Morning light poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows, stretching across the wood like spilled gold. I’d spent the whole night awake, lying on a mattress that was way too soft, listening to my heartbeat slowly cool down.
Ryan wanted to “talk cooperation.”
The idea was laughable.
He’d temporarily marked me. I was stuck in the Blood Wolves’ den. And he had the audacity to say we were going to be on the same side?
I had no idea what kind of game he was playing. But one thing was obvious: working with him wasn’t a path. It was a tightrope over a pit.
I shrugged into the oversized shirt and got out of bed. The mark on my neck still burned faintly, the heat simmering under my skin. Temporary or not, a mark like that could mess with an Omega’s whole system.
Good thing my will was colder than most people’s hearts. I wouldn’t be led around by biology.
There was a knock on the door. Two quick taps.
“Can I come in?” Ryan’s voice. No order. No command. Just a too-polite question.
I took a step back automatically. “No.”
The door opened anyway.
“I knocked to be polite.” He stepped inside in a fitted black shirt, sleeves rolled to his forearms, lines clean and lethal. His gaze flicked to my neck, stopped for half a second, then moved away.
I saw it then.
Restraint.
He was actually holding himself back.
“Breakfast is downstairs,” he said. “We’ll talk after you eat.”
“I didn’t agree to anything,” I said coldly.
“You’ll come,” he replied, like stating a fact. “You know better than anyone—they’re not going to stop hunting you.”
I didn’t answer. Because he was right.
I had nowhere else to go.
He didn’t push. At the door, he added casually, “You haven’t eaten in almost a day. If you plan on passing out in the meeting room, I don’t mind carrying you, but it’ll ruin the mood.”
I almost threw something at his head.
Why the hell had I ever pulled this man out of hell?
The Blood Wolves’ main dining hall looked more like some high-end hotel restaurant—wide, clean, stupidly fancy brunch spread. A few of his guys stiffened when they saw me, but one look from Ryan and they shut up fast, suddenly very invested in their food.
I sat down and forced myself to eat a few bites. The food was annoyingly good, enough that my knotted stomach eased slightly.
Ryan took the seat opposite, sipping coffee and glancing at my wrist, my neck, my face.
“If you stare at me one more second, I’ll gouge your eyes out,” I warned.
“I’m worried you’ll starve,” he said, dead serious. “You look pale.”
“Not your problem.”
“Actually, it is.” He didn’t even blink. “You’re my partner.”
I snorted. “Then explain why I should work with you.”
He put the cup down, fingers tapping once on the table.
“Because we share the same enemies.”
I looked up.
“Your old organization’s upper ranks,” he said. “They’re aiming at me now—because I lived. And because I started digging into what really happened that night.”
My heart stuttered. “You’ve been investigating?”
“Since the night you saved me.” His gaze held mine, unwavering. “You dragged me out of hell. I want to know who tried to bury us both there.”
My lungs felt tight.
“I need someone who can slip through their defenses,” he went on. “And you need someone with enough weight to keep you alive.”
It was the truth.
And a chain.
“Why are you so sure I’ll say yes?”
“Because you’re smarter than me.” His answer came without hesitation. “And you don’t pick death when there’s another way.”
Silence stretched between us.
He was right.
And if I walked away now, he wouldn’t stop me.
But walking away meant more running. More being hunted. More fighting alone with my back to the wall.
Teaming up with Ryan meant letting a powerful, unpredictable Alpha stand at my side.
I didn’t know which option was worse.
Then he leaned forward, and what he said next shifted everything.
“At least for tonight,” he said quietly, “you should know one thing.”
He watched me like I was a lifeline and an answer all at once.
“I don’t hurt the people who save me.”
Something deep in my chest flinched.
I looked away, forcing my voice flat. “I’m not going to be your attack dog.”
“I don’t want that.” Ryan stood, sliding a file across the table. “I want you alive, sharp, and right next to me.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re like me.” He leaned down slightly. “We’ve both been burned to ash once. We both have nowhere else to go. And we’re both… not afraid of blood.”
That wasn’t flattery. It was recognition.
I opened the file.
My fingers froze on the first page.
The photo was of my old handler—the man who trained me, sent me on missions, and slipped the knife into my spine the moment I stepped off script.
Inside were their recent movements. Weak points. Deals. Their next plan.
“When did you get all this?” I asked, voice flat, cold.
“While you were passed out,” Ryan said.
I stared at him.
He added, like he knew exactly what I was thinking, “From my sources. Not off your body.”
Asshole. Somehow his clarification managed to sound like concern.
I snapped the folder shut. “Fine.”
His brow lifted. “Fine?”
“Cooperation,” I said. “With conditions.”
He leaned back like he’d been expecting that. “Name them.”
“First,” I said, tone like ice, “we’re partners. Not you bringing home a stray to keep in a gilded cage. Where I go and what I do is not yours to control.”
His throat bobbed once. “Okay.”
“Second, until this temporary mark fades, you keep your distance.”
His fingers drummed lightly on the table. He hesitated, jaw working like he was fighting instinct.
Then he nodded. “Okay.”
“Third,” I added, eyes narrowing, “if you ever try to take control of me, I will kill you first.”
He actually smiled. “On that, we agree.”
He held his hand out, like he wanted to shake on it.
I didn’t take it.
But I did say, “This is an alliance. Not a bond.”
His laugh was quiet, amused. “You think too much, Scarlett.”
He stood and passed by my chair.
As we brushed shoulders, his whiskey scent slipped free for a brief moment—
But there was no pressure in it.
For the first time, it wasn’t crushing me, wasn’t trying to override or cage me.
It felt almost… like a shield.
I stopped, thrown off balance.
His voice slid past my ear. “From now on, we hunt the real enemy. Together.”
I looked up sharply.
He turned to face me then, his pheromones pulled tight under control. Just a faint trace of whiskey lingered, warm and surprisingly gentle.
Like he’d adjusted it, just so I wouldn’t feel cornered.
“Scarlett,” he said. “I don’t need an obedient Omega.”
His gaze locked with mine, steady and relentless.
“I need you.”
Not your scent.
Not your pheromones.
Not your weakness.
You.
In that moment, it finally hit me—
We weren’t predator and prey anymore.
We were two wild things with their backs to the same ledge, both torn apart once already, both choosing—for now—to keep each other standing.
Cooperation wasn’t surrender.
It was the beginning.