Matthew's P.O.V
I crushed the last cigarette into the ashtray and chased it with a final swig of vodka, barely an inch left. Second bottle, way more than I'd planned. But hell, I needed to clear my head. Smoke curled up and disappeared, but the stench clung to everything, sharp and sour like guilt.
Outside, it was blacker than sin. I hadn't blinked in hours. No idea what time or even what day it was. I wasn't tired. No sleep tugging at me, no dreams on standby. My head was a wreck, and even the pills Elliot snuck me weren't worth a damn. Time had turned to static, just this endless loop of me, trapped in this damn room with him.
So no, that night I didn't go back to Landrabaros to meet Isabella Raudolf, Alpha Killian's prized daughter from the Mourin Pack. Grandpa vouched for her, said she was Luna material. I wasn't convinced. Too many warning signs, and my brain was still swimming in that scent, his scent. Couldn't think straight.
I tilted the bottle and drained it, just as the door creaked open. Annoyance flared, but then again, why wouldn't someone barge in? I'd been holed up in here with him for what felt like forever.
He was still curled up on the bed, one leg kicked free from the blanket, pale skin stretched all the way to—
"Damn. Any idea how long you've been locked in here?" a woman's voice snapped through the fog.
I set the glass down and looked up.
It was the owner. She moved toward the bed like she'd done it a thousand times, tugged the blanket back into place with clinical ease.
The sheets looked like they'd survived a hurricane. Clothes scattered like debris. This wasn't just sleep, it was collapse. My pulse hitched. I yanked on the suit and tie draped over the chair, moving fast, like I could scrub myself clean of what just happened.
"He must be wiped, dealing with an Alpha like you," she said, more amused than pissed.
"If anything happens, take him to the hospital."
"You're heading out, Alpha of the Howling Crimson Pack?"
That title froze me mid-step. She said it like it was supposed to remind me who I was. Her face was drama incarnate, ruby-red lips, lashes like fans, hair coiled in a jeweled bun that twitched every time she moved.
"He's lucky, you know. Though maybe I shouldn't've told him who you are. Calling you 'Alpha', that was kinda rude, huh?"
Rude? No. If anyone crossed a line, it was me.
I chased him across half a continent just to grab a drink and clear my head. Instead, I fell straight into his heat-soaked scent. Sticky. Sweet. Burnt caramel melting down my throat.
I came here needing to breathe, after the chaos at Landrabaros, the verbal slugfest with Dad. But instead, I walked straight into a mess that could blow up two Packs if I wasn't careful.
Elliot begged me to leave Canada. Told me I was spiraling. Maybe he was right. But my mind kept circling the same thing.
His scent. His stare. The feeling.
I just needed to see him again. One last time.
And then, like some twisted cosmic joke, there he was. Slipping through the chaos of a neon-drenched bar-casino hybrid, music thumping, lights strobing, pheromones thick in the air. That scent. His scent. Familiar and devastating. I followed it like a moth into the fire.
Big mistake.
The door creaked open and slammed me with it, wolves in Heat, pheromones dense enough to choke on. My vision tunneled. Chest caved in. Energy spilled out of me like sand from a broken hourglass.
It wasn't just the club. It wasn't just the wolves.
It was him. A tidal wave of caramel-laced pheromones erupted in every corner, drowning me in static.
"You good, Alpha?! Want me to get you outta here?" Elliot's voice tore through the fog, sharp, worried.
"What's wrong with him?" someone else muttered, watching me unravel.
She stepped into view like a scene change, body-hugging black, smoky eyeliner, and two wall-sized bodyguards flanking her. She owned this place. Owned the air.
"Seriously? Walked in here without noticing the sign out there?" she said, arching a brow. Her eyes flicked over me, sweat-glazed and dazed. No comment about how out of place an Alpha looked in this heat-soaked hell.
"What even is this place?" Elliot barked, voice cracking.
He had his hand clamped over his nose like it could block out the wolf-scent blitzing his brain. The couples sprawled around weren't pretending, they were tangled in pheromone-drenched lust, seconds from losing control.
"The Nightclub," she replied, irritation flashing. Still no answers.
"No, I mean what kind of this place?!" Elliot snapped, nerves frayed.
She rolled her eyes. "You maybe read the signs before charging in blind, sweetheart."
With a flick of her fingers, one of the guards stepped in, grabbed Elliot, and started dragging him toward the entrance like a misbehaving teen.
"Come on, no backup, no prep? What were you two thinking?" Elliot muttered, resisting.
While they wrangled him, I locked myself down, every nerve screaming. Omega pheromones circled me like chains.
Then she turned back to me, assessing.
"So... are you an Alpha?"
I glanced over. She was puffing a sleek black cigar, the smoke curling around her like confidence laced with poison.
"Do people get carded for identity in this club?"
She smirked. "Only when an Alpha shows up hunting for an omega mid-Heat."
"You think I'm here for that?"
"You tell me, Alpha. What made you crash my bar?"
"I was chasing someone."
She perked up. "Oooh. Stalking your prey? Who's the lucky one?"
"I saw him come in."
"People cycle in and out. I need more than a pronoun."
"It's a guy."
Her eyes sparkled. "Just a guy, huh?"
I pulled out his business card. "Skinny. Messy hair. Not tall. Thought maybe you've seen him."
She studied it, grin widening. "Follow me."
No hesitation. No fanfare. Just motioned me forward like this was routine, but I was the rare Alpha exception.
I expected chaos, more wolves, more pheromones, primal noise. Instead, she led me down a dim corridor lined with anonymous doors. At the end, she stopped.
"Here," she said, almost gleeful.
She pressed a hidden button and a peephole popped open.
"Take a peek, Alpha."
I leaned in. And there it was him. Theodore Rainer. On the bed like he owned it. Heat-fogged. Glowing. Beside him, a stranger, sleek fade, sharp jawline, a snowflake pentagram tattoo etched across his neck like a warning label.
This is how he spends his night? After ghosting me?
"Are they partners?" I asked, voice hollow.
They were kissing. Deep. Hands roaming. Pheromones flooding the air, his scent, sticky caramel, lighting my brain on fire.
"Nah," she whispered. "Friends with benefits. They come here often to get through the worst of it. What do you think, Alpha?"
I didn't answer. Because what was there to say?
She offered me a room with the best view. I didn't refuse.
"Hey, Alpha," she called. "Do you like vodka? I've got bottles chilled."
With the scent saturating the room, vodka wouldn't help. But I nodded.
"Get me a few bottles. And a bucket of ice."
"What a steamy night, huh?" she smirked.
A staff member guided me into the V.V.I.P. suite. Presidential-level luxury. But on the table? A buffet of adult toys lit by blood-red lamps. It felt vulgar. Too real.
I turned to the window, trying to breathe in something clean.
Then the door slammed open.
The scent hit me first. Caramel, heavy and heady. I clamped a hand over my nose.
Theo. He was here. He stumbled in, crawling. Breath ragged. Face flushed. Sweat poured off him like he was unraveling. But there was something else, another scent. His. The stranger's. Still clinging to him.
I didn't wait. I hauled Theo into my arms, kissed him hard.
But his skin still wore that guy's scent like it was stitched in. Kissing Theo felt tainted, like I wasn't just kissing him.
I was spiraling. I was losing it.
He gripped my neck, desperate. Leaning into me like I was the last thing tethering him to reality.
That's what I wanted, just him. But could I claim him? Could I call him mine when my instincts still screamed doubt?
I could've taken him, dominated him. But I didn't want submission. I wanted him willing.
"You... I know who you are," Theo whispered, pressing a palm to my chest to keep space between us.
"You sure your brain's not fried from the Heat?" I growled.
He sighed. I could feel him swaying, between instinct and control. My scent began to reclaim him, wrapping around his skin, scrubbing out the stranger's.
"You... that guy. Your scent—"
I grabbed a fistful of his hair, tilted his head.
"You remember me?"
He nodded, breath hitching. "Y–yeah... Of course I do."
His gaze locked onto mine, eyes glassy with the tug of his inner wolf. He was fraying.
I leaned in. Kissed him again. We vanished into the dark, into thirteen years of heat, heartbreak, and unfinished stories.
In the morning. The room was wrecked. Clothes strewn. Sheets in ruins. He lay curled on the floor, wrapped in a blanket, pale and quiet.
It might take hours.mMaybe days.
"So... you gonna let me tell him about your night, Alpha?"
The woman's voice sliced through the quiet. She looked impeccable, forties, maybe fifties, but ageless. Confidence came off her like perfume.
I reached into my discarded suit, pulled out a check, scrawled five million across it.
Dropped it on the table. Money for silence.
"For now... take him to the hospital when he wakes," I said. Voice flat.
Before leaving, I turned one last time. He hadn't moved. Still right there. Right where my wolf finally stopped running.