CHAPTER 7

ETHAN

Ethan Blackwood arrived late, a deliberate power move he usually despised. Being present was all the power he needed, even in the biggest negotiations, but the knowledge that an "observer" from the church was joining them had thrown him off his game. With no idea who they'd be sending, he’d resorted to the cheap trick of a late entrance, hoping to keep them guessing.

No, that was a lie. The late arrival was an involuntary concession to a sleepless night. He’d barely slept at all. When finally exhaustion consumed him, she had tormented him in his dreams. The wolf had been a restless beast within, but the man had been just as tormented. He knew better than to blame the wolf entirely; that was a weak man’s excuse. The wolf did not control him. Oh, he struggled, its power surging close to the surface when he was disturbed or excited, but he controlled his own actions. He was accountable for his own deeds, his own mind, and that self-discipline kept him in command.

The shifters Ava Morales hunted—any shifter he’d ever met—had surrendered that control. They lost the battle with their inner animal, becoming little more than beasts themselves. Not him. He would never let himself become a monster like the shifter who had killed her parents.

In his head, the wolf snarled. Hunters didn’t bother him at all. He urged Ethan to use the company system to find her, to go to her, and claim her as theirs. Risk be damned. As hard as he wished to keep to his more primal impulses, his rational head was thrilled when he woke up without her. It was a good thing they had parted ways after that night at his cabin.

If evidence of his self-discipline were required, he could point to the fact that he hadn't used the system to track her since they’d split up. Okay, that only lasted two days, but considering her life as a hunter, he was concerned for her well-being almost as much as he was consumed by thoughts of her.

His chauffeur pulled the car to the front of the Brookfield Place tower. Ethan gave a perfunctory nod to the uniformed security guard and was waved through a side door. CEOs who leased entire floors didn't have to wait around for a metal detector.

The elevator doors opened and he stood rigid, the hackles of his wolf raising. The scent of a light, spicy floral—a fragrance that almost, but not quite, matched hers—wafted out. It was a jolt to his system, an electric current shooting through him, yanking his wandering mind back to his last encounter with her.

He should have gotten on a different elevator. Even with its speed, he was trapped in that agonizingly familiar scent for the entire ride up. No matter how many times he told himself that it was best to stay away from her, the perfume derailed his thoughts, pulling them to everything he found so intriguing about her.

With each breath he took, visions ran through his head. Her hips swayed wantonly in the sole dance he ever remembered participating in. This vision changed to the cabin and her naked, reclining on his bearskin rug, a sheen of sweat on her brow after they had joined as one. He could almost taste her desire. His erection throbbed to half-mast beneath his suit pants, just thinking about it. Yes, avoiding her hurt, but he had to. If some random cologne could affect him like this just because it reminded him of her, he could not take these kinds of feelings, not for anyone. He had a company to run, a wolf to control, and a legacy to protect. He couldn’t afford to lose himself to a woman who could, at any moment, try to kill him.

The doors hadn't even fully opened before he almost leapt from the elevator to get away from the dizzying, familiar scent. It was a frantic, uncharacteristic escape. But the office itself wasn't much better. The perfume lingered in the reception area, a ghostly presence among the familiar scents of coffee and paper, but it was there, and it was potent.

It got stronger the farther he proceeded. He’d have to find HR and ask whether he could ban a specific perfume. The last thing he needed was to be reminded of her every damn day at work.

He saw a cluster of people near the conference room door—a familiar huddle of project team members. But there was a new woman in their midst, her back to him, partially hidden by a cubicle half-wall that cut off at waist level. He saw only the back of her head, a bleach-blonde pixie cut, and the royal blue blazer she was wearing.

Could this be the archdiocese observer?

A sudden, sharp wave of relief washed over him. At least they hadn’t sent Ava Morales. He'd recognize her wavy chestnut hair instantly. The woman giggled at something Ryan Thompson said, and his strides faltered. The sound was too familiar, too melodic. A pang of doubt, followed by a fierce, primal certainty, hit him. His wolf stirred, no longer just cautious, but now intrigued.

A deep breath confirmed what his ears already did. It hadn't just been a similar cologne in the elevator, it was her perfume. A chill snaked up his spine. She had told him she was from St. Michael's Shelter, but the archdiocese hiring her as an observer all but confirmed his worst fears: the church was deeply involved with the hunters. She was one of them, perhaps even their leader.

As he approached, the others noticed him, and most of the crowd dispersed, not wanting to look like they were slacking when the boss came by. Ava Morales saw Ryan Thompson's look in his direction and turned. Her pink lips twisted into a smirk that vanished as quickly as it had formed. Her skin-tight white top dipped just low enough to show a little cleavage without getting HR in an uproar. A silver crucifix hung against her pale skin just above the swellings of her breasts.

"Mr. Blackwood," Ryan Thompson said, his voice a little too eager. "I wanted to present you to Ava Morales. She's the observer the church sent to assess our new project. I didn't even know they'd have an interest in the system."

Her eyes met his, a flash of challenge and something else he couldn’t decipher. "Goodness gracious," she said, her voice a low purr, the sound a physical sensation that tightened his chest. "The church is always so keen to protect its flock." Hearing her words, the wolf surfaced, pulling on its restraint with all its strength, desperate to get closer to her. She continued, "And not to mention the valuable paintings and relics being displayed on church premises."

She placed a hand on the head engineer's shoulder as she gave her explanation, her touch lingering just a moment too long. The wolf’s excitement turned to near-sheer jealous rage. He was an idiot. She didn't need Ryan Thompson. No, she was only using him to provoke a reaction. She wanted the wolf to attack. She wanted a confirmation of what she already suspected.

"Mr. Blackwood," she said, pronouncing his surname as if tasting it with her mouth and tongue before holding out her hand. "It is a pleasure to meet you. Your staff can't say enough positive things."