip, and I watch his gaze drop to track the movement, watch his throat work as he swallows hard.
For one electric moment, I think he's going to kiss me.
"You know exactly why." The words are scraped raw against my lips.
Then something behind his eyes fractures—not into surrender, but into something harder. He releases my jaw like I've burned him, stepping back so fast the air rushes cold against my overheated skin.
"This is exactly why I should have had Theo stay." His voice is ragged, wrecked. He drags a hand through his hair, leaving it disheveled. "I can't think straight when you're near me. I can't be your protector when all I can think about is—"
He cuts himself off, jaw clenching. His hands shake visibly at his sides.
"The guest room is down the hall." Each word sounds like it's being dragged out of him. "And I need to be anywhere you're not. At least for tonight."
He doesn't retreat to his office. He walks straight past me, grabs his jacket from the back of a chair, and heads for the front door.
"Where are you going?" I call after him.
He pauses with his hand on the doorknob, not turning around. "For a run. A very long run. Don't wait up."
The door closes behind him, and I'm left pressed against the wall, heart pounding, skin flushed, absolutely certain that whatever game we're playing, I'm not going to be the one who loses.