Chapter 1 - The Man Who Came Home in the Storm
Juliet held the black shirt against herself and stared at the closet.
The fabric was soft, expensive, and enormous.
“Were you eight feet tall?” she whispered again.
Her voice sounded strange in the silent room.
She pulled the shirt over her head. It fell nearly to mid-thigh. A pair of gray sweatpants from the next shelf had to be rolled three times at the waist and twice at the ankles, but they were dry, warm, and infinitely better than the frozen emerald dress lying in the bathroom sink.
For the first time since the doors of Crescent Ridge Pack House had slammed behind her, Juliet felt something dangerously close to relief.
She found thick wool socks in a drawer.
Then she found the thermostat.
The mansion’s central heat apparently worked in only part of the house, but the bedroom began warming slowly after she pressed three buttons she did not understand. She discovered a linen closet, wrapped herself in two blankets, and sat on the floor beside the bed.
Her hands shook uncontrollably.
That was when the crying started.
Not dramatic sobs.
Not screaming.
Just silent tears sliding down her cheeks while she stared at the snow beyond the windows.
Bradley had chosen Stella.
Bradley had humiliated her.
Her pack had watched.
Then they had put her outside in a blizzard.
Juliet pressed the heel of her palm against her mouth.
She had spent sixteen years believing Crescent Ridge was her home.
Apparently, home could lock the door.
She must have fallen asleep sitting there.
Because the next thing she heard was a sound from downstairs.
A door opening.
Juliet’s eyes snapped open.
For several seconds, she did not breathe.
Then came footsteps.
Heavy.
Measured.
Not the uncertain steps of a burglar.
Someone who knew the house.
Juliet looked toward the bedroom door.
The owner.
“Oh, no.”
She pushed herself upright too quickly. The room tilted.
A second later, another sound came from the hallway.
A low, furious growl.
Juliet froze.
Every instinct she possessed screamed at once.
Wolf.
Powerful wolf.
Alpha.
Not Bradley’s father.
Not anyone from Crescent Ridge.
Something older.
Heavier.
The kind of presence that made the weakened wolf inside Juliet lift her head for the first time all night.
The bedroom door opened.
The man standing there was not eight feet tall.
But he was close enough to make Juliet understand the clothes.
He had to be at least six-foot-four, broad-shouldered beneath a black winter coat dusted with snow. Dark hair fell carelessly over his forehead. A short scar cut through his right eyebrow, and his face had the severe, controlled beauty of a man accustomed to being obeyed before he finished speaking.
His eyes were almost black.
Until he saw Juliet.
Then they flashed gold.
Juliet’s breath stopped.
The man gripped the doorframe.
His entire body went rigid.
For one impossible second, neither of them spoke.
Then he inhaled.
Deeply.
The gold in his eyes brightened.
“No,” he said.
Juliet blinked.
It was not the reaction she had expected.
“I can explain.”
He did not seem to hear her.
His gaze moved over her wet hair, the blankets, his shirt, her bare wrist where dried blood marked the cut from the broken window.
Then it dropped to her feet.
“You’re injured.”
“I broke your window.”
His eyes returned to hers.
“What?”
“The mudroom window. I’m sorry. I was going to pay for it.”
He stared at her.
Juliet swallowed.
“Eventually.”
His expression changed so slightly she almost missed it.
Not amusement.
Something close.
Then the wind struck the windows hard enough to shake the glass.
The stranger looked toward the storm.
“How long were you outside?”
“I don’t know.”
“How long?”
The Alpha command in his voice made the air tighten.
Juliet flinched.
His expression instantly sharpened.
The command vanished.
“Sorry,” he said.
That surprised her even more.
“Maybe two hours.”
His jaw flexed.
“In that?”
He looked toward the bathroom, where the emerald dress hung over the sink.
Juliet nodded.
He stepped into the room.
Her wolf stirred again.
Not fear.
Recognition.
Warmth spread painfully beneath Juliet’s ribs.
The man stopped.
His nostrils flared.
His eyes flashed gold again.
Juliet knew enough about wolves to understand what that meant.
His wolf was close to the surface.
Very close.
She backed toward the bed.
“I didn’t steal anything.”
“I know.”
“You haven’t checked.”
“I don’t care about the house.”
He took one more step.
“What happened to you?”
Juliet hesitated.
“Nothing.”
His gaze dropped to the cut on her wrist.
“Nothing threw you through a window?”
“I threw myself through the window.”
That almost made him smile.
Almost.
Then Juliet’s knees weakened.
The room tilted again.
The man crossed the distance before she hit the floor.
One arm caught her around the waist. The other went beneath her knees.
The instant his skin touched hers, a shock of heat traveled through Juliet’s body.
Her wolf surged awake.
Mate.
The word did not come from Juliet.
It came from somewhere deeper.
Ancient.
Certain.
Terrifying.
The man went completely still.
His face was inches from hers.
His voice, when it came, was barely audible.
“Mate.”
Juliet’s heart slammed against her ribs.
“No.”
His eyes narrowed slightly.
“No?”
“I’ve had a really terrible evening.”
Something almost human returned to his expression.
“I noticed.”
“I’m not adding a fated mate to it.”
For the first time, the stranger actually smiled.
It was brief.
Dark.
Unexpectedly beautiful.
“Understood.”
He carried her toward the bed.
Juliet stiffened.
“I can walk.”
“You nearly fainted.”
“I’m embarrassed enough already.”
“Then I won’t mention it again.”
He set her down carefully.
Then, to Juliet’s astonishment, he crouched in front of her instead of towering over her.
“What’s your name?”
She hesitated.
“Juliet.”
Something in his expression changed.
“Juliet what?”
“Dawson.”
The color drained from his face.
He stood so quickly that the chair beside him scraped across the floor.
Juliet stared.
“What?”
He said nothing.
“Do you know me?”
The stranger looked at her as if she had become a ghost.
“Your parents.”
Juliet’s chest tightened.
“What about them?”
“Elias and Mara Dawson?”
Juliet stopped breathing.
Almost no one used her parents’ names around her.
Bradley’s father had always said the memories were too painful.
“Yes.”
The stranger turned away.
His hands curled into fists.
Juliet stood despite the dizziness.
“How do you know their names?”
He looked back.
The gold in his eyes was gone.
Now there was something worse.
Guilt.
“My name is Ronan Blackwood.”
Juliet stared at him.
Blackwood.
The billionaire.
The man everyone said was dead, insane, or living on another continent.
She looked around the enormous bedroom.
Then down at his shirt.
“Oh.”
Ronan’s mouth twitched.
“Yes.”
“This is your house.”
“Yes.”
“I broke your window.”
“I’m aware.”
Juliet closed her eyes.
“This night keeps getting better.”
Ronan’s expression sobered.
“Who put you outside?”
She opened her eyes.
“Why?”
“Because there is no road close enough for you to have wandered here by accident, you have no shoes, your clothing is formal, you were nearly hypothermic, and Crescent Ridge is holding a Christmas gathering tonight.”
Juliet felt cold again.
Ronan’s voice lowered.
“Who did this?”
She looked away.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to me.”
“You met me three minutes ago.”
His jaw tightened.
“My wolf disagrees.”
Juliet’s heart lurched.
Ronan seemed to regret the words immediately.
“I’m not asking you to accept anything tonight,” he said. “I’m not asking you for a bond, a mark, or trust you haven’t chosen to give. I’m asking who left you in a storm that could have killed you.”
Juliet stared at him.
Bradley had used love like a weapon.
Ronan, a stranger who had just discovered she might be his mate, was giving her choices.
That difference almost broke her.
“Bradley Jenkins.”
Ronan became very still.
“The future Alpha?”
She nodded.
“And Alpha Grant allowed it?”
“He ordered the enforcers to obey Bradley.”
Ronan looked toward the windows.
For a few seconds, there was no expression on his face at all.
Then Juliet felt it.
Power.
It rolled through the room without warning.
Not loud.
Not violent.
Controlled fury.
The windows seemed to tremble under it.
Juliet’s wolf did not cower.
She rose.
Ronan noticed.
His gaze snapped back to Juliet.
Something like surprise crossed his face.
“What?” Juliet asked.
“Nothing.”
“That was not nothing.”
Ronan studied her.
Then he asked a question that made no sense.
“How often do you take wolfsbane?”
Juliet frowned.
“I don’t.”
His eyes dropped toward the bedside table, where her coat lay beside the blankets.
A small plastic bottle had fallen from one pocket.
Ronan reached for it.
Juliet recognized the label immediately.
PACK HEALTH SUPPLEMENT — ONE TABLET DAILY.
“Those are vitamins.”
Ronan opened the bottle.
He smelled one tablet.
Every trace of color left his face.
“No,” he said quietly.
Juliet’s stomach tightened.
“What?”
Ronan looked at her.
“These are not vitamins.”
The room went silent.
“What are they?”
He closed the bottle in his fist.
“Wolfsbane suppressants.”
Juliet laughed once.
Not because it was funny.
Because it was impossible.
“I’ve taken those since I was nine.”
Ronan did not answer.
Her smile vanished.
“They said my wolf needed help stabilizing.”
Ronan’s eyes hardened.
“They were poisoning her.”
The words landed slowly.
Juliet looked at the bottle.
Then at the man who knew her parents’ names.
A terrible thought formed.
“My wolf isn’t weak?”
Ronan’s answer came without hesitation.
“No.”
Juliet’s throat closed.
“Then why would Crescent Ridge spend sixteen years making me believe she was?”
Ronan looked at her for a long time.
When he finally spoke, his voice was very quiet.
“Because, Juliet Dawson, if you are who I think you are, Crescent Ridge was never your pack.”
May you like
He set the bottle on the table.
“They were occupying yours.”
