Chapter 1

[Amelia's POV]

Something's wrong.

That's the first thought that hits me as consciousness creeps back in. This bed... it's too soft. Too big.

I force my eyes open, squinting against the sunlight filtering through thick, cream-colored curtains. There's a lingering scent in the air, something that makes my stomach flip and my skin prickle with recognition I can't quite place.

Wolf.

The word whispers through my mind, and I'm not sure if it's my thought or Ashley's, my wolf. Either way, it sends a shiver down my spine.

I try to sit up and immediately regret it. My head pounds like someone's using it as a drum, and my body feels... different. Heavy. Like I've been hit by a truck. Or maybe something bigger.

What the hell happened last night?

I remember the party. I remember the music, the drinks, the sea of beautiful people who all seemed to belong in ways I never would. After that? Nothing. Complete blank.

Think, Millie. Think.

But thinking makes my head hurt worse, so I focus on the present instead. Like the fact that I'm definitely not in my crappy little studio apartment across town. And judging by the weight of these sheets against my skin...

Oh god. I'm naked.

Completely, totally naked.

I clutch the silk sheet to my chest and look around the room. My clothes are scattered everywhere – my simple black dress draped over an expensive-looking chair, my bra hanging from a lamp, my underwear... where the hell are my underwear?

There, by the window. Torn.

My face burns hot. Someone didn't just undress me – they ripped my clothes off. The thought should terrify me, but instead, there's this weird flutter in my stomach, like my body remembers something my mind doesn't.

We liked it, Ashley purrs in my head, her voice carrying satisfaction I don't understand. We wanted it.

"Shut up," I mutter, but even as I say it, I can feel the truth of it somewhere deep in my bones.

I need to figure out what happened. Fast.

The bed looks like a hurricane hit it. Sheets twisted and pulled off the mattress, pillows on the floor. There are scratches in the expensive headboard – actual claw marks gouged into the wood. And the smell... God, that smell is everywhere. Rich and masculine and something else. Something that makes Ashley whine with want.

On the nightstand, a scattered pile of used condoms. At least six. Maybe more.

Relief and embarrassment hit me in equal measure. At least whoever I was with was responsible about protection. But six? What kind of marathon was I part of?

I reach for my phone and the time makes me yelp. "Oh no!"

It's almost 8 AM. The coffee shop opens at 9, and I'm supposed to be there in forty-five minutes. There's no way I can get back to my place, shower, change, and make it to work on time. Mr. Peterson already thinks I'm unreliable – showing up late will give him the excuse he's been looking for to fire me.

I can't lose this job. Mom's counting on me to help with the bills, especially with her back acting up again after the last full moon.

Yet.

I stumble toward what I hope is a bathroom, using the sheet as a makeshift robe. The floor is cold against my bare feet, and every step reminds me of how sore I am.

The bathroom mirror doesn't lie.

I look thoroughly fucked.

My hair's a mess, tangled and wild like I've been rolling around for hours. My lips are swollen and darker than usual. But it's the marks on my skin that make me gasp.

Bite marks. Everywhere.

Not hard enough to break skin, but definitely visible. My neck, my shoulders, the curve where my shoulder meets my collarbone. Lower, on my breasts, my ribs, my hip bones. Some look like regular kisses, others... others look like someone got carried away in the heat of the moment.

He claimed us, Ashley purrs in my head, her voice carrying satisfaction I don't understand. He wanted us.

"But he didn't mark us," I whisper to my reflection, running my fingers over the bruises on my neck. There's no permanent bite, no scar that would bind me to an Alpha forever. These are just... passion marks. Evidence of a wild night, nothing more.

Still, whoever I was with last night wasn't just any guy. The scent clinging to my skin, the way my body still hums with satisfaction, the sheer intensity written all over this room – that was a powerful wolf.

I trace one of the darker marks on my collarbone, and suddenly I'm hit with a flash of memory. Strong hands gripping my waist. The press of lips against my throat. A low, rumbling voice whispering something I can't quite catch.

And pleasure. God, so much pleasure I could barely breathe.

My cheeks burn as more fragments surface. Being pressed against the wall by the door, my dress pushed up around my waist. Hands everywhere, touching me like they owned me. My own voice, breathy and desperate, begging for more.

We wanted him, Ashley reminds me, and I can't deny it. Even now, looking at these marks, there's a part of me that feels... satisfied. Like my body got exactly what it needed, even if my mind can't remember asking for it.

But there's no time to analyze it now. I need to get to work.

I splash cold water on my face and try to tame my hair into something presentable. There's makeup in my purse – cheap stuff, but it'll have to cover the worst of the marks on my neck. The ones on my body I can hide with clothes.

Speaking of which...

My dress is wrinkled but wearable. My bra's intact. But my underwear is definitely trash now. Guess I'm going commando today.

As I get dressed, I catch myself moving carefully, like my body's still adjusting to what happened to it. There's an ache between my legs that's both uncomfortable and oddly pleasant. A reminder of how thoroughly I was taken.

By our fate mate, Ashley adds unhelpfully.

"He's not our anything," I snap. "This was a one-night stand. A mistake. It's never happening again."

But even as I say it, I know I'm lying. The way my body responds to just the memory of his touch.

I just don't know what the hell I'm supposed to do about it.

Outside, the city's already alive with morning traffic. I catch a cab and give him the address of the coffee shop, trying not to think about how much this ride is going to cost me. Or about the fact that I can still smell him on my skin, even through the shower I took.