The air in the VIP suite tasted of ozone and antiseptic, but underneath it, something darker pulsed.
Aria withdrew her hand as if burned. The golden light in her eyes was extinguished instantly, replaced by a dull, contact-lens grey.
Damien's eyelids fluttered.
He didn't wake up like a human. He woke up like a weapon being switched on.
One second, he was unconscious; the next, his hand—hot enough to sear skin—was clamped around Aria's wrist.
"You..." His voice was a ruin, gravel grinding against glass.
Aria didn't gasp. She didn't flinch. Years of running had taught her that fear was a scent, and he would catch it if she let it sweat out of her pores. She forced her heart rate to flatline, a trick she'd learned in the underground fighting pits of Berlin.
"Heart rate stabilizing," she said, her voice stripped of all emotion, checking the monitor with her free hand. "Mr. King, please release me. You are confusing your doctor with your hallucinations."
Damien didn't let go. His grip tightened, bruising. His pupils were blown wide, black swallowing the steel-grey. He pulled her down, his nose flaring.
Inhaling.
"Rain," he murmured, his eyes losing focus for a split second. "Why... rain?"
Aria's blood froze. She had scrubbed herself raw with unscented soap. She was covered in hospital-grade disinfectant. But the energy transfer... soul-to-soul contact bypassed the nose. He wasn't smelling her skin; he was smelling her *essence*.
She needed to hurt him. Just a little.
She pressed her thumb hard into a pressure point on the inside of his wrist. It wasn't an attack; it was a "medical reflex test."
Damien's hand spasmed open involuntarily.
Aria stepped back instantly, snapping her medical case shut. "Post-traumatic sensory distortion," she diagnosed coldly. "Common after Alpha surges. Drink water. Do not shift for twenty-four hours."
She turned and walked to the door. She didn't run. Predators chase things that run. She walked with the boring, tired shuffle of an overworked doctor.
Only when the heavy oak door clicked shut did she allow herself to shake.
---
"Mom, you're trending."
Leo's voice in her earpiece wasn't panicked—it was annoyed.
Aria was power-walking down the service stairwell, stripping off her white coat and stuffing it into a chute. "What?"
"His vitals. They spiked. The hospital system flagged a 'Code Red'. Security is sealing the exits. You have..." keyboard clacking ensued, "...forty seconds before the lobby doors magnetize."
"I'm on the third floor," Aria hissed, vaulting over a janitorial cart.
"Take the laundry chute," Leo suggested casually, as if recommending a flavor of ice cream. "It dumps into the basement. The loading dock is open for another two minutes."
"I am *not* taking a laundry chute, Leo."
"Do you want to explain to Dad why you're in jail? Or do you want to smell like dirty sheets for ten minutes?"
Aria cursed under her breath and kicked open the maintenance hatch. This was the glamorous life of a hidden Alpha heir—sliding down a steel tube meant for soiled linens to avoid the only man she had ever loved.
She jumped.
---
Upstairs, the chaos was controlled.
Damien sat on the edge of the bed, ignoring the blood dripping from where he'd ripped out his IV. Kael, his Beta, stood by the door, looking pale.
"We can't find her, Alpha. The cameras in the hallway... they looped. Someone hacked the internal feed."
Damien stared at his own hand. The phantom sensation of her skin was still there. Soft. Cool. Electric.
"A hacker," Damien said softly. "And a healer. A woman who smells like the past and disappears like a ghost."
He stood up. The weakness was gone. His wolf was pacing inside his chest, not howling in pain, but prowling. It had a target now.
He walked to where she had stood. There was nothing there. The cleaners were already efficient.
Wait.
Caught in the rough texture of the carpet, barely visible, was a single, long strand of hair. It was dark, catching the light.
Damien picked it up. He didn't bring it to his nose immediately. He wrapped it around his finger, a golden ring of possession.
"Close the port," Damien ordered.
"Sir?" Kael blinked. "The shipping port? That's billions in—"
"I don't care about the money!" Damien roared, the sound cracking the vase on the table. "She is here. In this city. Close the ports. Close the airport. Ground every private jet. If a fly tries to leave this city, I want to know its flight path!"
"Damien, you can't," Kael said, his voice trembling but firm. "The Council. If you shut down the city transit without a war declaration, the Elders will intervene. They'll strip you of the CEO title. They've been waiting for you to slip up."
Damien froze.
The Council. The old vultures.
He closed his eyes, fighting the urge to tear the building apart. Kael was right. If he used brute force, she would vanish into the chaos, and he would lose his throne. To catch a ghost, he couldn't use a hammer. He needed a trap.
"Fine," Damien breathed out, the gold in his eyes receding to a simmering steel. "Keep the ports open."
"And the woman?"
Damien looked at the hair wrapped around his finger.
"She's a doctor of 'Rare Artifacts', isn't she? That was her cover." He smiled, and it was a terrifying thing. "Tomorrow night is the Moonstone Gala. The auction house creates the catalog. She'll be there. Or she'll be watching."
"Get me a suit, Kael. And get security detail ready."
"You're going to the party?"
"No," Damien said. "I'm going hunting."
---
**The Safehouse**
"We have to leave."
Leo spun his chair around. "Mom, seriously. He tried to lock down the city. He stopped because of politics, not because he gave up. He knows."
Aria sat on the worn-out rug, letting Mia braid her hair. Her hands were shaking. She hid them in her lap.
"We can't go, Leo."
"Why? We have money. We have IDs. We can be in Zurich by breakfast."
"Because of this." Aria pulled a crumpled paper from her pocket. It was a chemical formula. "I saw his medical file while I was healing him. The toxin in his blood... it's the same base compound that's in Mia's DNA."
Mia looked up, her mismatched eyes wide. "The bad blood?"
"The Alpha instability," Aria corrected gently. "Damien has the antibody in his private vault at the Tower. It keeps him sane. If we leave now, Mia... you won't make it to your seventh birthday."
Silence filled the small room. The only sound was the hum of Leo's servers.
Leo looked at his twin sister. Then he looked at Aria. The childish annoyance vanished from his face, replaced by a cold, hard calculation that belonged to a future Alpha.
"Okay," Leo said. "So we rob him."
"We rob him," Aria agreed. "But the vault requires a retinal scan and a voice print from a 'Mate or Direct Kin'. Since I'm legally dead to him..."
"You need to get close enough to clone his biometrics," Leo finished.
Aria nodded. She stood up, walking to the window. The city lights of New York glittered below—a jungle of steel and glass where monsters wore Italian suits.
"The Gala tomorrow," Aria said. "He'll be there. I know him. He thinks he's flushing out prey."
She turned back to her children.
"Leo, hack the guest list. Put me under the name 'Lady V'. Mia, get the sewing kit."
"What are you wearing?" Mia asked, holding up a pair of scissors.
Aria's eyes flashed—not grey, but a defiant, burning gold.
"He remembers a weak girl who ran away in the rain," she said softly. "Tomorrow, he meets a Queen."
"Gold," Aria decided. "Dress me in gold. Let's see if he dares to touch the sun."