Page 5 of Furry Equations

The formula’s mutation had created something unprecedented. Something powerful. Something that made her scientific heart race with equal parts thrill and trepidation.

Something that would change everything.

She grabbed her phone, fingers flying over the keys as she documented every detail. The implications were staggering. If she could stabilize this mutation, control its effects...

A shadow fell across her workstation.

“Good evening, Dr. Grant.”

Natalie spun around, heart leaping into her throat. A tall figure stood in her doorway, backlit by the hallway lights.

The test tube slipped from her fingers again.

This time, there would be no catching it.

“Well,” she muttered as the tube fell in what felt like slow motion, “at least Mom won’t have to worry about setting me up after I blow up the lab.”

THREE

Marcus Vale’s Italian leather shoes echoed through the empty corridors of Vale BioTech. At midnight, the usual bustle of scientists and researchers had given way to the gentle hum of equipment and the faint glow of security lights. Perfect. He preferred these unexpected visits—they revealed far more than carefully orchestrated tours ever could.

His mother’s voice echoed in his mind.“That brilliant Dr. Grant’s research alone makes the acquisition worthwhile.”Victoria Vale rarely offered business advice, but when she did, her instincts proved sharp. Though he suspected an ulterior motive behind her sudden interest in this particular company.

“Another matchmaking scheme?” He muttered to himself, straightening his perfectly tailored suit jacket. The last one had involved an “accidental” meeting with a wolf shifter who’d memorized his coffee order.

His sister Emily still hadn’t let him live that one down. “You turned her coffee shop into a cat café? That’s not alpha behavior, Marcus. That’s supervillain origin story material.”

A light flickered at the end of the hall—Lab 7. Someone else burned the midnight oil. Through the glass panel, he spotted awoman in a lab coat, blonde hair escaping from a messy bun as she bent over her work. The famous Dr. Grant, he presumed, though the dossier photos hadn’t captured the graceful way she moved between equipment or the intense focus in her eyes.

His wolf perked up with interest. There was something about the way she muttered to herself, making animated hand gestures at her equipment as if conducting a silent symphony of science.

He opened the door quietly. “Good evening, Dr. Grant.”

The woman spun around with a startled gasp, dropping a glowing blue vial. Her hazel eyes widened, catching the strange light and reflecting it like captured starlight. A faint blush crept across her cheeks, and the scent of vanilla and jasmine—her natural perfume—hit his sensitive nose.

His wolf surged forward with a force that nearly staggered him.

Mate.

The recognition slammed into him like a physical blow, primal and absolute. Every instinct screamed to protect, to claim, to?—

An explosion rocked the lab.

Blue liquid splattered across the workstation. Sparks flew. A small fire erupted near what appeared to be very expensive equipment.

Marcus moved on pure instinct, crossing the room in two strides. He wrapped his arms around Natalie, shielding her with his body as heat bloomed behind them. The scent of ozone and strawberries filled the air, along with something else—something that made his wolf pace restlessly beneath his skin.

Having her in his arms, even in these circumstances, felt right in a way that threatened his carefully maintained control. She fit against him perfectly, her head tucking just under his chin, her hands clutching his lapels.

“Are you all right?” His voice emerged rougher than intended, alpha authority bleeding through.

“I...” Natalie blinked up at him, her pulse racing where his hands steadied her shoulders. “You’re Marcus Vale. You’re much more attractive in person than in Forbes. Not that I’ve been studying your photos. Or that I Google you. Much.” She squinted. “Why are there three of you?”

Concussion. Definitely a concussion. He placed her in a chair. “Don’t move,” he instructed. He grabbed the fire extinguisher attached to the wall by the entrance and pulled the ring. White foam erupted from the nozzle, dousing the small fire.

He set the tank on the table and hurried back to his mate. “You’re bleeding.”

A small cut marred her temple, probably from flying debris. The sight of it sparked something primitive in his chest. His mate. Hurt. His responsibility to?—

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