Page 20 of The Cursed Wolf King

Him.

The scent hit me hard, that same mix of forest air and uncharted waters. I gripped my bag tighter, searching the crowd as if he might be waiting right there, watching me. I didn’t even know his name, but that didn’t matter. I knew his scent as surely as I knew my own heartbeat.

I pulled my bag close and let myself follow it, weaving through the crowd without a second thought. Here, amid the swirl of people and noise, my flowing dress barely drew a second glance. Seattle’s eclectic population provided the perfect cover.

A different note teased at the edge of my senses. Fainter, but unmistakably familiar. I froze, my breath catching as Itried to pinpoint it. It felt like… me. My scent, yet not mine. Like the essence of my own skin, carried on the wind.

It wasn’t the first time I’d had this kind of experience. The other Shadow Moon packs shared something unique in their blood, a common thread that bound us together, setting us apart from the wider supernatural world, and that could be what I was smelling. Even so, this felt closer, sharper.

Familiar enough to make unwanted tears rise.

My mother?

Almost the moment I thought it, the scent was gone. A mirage, like I wished it into existence. Maybe I had.

I picked up a different scent, almost insulting the thoughts I had dared to entertain. Iron, thick and sharp, mingled with the sickly sweetness of overripe fruit.

My stomach churned as I recognized it. Damian. Even from a distance, his presence seeped into the air like a warning. Sable must have run to him, tattling and setting him on my trail like a dog after a fox.

I had to get away from the stench of him. Even my wolf recoiled at him. His cruelty was woven into every trace of his scent. I could practically feel his breath on my neck, whispering that he’d catch me, that I’d never slip from his grip.

No.

I closed my eyes for a brief second, and when I opened them, I again caught the hint of evergreen and ocean.Him.

Without a second thought, I started to run, weaving through the crowded streets, keeping my focus pinned to that faint, grounding scent. He was close. As long as I could follow it—keeping Damian at a safe distance…

I hadto find him.

Slicing through the din of the city, over the bustle of high-rises, traffic, and oblivious humans, I heard it: that wretched voice, Damian’s lilt. It reached me like a knife thrown through the air, freezing me in place, a rabbit in the lion’s den.

I’m coming for you, Eve.

9

LOGAN

The door swung shut behind the vampires, and I exhaled, thankful to be done with them. Just being in the same room as those bloodsuckers drained me, and that wasn’t even a joke. They moved with their noses in the air, tossing out barely disguised insults and pretending we were on equal footing. They’d never lifted a claw to defend anything in their lives, but they sure knew how to leech off others’ work.

I was dying to get back to my bike, which I could see parked across the street, waiting for me. But after the morning I’d had, I was going to need a strong cup of coffee first. I leaned back against the worn, polished wood of the chair, scanning the Rocksmith Café. Glamour held the place in shadows for any human who walked by. From the outside, it looked like an abandoned old mill, crumbling with age and locked tight. To those who knew, it was a bustling spot for supernaturals, a place where deals were struck and alliances made.

It was packed, filled with all kinds of supernaturals—an elf in the corner leaning over a map with a warlock, a pair of were-bears murmuring quietly. And even the occasional human as a plus one, though they usually weren’t entirely human. To be at ease here, they had to have something supernatural in their blood, even if it was just a drop.

I rubbed the back of my neck, trying to shake off the irritation from the meeting. The vampires’ nonchalance, their smug superiority.

Owning the land and resources was one thing, but the vampires had found a way to lock down the utilities and repair contracts for nearly everything in the region. If they’d ever had to defend something they cared about, maybe they’d understand why I didn’t take their high-and-mighty airs lightly.

“Coffee?” A cheerful voice broke through my thoughts.

I looked up to find a server with bright red lipstick on, and a name tag that said “Victory”, pen and pad at the ready for my order.

“Coffee. Black,” I said, sharper than intended.

Her brows lifted slightly, and I saw a flash of surprise, maybe even annoyance, in the way she shifted her weight.

I sighed. “Sorry. Rough morning.”

She gave a slight nod, clearly unconvinced but willing to let it go. “No worries. I’ll be back in a minute with your order.”

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