Zenith rubs his half-missing ear in thought, a curiosity that's been nagging at me, but I hesitate to ask about it, not wanting to appear impolite. 'You will be a valuable addition to my pack, Astrid. When you turn eighteen, you'll be able to sense your mate,' he states, his tone taking a more serious turn.
'Yes, I'm aware of that,' I reply cautiously, unsure where this conversation is leading.
'Well,' Zenith continues, 'you see, my son James hasn't found his mate yet, and he's at an age where he can be given a chosen mate.'
I'm bewildered by his statement and can't help but ask, 'What does any of this have to do with me?'
Zenith leans back, his gaze steady. 'What would you say if I wanted you to be his chosen mate?' he offers.
Taken aback, I stammer, 'I-I’m flattered, but I would prefer to find my mate chosen by the Moon Goddess, as you can understand.'
He raises an eyebrow and asks, 'What if you don't find your mate?'
Counteracting, I challenge, 'What if I do?'
Zenith chuckles softly. 'Ah, Astrid, you are a stubborn one! Perhaps just think about the idea over the next few days?' He suggests, a smile playing on his lips.
Confused and still apprehensive, I press on. 'Why would you want someone like me, potentially weaker, to be your son's mate? Wouldn't you prefer a strong she-wolf who can bear his pups?' I question.
Zenith's expression remains cryptic as he responds, 'I suppose you'll find out why I'm asking when you shift into your wolf on your eighteenth birthday.'
His words only deepen my confusion. What does he know about me that I don't? The idea of mating with James or anyone other than Ryker makes my stomach churn. Even if Ryker were to move on with Vanessa, the thought of being with someone else feels nauseating.
In the dimly lit underground car park, our journey concludes with a quiet ascent in the elevator. Upon reaching my designated desk, I assume my role as the receptionist, fielding incoming phone calls with professional courtesy. Meanwhile, John and James, exhibiting a family penchant for flirty gestures, head into their father's office, wearing matching mischievous grins.
'Zenith Creations, how may I assist you?' I inquire as I answer a call, my voice projecting confidence.
A deep, unfamiliar voice responds, 'Tell the boss I've got his special delivery here, the one he ordered.'
I maintain my composure and request, 'Certainly, may I ask who's speaking?'
'Beta Glen,' he replies with an air of authority.
I promptly place Glen on hold and dial Zenith's number. 'Beta Glen has mentioned that he has your special delivery here,' I convey to Zenith.
'Tell him to bring him up right now,' he orders, his voice tinted with expectation.
'Understood,' I acknowledge before terminating the call.
I'm curious and unsettled about the idea of referring to a special delivery as him.
A sudden, resonant 'ding' echoes through the room as the elevator doors slide open. My astonishment takes hold as two impeccably dressed men enter, forcefully escorting another man. The captive's hands are tightly bound behind his back, and his head is concealed beneath a mesh bag. Fresh and dried blood stains his shirt, eliciting a gasp of shock from me.
The two enforcers casually move their helpless captive past my desk as though such occurrences happened frequently. Their destination is Zenith's office, and I can't shake the nagging feeling of familiarity emanating from the captive's scent, although its source remains undefined.
Soon after the captive enters Zenith's office, muffled thuds and anguished moans emanate from within, setting my nerves on edge. I can't help but sense that something unsettling is unfolding behind that closed door.
The phone's shrill ring sends shivers down my spine as I answer, Zenith's voice cutting through the silence, 'Make a round of coffees, would you, Astrid?' The call ends abruptly, leaving me with a sinking feeling in my gut. I gulp, knowing I'm about to enter a room where I suspect something awful has transpired.
Summoning my courage, I prepare five steaming cups of coffee, arranging them neatly on a tray. With a deep breath, I navigate to Zenith's office, bracing myself for what I might encounter inside. Using my hip, I gently push the door open and step into the dimly lit room, carefully placing the tray on the desk.
My eyes scan the scene, absorbing the unsettling sight before me. Five men, including Zenith, fix their gazes upon me. Zenith's hands are streaked with blood, and my heart clenches as I spot the unconscious figure sprawled on the floor. The man is bound and hooded.
A gasp escapes my lips as I take in the unsettling scene. Though I can only see his back, it's painfully evident that the man has been subjected to a severe beating. My fear and dread intensify.
Zenith's eerie grin sends chills down my spine, and I struggle to maintain my composure. 'This is my beta, Glen, and Gamma Dan, Astrid,' Zenith introduces, his voice unnervingly calm.
Trembling, I manage to speak, my voice quivering. 'It's, um, it's nice to meet you both,' my eyes avoid their gaze.
Glen, seemingly oblivious to the unease in the room, starts to speak. ‘This isn't the Astrid, is it Zenith? The Astrid from the moo-' but his words are cut short as Zenith ruthlessly strikes him in the stomach, leaving him writhing in pain.
Zenith's dark tone sends a jolt of fear through me as he warns Glen. 'Not another word, Glen,' he warns.
I instinctively step back, alarmed by the sudden violence. Attempting to regain composure, Zenith turns his attention to me, his voice taking on a deceptive calmness. 'Astrid, please don't mind Glen here. He forgets his manners sometimes, and I need to remind him of his place.'
With a commanding tone, Zenith orders his associates, 'Glen, Dan! Take him back down to the basement.'
The tension in the room grows as the two men carry out his instructions.