He sensed her before he saw her.
His wolf goes still, alert and focused in a way it hasn't been in years.
She's standing near the bar, fingers wrapped around a glass she hasn't tasted yet. She isn't dressed to impress. No calculated beauty and no practiced smile.
She looks… real. He walks to her and offers company.
When her eyes meet his, something passes between them, recognition without context and familiarity without memory.
His pulse spikes, sharp and sudden. This is dangerous and he knows he should leave. Instead, he moves closer towards her.
"Can I?" He asks, gesturing to the empty space beside her.
She studies him for a long moment, as if weighing something unseen.
"Sure."
They don't exchange names. That feels deliberate, even as neither of them says it aloud.
He gestures to the bartender. "Another?"
She nods.
When the drinks arrive, he lifts his glass but doesn't toast. Instead, he studies her gaze before sipping "You look like you're waiting for someone,"
She glances toward the dance floor to Bella who is laughing now, spun beneath the lights, oblivious.
"I was," she admits. "But apparently, I've been abandoned."
A corner of his mouth lifts. "Temporary abandonment."
"You sound confident."
"I'm hopeful," he corrects.
They drink in silence for a moment. Not awkward and measured. "You don't come here often,"
"No," she says instead. "First time."
He nods , as if that confirms something for him. "That makes sense."
"For who?"
"For people who don't belong here," he says before adding quietly, "yet."
When her hand mistakenly brushes his, it's like a spark under his skin. His wolf surges.
He exhales slowly, grounding himself "We should…"
"Not yet," she says, quiet but firm and he doesn't argue.
"What's your name?" she asks.
He hesitates.
Just long enough to matter.
"Daniel,"
She knows that with a sudden irrational certainty that it's not his name. But she lets it go.
"I'm…" She stops herself, the same instinct flaring. "I don't think names are necessary."
"No," he agrees. "They complicate things."
His voice is calm, controlled and close enough that she feels the warmth of him without him touching her.
He's taller than she expected, dark hair slightly undone, expression composed in a way that suggests effort rather than ease.
There's nothing flashy about him, no loud confidence. Just a presence that makes the air feel heavier and fuller like the room adjusted itself around him.
There's something about him that makes her feel unguarded and seen but not reckless.
He doesn't dominate the space the way most men usually do. He restrains himself, like he's holding back something vast and dangerous.
The more they talk, the quieter the ache inside her becomes. They don't talk about why they're there. They don't talk about tomorrow.
Bella reappears at the edge of her vision, flushed and smiling, mouthing I'll call you! before disappearing toward the exit with a dramatic wave.
She sighs. "Guess it's official. I've been ditched."
He sets his glass down. "Then let me make it up to you."
She raises an eyebrow. "How?"
"Come with me," he says simply. "Or don't. Either way, I won't pretend I didn't want to ask."
"One drink, Then we'll see." She laughs.
His smile this time is slow, "That's all I'd ask for."
She takes a few more glasses, she doesn't remember when she decided to leave, only the feel of the night air on her skin as they step outside.
"This doesn't happen to you often," she says. It sounded more like a statement than a question.
"No," he replies, voice low. "That's why it's happening now." He stops a taxi and they enter.
When they reached her building, he paused, hand hovering at her back without touching.
"If you tell me to stop," He says, "I will."
She looks up at him, her heart pounding, instinct screaming yes even as logic falls silent.
She unlocks the door.
Inside, the city noise disappears completely.
The moment the door closes behind them, the restraint he's been holding fractures into urgency. His hand finds her waist, firm and grounding, like he's anchoring himself as much as her.
For a split second, something flashes across his face, confusion and intensity, then it's gone.
He kisses her like he's been waiting far longer than tonight allows, tearing through her clothes and then her underwear.
His hand slid down, under her, finding her wet. He groaned, a sound that made her wetter. He kissed her quietly . "You're so wet," he whispered.
Much later, as sleep pulls her under, she thinks she hears him whisper something against her hair.
A word that sounds like a name. A word she doesn't remember.
She falls asleep knowing she'll remember this night forever.
He leaves her before dawn. Staying would mean questions, names and consequences. He quietly dresses up in the dark.
By the time he steps back onto the street, the weight returns. The crown, the duty and the life he chose.
He checks his phone and there are countless missed calls and messages, amongst which are his mom's, Iris' and her father.
He simply sends her a message: on my way back. In less than no time he is at his engagement party, half drunk with no guilt of what had just happened.
**************
Her hair is tangled, and the sheets cling to her skin where he'd lain.
She sits on the edge of the bed, knees pulled close, staring at the floor as if it might offer answers.
She tries to recall his face fully, his jawline, the shape of his hands, the tone of his voice, but the memory is hazy, fragmented. Like someone painted over the edges with fog.
Her wolf stirs subtly, a faint pressure under her ribs she doesn't understand. Like something inside her is whispering that she's not done with him. That she never will be.
She exhales slowly, wishing she could tell herself it was just a fleeting moment. A mistake.
But even the faintest echo of him, the brush of his hand, the warmth of his presence, feels too significant to ignore.
She moves quietly to the window and looks down at the city streets. The neon reflections ripple across her eyes, and for a moment, she feels exposed.
She wonders if he'll remember her. If he even thinks about her at all or what happened the previous night.
She wraps the blanket tighter around her shoulders, but it doesn't help. Something has shifted inside her, irrevocably, and she doesn't know how to name it yet.
She goes through the day trying to normalize everything. She texts, answers calls and smiles.
"I really feel off." She cried as Bella entered her house. "Not sick or anxious, just….. something I can't name."
"Maybe it's the club," Bella teases. "Or maybe you just finally had fun."
She smiles weakly. "Maybe." "He didn't even say goodbye."
"Girl…. get over it, it was a damn one night stand." She mocks "I on the other hand didn't end up in bed with my date. At least I know his name and I have his contact." She laughs
"It's all your fault, if only you didn't ditch me for some stranger, I would not be here now."
" Em you wanted that and you enjoyed it as much as he did. Seriously, get over it already." She says moving to the kitchen.
Ember's wolf doesn't rest. It twists inside her whenever she recalls a certain angle of his jaw, the warmth of his hand, the way he whispers just enough to make her heart flutter but never says his name.