CARL DRACO
Darkness.
It stretches out endlessly, devouring time, space, and thought. I am afloat in it, weightless, hanging in a nothing where nothing exists—not pain, not power, not even myself. I should fight. I should tear myself back. But something keeps pulling me further in.
Then—fire.
It sears through my chest, branding me from the inside out. My lungs seize up. My heart stutters, stopping, failing—then booming back to life. Something drags me up, pulling me through strata of pain. I struggle to fight, to rip free, but I can't. I'm not in control.
I'm conscious of voices.
Distant, muffled, like cries in a storm.
Then one voice cuts through the haze. Sharp. Imperious. Infuriatingly familiar.
"His heart is failing—again! Bring me the clamps, now."
A growl nearly breaks from my chest. I know that voice. I am not supposed to know that voice. But my wolf reacts instantly, straining against the emptiness, clawing toward the voice of that person.
Then pain. Unthinkable. Wrenching. Excruciating.
I scream in my mind, muscles jerking, heart pounding against an invisible barrier. Someone is touching me. No—she is touching me. And my wolf Thaddeus knows her.
Mate.
The voice is a whisper at first.
Then an order.
But I'm not yet capable of reaching her. Not yet.
Darkness overtakes me again.
Three Days Later
The world is a muted hum when I wake. Light filters through my closed eyelids, but it's too bright, too intense. My arms and legs feel heavy, muscles tense, as if I've been trapped in time.
I inhale—and I know.
That scent.
Wild. Crisp. Something dangerously familiar and yet completely foreign.
My eyes snap open.
The first thing I see is her.
Standing at the window, arms crossed, eyes sharp and unfathomable.
She is beautiful in the most irritating way possible. Auburn hair burning with fiery brown braided back, showing off the sharp angle of her jaw and the dare in her steel-gray eyes. A doctor's coat is wrapped around her form, but it doesn't do a lot to hide the curves beneath.
Mine. My wolf Thaddeus reacts immediately.
The understanding hits me like a punch.
But something doesn't compute.
She doesn't look at me like a mate would. There is no awe. No uncertainty. No recognition of the bond that cracks and arcs between us like a live wire.
She is utterly indifferent.
A slow smile tugs at my lips despite the weakness in my body. I ask for water in a raspy voice and Marcus brings it in a straw but as she is leaving I ask Marcus to bring her back and he does but she is furious
She sneers.
Amusement rouses in my chest. The defensiveness in her stance, the bitterness in her tone—I know exactly what this is. Denial.
I stir, trying to sit up, but my body protests. My legs and arms are leaden, muscles weak.
"You need to rest," she says, but her voice is not warm. Just clinical detachment.
"I don't take orders from strangers."
She arches a brow. "Then it's a shame I'm the one who just saved your miserable life."
My wolf shifts, upset, but I ignore him. I study her instead.
Her fragrance, her closeness, my body's response to hers—all of it confirms what I already know.
She is my mate.
And she's playing like she doesn't feel it.
Interesting.
I don't have an opportunity to push her more before Marcus intrudes.
"Good, you're awake. We were so worried." He nods in my direction but speaks to her. "Doctor Keaton will be staying until you're fully recovered."
She tenses beside me. "Excuse me?"
Marcus crosses his arms. "You're the only one who's been able to touch him without triggering his instincts. That means you're not leaving."
Her jaw tightens, irritation flashing in her eyes. "I have a life outside of playing babysitter to your king."
I watch her closely. She doesn't realize it, but her fists are clenched. Not in fear, but frustration.
She wants to run.
She knows something is wrong.
Your life can wait," Marcus tells her, firm. "You're under the Alpha King's protection now. Until he's back on his feet, you stay."
Her lips narrow into a line, and something in that look—something in the sheer anger simmering beneath her composed exterior—gets me excited.
Oh, she's going to be fun.
I smirk, managing to sit up even as exhaustion pulls me down. "You heard him, Doctor," I drawl. "Guess you're stuck with me."
Her glare is priceless.
"I saved your life," she snarls, voice low and even. "Don't make me regret it."
A slow, predatory grin spreads across my lips.
Too late.
Later That Evening
Sleep will not come. My body may be frail, but my mind is not. When I close my eyes, I see her.
Annalise Keaton.
The doctor. The wolf. The mate who refuses to claim the bond burning between us.
I have never known a woman not to react to my presence. Wolves bow their heads. Humans are attracted. Even the strongest alphas lower their gaze when I enter a room.
But her?
She looks at me like I'm nothing but an inconvenience.
And that, more than anything, makes me angry.
I will not chase her.
I will hunt her.
The thought entertains me somewhat—until my door opens and the scent of another woman fills the air.
Lena.
One of my former lovers.
She moves in closer, perfume thick and choking. "Carl," she purrs, getting onto the bed. "You look better already."
I barely bite back my irritation.
Lena was fun. A diversion. But now she is nothing but a disruption.
Her hand skims across my chest, but the moment she makes contact, my wolf snarls.
Wrong.
Not her.
I grab her wrist before she can go further. "Leave."
Her eyes widen. "Carl—"
"Now."
She flinches at the command in my tone but obeys.
The door shuts behind her, and I exhale sharply.
This is trouble.
Major trouble.
The only touch I require, the only presence I can stand beside me… is hers.
And she does not even care.
The Next Morning
She's across the room, speaking with Marcus, but my focus is entirely on her.
She knows I'm watching.
She will not look at me.
Good girl.
Marcus speaks to her, and she stiffens, nodding curtly before turning to me.
I wait, patient.
She steps closer, and her perfume intoxicates my senses.
She's intoxicating.
She stops beside my bed, folding her arms. "I'm leaving today."
"No, you're not."
She takes a sharp breath. "I was your doctor, not your personal servant. You're stable. You'll live. My job is done."
I lift an eyebrow. "Is that what you think?"
"That's what I know."
She's lying.
She felt it, just like I did.
And yet, she turns. She walks towards the door.
She's really going to go.
A growl rips from my chest, but my body is still weak, too weak to stop her.
The last thing I see is her red braid swinging over her shoulder as she walks away.
And I swear—this isn't over.
I mind link Marcus, "Bring me everything on Annalise from her childhood, everything. You have three hours".