chapter 31-you're the Alpha?Blood Shade, aren't you? Selene's POV The general manager's office smelled like lemon polish and fresh paper-too clean, like someone had scrubbed the place to mask whatever sat beneath the gloss. Sunlight cut across Brian Stein's desk in a hard, flattering stripe. He rose when I stepped in, handshake warm, smile practiced. Everything about him was large: the office, the greeting, the enthusiasm. "You're Selene Armand?" he said, as if asking a question he already knew the answer to. He clasped my hand like a man who enjoyed clasping hands. "Yes." My voice didn't wobble. I had practiced this-show calm, show thankfulness. Don't show anything else. Brian dropped into his chair and fussed with a pen like it was choreography. "I read your résumé last night. You have a rare eye. We need creators who think in color, who can dig into texture-Thompson is a home for that. I want you on the team." He said the words like an unveiling, like he'd been keeping them for me alone. Flattery should have been a relief. Instead it put me on edge. People who lavished attention at once usually wanted something. I let him talk. I nodded at intervals. I asked the expected questions. I kept my hands where he could see them. When he went to fetch a file-too willingly, A corner of the top page was visible: a signature line, an embossed logo. Blood Shade Group. The three words were the thunderclap I had been waiting for since I'd left my father's pack. My breath snagged on nothing. I kept my face neutral, but the world narrowed to that name. Blood Shade. Damien. The horror of being marked by that name tasted cold and metallic in my mouth. "Is that "I pointed before I could stop myself. Brian's hand stilled. He didn't flinch, just smiled the same polished smile, only this time something like approval sharpened it. "Ah." He pushed the folder toward me as if offering me a courtesy. "Thompson is under the Blood Shade Group umbrella. We're a subsidiary. They've invested a lot into our new direction-edgier, bolder. Which is why I wanted you." Subsidiary. The word should have explained it away, made it corporate and ordinary. Instead it anchored the threat. "My... apologies," I said, because courtesy was a shield as much as any lie. "I didn't realize-" "No need for apologies." Brian's voice was syrupy. "It's a good thing. You'll have resources, connections. Tremendous opportunity." My ribs felt too tight. If Damien or anyone in his circle could access employee files-names, addresses, work history-then the safety I'd been clinging to would evaporate. They wouldn't forgive the deception. They wouldn't let a twin of Vanessa walk away with her life. I excused myself to the water cooler and let the buzz of the office swallow my footsteps. The cooler hissed. The kitchen smelled faintly of burnt coffee. Hands trembling, I fumbled for my phone. 1517 83.78% Aaron's name flashed on the screen because habit kept me from deleting it. I pressed call and held the phone low, beneath my coat. "Aaron," I whispered when he answered. My voice was smaller than I intended, "I found something. Thompson is... a Blood Shade company. They're under the group." There was a pause long enough to feel like an answer. Then Aaron's laugh came over the line-soft, amused, light. "So? It's not the darkest secret in the world." "It's my world," I said quickly. "If Damien-if anyone from Blood Shade finds me here, I'm done. He won't let me live." "You're not done," he said. Not dismissive. Certain. "Relax, Selene. I have... connections. A few people inside the Group who owe me favors. No one's going to trace this back to you. Nobody is going to pull it up and hand it to Damien." I closed my eyes because the world had a tendency to lurch when I let it. "You can promise that?" "I can." He sounded amused by my lack of faith. "Promise. Now stop glaring at the water cooler like it' s plotting against you and go back in. Don't quit over a name on a letterhead. You weren't hired by a pack; you were hired because you're brilliant on paper and in practice. Show them that." The office clock ticked cruelly. I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd held. "Brian... he's very-attentive," I said, voice tight. "I don't know. He gives me the creeps." There was the soft click of amusement on his end. "If he gets handsy, you have my permission to kick him in the-" "No!" I hissed, then impulsively laughed. "He'd better not. I promise you, if he tries anything, I will kick him square in the..." "Understood," Aaron said, sounding indulgent. "And if he's a problem, I'll... take care of him. For now, keep your head down. Keep the job. Keep him at arm's length." I rubbed my thumb against the paper rim of the cup in my hand until the cardboard stuck. "Okay. I'll stay." Damien's POV I ended the call with Selene and the smile settled on my face like a comfortable old coat. I poured red wine into a crystal glass and watched it catch the light-deep, honest color. The mirror across from my desk gave me back a face the stories never expected me to have: sharp cheekbones, a mouth that half-smiled, eyes that did not at all match the myth of the old, ugly killer they whispered about. They kept inventing versions of me that fit their fear. Old. Haggard. Wrinkled like a deadline-beaten manuscript. The rumor was a tool-something to keep women away, men kowtowing. I found it amusing. I found it endearing, too, in a way. Let them believe whatever kept them safe. Let them think the monster was old and slow. I am not slow. I am not old. I allow myself softness with Selene. She is my small, stubborn thing-my little one-and I mean to be patient. I will show her the real me in measured doses. Love like a slow river, that's the plan. I do not want to frighten her. She had enough. I would not be the storm that took the ground from beneath her feet; I would be the hand that steadied her. 15:17 83.05% This morning's small victory had been administrative and precise. I had Matthew, my Beta, file the change with the werewolf council: Aaron Scott's name replaced with Damien Hale; Vanessa's name corrected to Selene on the papers where it mattered. A quiet reshuffling of ink. No fanfare. Let the record read true where it needed to. Even if Selene couldn't see it now, consciousness of the arrangement would sit waiting for the right moment. The phone on the heavy mahogany desk sang with an unpleasant tone. I let the last sip of wine sit in my mouth as I answered. Lars Armand-Selene's father-had called earlier in the morning to beg. Now he wanted to meet face to face, offering coin to secure his daughter's compliance so Vanessa could be freed. He had the gall to think money could buy the safety of his child when he had not kept her safe to begin with. I met him at a coffee place in the lower town. The smell of coffee and damp concrete was a contrast to my office's polish. Lars came in looking like a man who'd been chewed on by worry-sweaty, guilty,. He fumbled with a small envelope like a talisman. "Please," he began before I sat. "You can-convince her. Talk to her. If she withdraws the complaint, we'll-" He held out the envelope. Slightly smug. Barely there. I listened to him lay out the transaction as if her life were a ledger item. I did not interrupt. When he finished, I folded my hands and let the silence do the work. "You hurt Selene," I said. The words were not raised. They were a scalpel. "You hurt her and Fiona. You let her live tormented. You handed her over to men who see her as something to be traded. Bribery will not fix that." His color shifted. He opened his mouth, then closed it. "I can pay," he insisted, voice thin. "I'll give you whatever-" "You'll give me nothing." My voice finally rose, low enough to be dangerous. "You will do what you should have done as a father: you will stand before your daughter and beg for forgiveness. You will go to her and be honest. That is the only thing that will work. Any other attempt to buy her will backfire." He stared at me as if assessing whether his chances of walking out alive were good. Then, because men like him always want to test myths, he leaned forward. "You're not a taxi driver," he said, as if a declaration could create certainty. "You're... you're the Alpha, aren't you? Blood Shade." I chuckled. It was small and sharp. "The legend says he's old and ugly," I said. "Let me reassure you-l am neither." My amusement was deliberate. I wanted to puncture his assumptions the way a needle punctures a fragile little idiom of hope. The idea that Selene could be lucky-safe, loved-was enough to choke him. He did not laugh. He muttered that no girl could be that lucky. I did not bother to argue about fortune. I told him instead what I'd told him at the coffee table with a voice like a verdict: "If you want Vanessa free, go and plead to Selene. Make amends. Be sincere enough to move what is left of her trust. Beg, properly. That's the only path." He left stunned, the envelope heavier than when he entered. I sipped the wine that remained in my glass and let the plan unfurl further-Selene would be my small one on her terms. I would maneuver quietly. When the time was right, she would know me in full. Until then, patience, tenderness, waiting. 15:17 83.78% chapter 31- you're the Alpha?Blood Shade, aren't you? Menu I turned back to the mirror. The face looking back at me was the one I intended for her to remember: not a monster, but the man who would make sure she would never again have to bargain for her life. Leave a comment 51784 Crows SlDHUC. A Luna un inG INIT