Theo's P.O.V
"It hurts…"
I couldn't move. Waist shot, body numb. Even lifting a finger felt like dragging a corpse.
This room, definitely not the one I booked. It was too gorgeous. Too luxurious. Not the worst place to survive a heat spell, sure, but the bill? Probably obscene.
Groaning, I wrestled with the sheets, tangled, twisted, like I'd spent the night clawing my way through a fever dream.
I scanned the wreckage.
God, who the hell did I spend my heat with?
I was supposed to meet Kyle. That much I remember. His room, his backup plan. But now? My body's wrecked, bite marks along my chest, hickeys blooming like bruises, nipples raw, aching.
"Shit. Please don't let it be someone I actually know," I muttered, dragging useless legs across the mattress.
Pain screamed through my hips. Dead weight. A nightmare with no rewind button.
Who could do this to me?
I clung to the wall, half-crawled to the bathroom. Slumped onto cold tile. Let the shower pour down until steam swallowed everything.
Warm water soothed the pain. Slowly, sensation returned, like nerves remembered how to function.
My brain drifted, clawing through fragments. I came here for Kyle. Just like always, when the heat hit too hard, too fast. I hadn't eaten anything weird. No sketchy drinks. Just work. Stress. Boom. My body lit up like wildfire.
The guy from the coffee shop, that lingering stare. I hadn't thought much of it then.
But now?
After that morning, everything spiraled. My meeting flopped. My body wouldn't stop reacting. Heat pressing in like a damn curse. Kyle was supposed to meet me here. My constant. My control.
So why am I in this room?
I wiped steam off my face. Shut the water off. Walked back into the wreckage, dripping wet, unbothered by modesty.
No sign of him. Not Kyle. Not the other guy. Not even a lingering pheromone trail.
He cleaned up.
"He planned this," I whispered. "And he's good at disappearing."
I got dressed in slow, painful pieces. Nothing stained, nothing shattered, except me.
Dragging myself down to the lobby felt like surviving a war.
Darcy was waiting. Polite smile. Businesslike. Like I hadn't just been through the darkest kind of vulnerability.
She handed me a card. Strange design. Wolf's head. Dagger wrapped in a snake. A single rose. Black paper. A pack crest?
"You okay? How's your body feel?" she asked.
"I... I think so."
"You look alright," she said. "But I wouldn't count on him answering your calls. Still, no harm in trying."
"What are you—who—"
"I was just told to check on you. He said he'd handle the rest."
"What?!"
She was already walking away.
"Oh—don't throw out that card," she added. "If things go bad, or you never see him again, call the number."
Then she vanished, swallowed by the club's chaos.
I stared at the card the entire ride home. No name. No hint.
And I hadn't paid a cent. I called the desk.
"Everything was covered," the staff said. "Paid in full. Five days."
Five days? I checked my calendar, heart racing.
Yep. Five days gone. I'd never been in heat that long. Not even close. One day, maybe two. Never five.
What triggered it? Panic bloomed. I couldn't breathe. And whoever he was... he left nothing behind. No scent. No name. Just a wrecked body. And a card I couldn't stop staring at.