CHAPTER 1 THE ALPHA’S HUNGER

Laughter rolled through the Silver Hollow estate—low, guttural, edged with the kind of revelry that could turn lethal in an instant. Wolves drank, fought, fucked. Some celebrated. Others simply tried to forget.

Ronan Vale did neither.

He sat on the throne-like chair at the heart of the room, one arm draped over the side, the other wrapped around a glass of bourbon. Around him, his wolves howled and snapped, women moaned, bodies moved in a blur of heat and violence.

He felt none of it.

His mate. His wife. His ghost.

Six months since she vanished. Six months since the pack declared her dead.

Bullshit.

If she were dead, he would’ve felt it—the bond between them would have shattered, leaving him raw and hollow. Instead, there was something worse.

An absence that still breathed. A wound that refused to heal.

Ronan tipped the glass to his lips, letting the bourbon scorch down his throat. His body ached—coiled tight, wound with a hunger that had no relief, no outlet. His wolf snarled inside him, pacing the edges of his control, starving for something only she could give.

And she was gone.

Elias. His Beta. His second-in-command. The only man in the pack willing to push him when no one else dared.

"You keep squeezing that glass, Alpha, and I’ll be picking shards out of your palm all night," Elias muttered, low enough that only Ronan’s heightened senses caught it.

Ronan didn’t answer. Just exhaled through his nose, slow and measured.

Elias sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. "You’re thinking about her again."

It wasn’t a question.

Ronan said nothing. He didn’t have to.

The silence between them said everything.

Let her go, Alpha.

And if she was breathing, that meant she could be found.

And whoever had taken her—whoever thought they could keep her—

They were already dead.

He lifted the glass to his lips—

And then he smelled it.

Not Makari.

Something else.

Something wicked.

The scent coiled into his lungs, dark and spiced with sin, laced with something that wasn’t human. His wolf snapped to attention, senses sharpening, muscles tensing.

Click. Click. Click.

He heard her before he saw her.

The slow, deliberate click of heels against marble. Unhurried. Unbothered. Like she had all the time in the world.

Then—she stepped into the den.

Ronan felt the shift in the air before anyone spoke. A subtle pause, like the whole room was recalibrating, sensing something that didn’t belong.

Vesper. Dressed in black. Eyes sharp, lips curved, moving through a den of wolves like she was choosing her next meal.

She should have looked out of place. Too polished. Too careful.

She didn’t.

Instead, she smiled. Not soft. Not polite. A slow, knowing thing, like she was already three steps ahead of the room.

Her gaze dragged over the crowd. Disinterested. Bored.

Then she found him.

Ronan exhaled through his nose, slow and measured.

Vesper’s lips twitched.

She took her time looking—longer than she needed to, longer than was polite.

He hated how long she looked. Hated more how long he let her.

"Am I interrupting something, Alpha?"

The words were smooth, careless. Just a little too amused.

Ronan didn’t answer.

Elias groaned beside him, rubbing a hand down his face. "Oh, for fuck’s sake."

Vesper ignored him. Everyone ignored Elias.

She slid closer, tilting her head as she caught sight of a girl scurrying away from the revelry—a girl who had been very close to Ronan not moments before.

Her smirk sharpened.

"You know," she murmured, voice dripping with amusement, "not every brunette is your wife, Alpha."

Ronan growled.

Deep. Low. Dangerous.

The kind of sound that should have made any sane creature run.

But not Vesper, she smiled. "Oh, but I get it," she continued, slow and deliberate, watching the way his hands twitched like he wanted to grab her. "Your wife was hot. And personally? I think it’s a damn shame, because the three of us together?" She licked her lips, just to see what it did to him.

"That would’ve been a feast."

Elias choked.

Someone nearby dropped a drink.

Ronan moved.

One second, she was standing there, teasing.

The next—his hand was in her hair, yanking her head back.

The room went silent. Her nails traced his forearm, slow, teasing. She could feel his pulse beneath his skin, fast and furious, his body burning like a furnace.

Oh, she thought. This is going to be fun.

"You want to run that by me again?" Ronan’s voice was low, lethal, entirely too fucking sexy.

Vesper just grinned, tilting her throat further into his grip. "What," she murmured, voice dark and purring, "the part about your wife being hot?"

Ronan’s breath stilled. His wolf snarled. "Then why the fuck are you here?"

Vesper’s lips curved. "I can help you."

His dark eyes flickered with something dangerous. She liked both options.

"Ronan," Elias muttered beside him, voice tight with warning. "Let. Her. Go."

Ronan exhaled sharply—furious that he obeyed.

His fingers uncurled, dropping away, leaving the warmth of her skin behind. Vesper took her time straightening her dress, smoothing down the silk where his grip had wrinkled it.

"Now," she purred, looking around the room. "Where are your manners?"

Dozens of wolves watched her now. Their Alpha had reacted. That meant she mattered.

Some of them stood half-naked, bruised from fights, flushed from pleasure. Others lounged in the shadows, faces hidden, tracking her with eyes that burned silver in the dark.

"So quiet," she murmured, amused. "A moment ago, you were celebrating. Drinking. Fighting. Fucking. But now, a single little succubus walks in, and suddenly, you all remember your manners?"

Vesper turned back to Ronan, eyes flickering gold. "I expected more from you, Vale. What happened to wolves being fearless?"

"Fear has nothing to do with it," Ronan muttered. His voice was calm now, but his shoulders were still tense.

"Ah. Then what is it?"

He didn’t answer.

"Instinct." A man stepped forward from the shadows. One of the older wolves.

His hair was silver at the temples, his jaw lined with age, but his body was still built for war. He moved like a man who had killed before and would kill again.

Vesper’s gaze sharpened.

He stopped a few feet from her, his stare steady. "Creatures like you don’t just walk into wolf territory without reason."

Vesper liked him immediately. "Creatures like me don’t walk anywhere without reason," she corrected, smiling.

"Then state yours."

She sighed, tipping her head, making a show of considering her answer.

Should she be honest?

No.

Should she be interesting?

Always.

Vesper stepped forward, moving deliberately into his space. The room tightened. She wasn’t supposed to do that. She wasn’t supposed to challenge a wolf.

She met his gaze, slow and steady. "What’s your name, wolf?"

His nostrils flared. "Marcus."

"Ah," she purred, pleased. "A strong name. You’ve seen many moons, haven’t you, Marcus?"

His jaw tensed. "Many."

"Fought many battles?"

He exhaled. "Yes."

She smiled. "And yet, here you stand," she murmured, voice dipping low. "Breathing. Whole. Stronger than the ones who came before you."

Something shifted in the air.

Marcus narrowed his eyes.

Vesper tilted her head. "You’ve lost a mate," she said suddenly.

Vesper let her voice drop, soften, curl around him like silk. "How long has it been?" she asked.

A slow, reluctant breath.

"Twenty years."

She nodded, thoughtful. "And yet, you still wake up every night expecting to hear her voice, don’t you?"

Marcus said nothing.

But he didn’t need to.

Vesper could taste it now. The grief. The weight of it.

Ah.

He was starving for something, too. Ronan’s patience snapped.

"Enough."

His voice was low, sharp, edged with command.

Vesper turned to him, amused. "Oh, Alpha. Always so serious."

His jaw clenched. "Say what you came to say, succubus."

Vesper sighed, running her fingers over the back of a chair as she stepped closer.

"Fine," she relented. "If you insist on being so impatient…"

She paused. "Your wife is alive."