(Arielle's POV)
Arielle didn't remember how she got home.
She remembered walking. She remembered streets blurring together beneath her feet, the city folding in on itself as if guiding her forward without her permission. She remembered the sound of traffic and distant voices, but none of it registered properly, like noise heard underwater.
What she remembered most was him.
The cold in his eyes.
The way the air had changed the moment he entered the room.
The warmth that had bloomed inside her chest like something long asleep finally waking.
By the time she reached the narrow apartment building she rented a room in, the sun had dipped lower in the sky, painting the clouds in streaks of gold and violet. She stood at the entrance for a long moment, her hand hovering over the door handle as if she needed to steady herself before stepping inside.
Her body still felt wrong.
Too light. Too aware.
She inhaled slowly, then pushed the door open.
The familiar scent of old wood and laundry detergent wrapped around her like a thin blanket. It should have been comforting. Instead, it only made the strange sense of displacement sharper.
She climbed the stairs to the third floor, each step echoing too loudly in her ears. When she finally reached her small room at the end of the hall, she fumbled with her keys, her fingers clumsy.
The door clicked open.
Inside, nothing had changed.
Her narrow bed sat against the wall, neatly made. A small desk cluttered with notebooks and pencils rested beneath the window. The curtains fluttered gently in the evening breeze, letting in the fading light.
Ordinary.
Safe.
Arielle closed the door behind her and leaned against it, pressing her forehead to the cool wood.
Her knees felt weak.
She slid down slowly until she was sitting on the floor, her arms wrapped tightly around herself.
Only then did she let out the breath she'd been holding.
"What was that?" she whispered again.
Her voice sounded fragile in the quiet room.
She had lived her entire life feeling… different. Not special. Not powerful. Just slightly out of sync with the world around her, as though she were tuned to a frequency no one else could hear.
She had always been warmer than others.
As a child, her teachers used to comment on it—how her hands were always warm, how she never seemed bothered by the cold. Other children would press their icy fingers into her palms during harmattan mornings, laughing when she flinched.
You're like a little heater, they'd tease.
Her grandmother had smiled when she heard that.
Some people carry warmth for a reason, she had said.
Arielle swallowed at the memory.
Her grandmother had been the only family she'd ever really known. She'd raised Arielle quietly, protectively, in a small town far from the city. She'd taught her how to listen—to herself, to the world, to the subtle shifts in the air that others ignored.
And she had warned her.
If you ever feel a pull in your chest, her grandmother had said one night, her voice low and serious, a pull that doesn't make sense… don't fight it. But don't rush toward it either.
Arielle had laughed back then, young and unconcerned.
She wasn't laughing now.
She pushed herself up from the floor and moved to the bed, sitting on the edge as she tried to slow her racing thoughts. Her gaze drifted to the window, to the city lights flickering on one by one like distant stars.
Somewhere out there, in a building of glass and steel, was a man whose presence had shaken her to her core.
She didn't know his name.
She didn't know who he was.
But she knew—deep in her bones—that she would never forget him.
That night, Arielle dreamed of snow.
She stood alone in a vast, frozen forest beneath a pale moon. The trees were tall and bare, their branches coated in ice that glittered faintly in the moonlight. Her breath fogged in front of her as she wrapped her arms around herself, shivering.
She wasn't cold.
But the world around her was.
Footsteps crunched behind her.
She turned.
He stood at the edge of the trees, watching her.
In the dream, he was both man and something more. His eyes glowed faintly in the darkness, silver and watchful. The air around him was thick with frost, every step he took freezing the ground beneath his feet.
He looked at her like she was the only warm thing left in the world.
"Don't come closer," he said.
His voice echoed strangely, layered with something deeper.
Arielle took a step forward anyway.
The frost receded where she walked, melting into soft earth beneath her feet. Warmth poured from her chest, lighting the forest in a gentle glow.
"You're cold," she said simply.
His jaw tightened. "You shouldn't be here."
She reached out.
The moment her fingers brushed his chest, the ice shattered.
Lucien woke with a sharp intake of breath.
Arielle woke too, gasping as she sat upright in bed.
Her heart pounded violently against her ribs, her skin flushed and warm. The dream clung to her like mist, vivid and unsettling in a way no ordinary dream had ever been.
She pressed a hand to her chest.
The warmth was still there.
Not fading.
Not imagined.
She swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood slowly, crossing the small room to the mirror above her desk. Her reflection stared back at her—dark hair tangled from sleep, eyes wide and shining with something dangerously close to fear.
"Get a grip," she murmured.
But even as she said it, she knew it wouldn't be that simple.
The rest of the day passed in a haze.
At work, she found herself staring off into space, her hands moving on autopilot as she completed simple tasks. Her coworkers' voices seemed distant, muffled, like echoes in a long tunnel.
More than once, she felt it again.
That pull.
A tug in her chest, faint but persistent, as though something—or someone—were calling to her from far away.
She ignored it.
She had learned long ago that listening too closely to strange instincts only led to trouble.
By evening, the sky darkened, clouds gathering low and heavy. Arielle left work early, her head aching, her thoughts tangled.
She took the long way home without realizing it.
Her feet carried her down unfamiliar streets, past buildings she didn't recognize, until the air itself began to feel different.
Charged.
Her steps slowed.
Her heart began to race.
She stopped.
The building loomed ahead of her, unmistakable even from a distance.
Glass.
Steel.
Power.
Her breath caught.
Blackwood Industries.
"I didn't mean to come here," she whispered, even as her body leaned subtly forward, drawn by a force she couldn't explain.
The pull in her chest intensified, burning now, urging her closer.
Somewhere high above, in a tower of glass and shadow, Lucien Blackwood stood at his window, his hand pressed flat against the cold pane.
And for the first time in ten years—
He felt the warmth again.
Arielle didn't cross the street.
She stood there, frozen on the sidewalk, staring up at the towering glass structure as rain began to fall lightly around her. The drops were cool against her skin, but they evaporated almost as soon as they touched her arms, leaving behind a faint, unsettling warmth.
Her heart hammered in her chest.
Turn around, she told herself.
Go home.
But her feet refused to move.
The pull inside her chest had grown stronger the closer she'd come to the building, tightening like an invisible thread wound around her ribs. It wasn't painful—just insistent. Like a hand resting gently but firmly against her back, urging her forward.
She had never believed in fate.
Life had taught her that survival came from effort, not destiny. From working hard, keeping your head down, and expecting very little. Fate was something people invented to make sense of suffering.
And yet…
Her gaze lifted higher, following the sharp lines of the tower until they disappeared into the dark clouds above. Somewhere inside that building was the man with the cold eyes. The man who had looked at her like she was both a mistake and something dangerous.
The man who had made her feel seen in a way that terrified her.
Arielle took a shaky breath and stepped back.
That was when she sensed it.
She wasn't alone.
The feeling crept over her skin slowly, raising the fine hairs on her arms. It wasn't fear—not exactly—but awareness. The kind that came when you realized the world around you was watching.
She glanced to her left.
Nothing.
To her right.
Still nothing.
But the air felt heavier, thicker, charged with something unseen.
Her grandmother's voice echoed faintly in her memory.
When the air changes, child, pay attention.
Arielle turned away from the building at last and began to walk, her pace quickening. The rain intensified, drumming softly against the pavement as she moved through the streets, her senses on high alert.
By the time she reached her apartment building, she was soaked and shaking—not from cold, but from the tension coiled tightly inside her.
She locked the door behind her and leaned against it, closing her eyes.
Only when she was safely inside did the pressure ease.
That night, the warmth returned stronger than ever.
It settled beneath her skin like a living thing, pulsing gently in time with her heartbeat. No matter how many blankets she kicked off, no matter how wide she opened the window, it didn't fade.
Sleep came slowly.
When it did, it brought memories that were not her own.
She dreamed of a boy standing alone beneath a silver moon.
He was younger, his face softer, his eyes not yet hardened by the weight they would one day carry. Blood stained the snow at his feet, and grief clung to him like a second skin.
Choose, a voice whispered—female, ancient, and unforgiving.
The boy lifted his head.
"I will never be weak again," he said.
The moon flared brightly overhead.
Cold swallowed the world.
Arielle woke with tears on her cheeks.
Her heart ached with a sorrow so deep it stole her breath.
"Who are you?" she whispered into the darkness.
The warmth responded, flaring briefly in her chest.
Days passed.
The pull never left.
It followed her everywhere—to work, to the market, to her tiny room at night. Some days it was faint enough to ignore. Other days it tightened without warning, stealing her breath and leaving her dizzy.
Stranger things began to happen.
The plants on her windowsill, which had always struggled no matter how carefully she tended them, began to thrive. Their leaves turned deep green, flowers blooming where there had never been buds before.
People lingered near her without realizing it.
At the bus stop, strangers stood closer than usual, drawn unconsciously into her warmth. A tired woman leaned against her shoulder with a sigh of relief. A child smiled at her without reason.
And always—always—there was the sense of being watched.
One evening, as Arielle walked home, she noticed a black car parked across the street from her building. It was sleek and unmarked, its windows tinted too dark to see through.
It wasn't there the next morning.
But it returned the following night.
Her unease grew.
She tried to tell herself she was imagining things. That the strange man, the building, the warmth—it was all stress. Exhaustion. An overactive imagination clinging to a moment that had shaken her.
But deep down, she knew better.
Something had been set in motion.
And it was accelerating.
High above the city, Lucien Blackwood stood alone in his office, the lights dimmed around him.
He had not slept.
Every time he closed his eyes, he felt it—her presence brushing against his senses like heat against frozen skin. The curse raged inside him, unstable, reacting to something it had never been meant to face.
Warmth.
Real warmth.
His wolf paced restlessly beneath his control, claws scraping against the walls of his mind.
She is ours, it growled.
Lucien pressed his palm against the cold glass, his jaw clenched so tightly it ached.
"No," he said quietly. "She is not."
But even as the word left his mouth, he felt her again—faint but unmistakable—moving through the city below.
And for the first time in a decade, Lucien Blackwood felt fear.
Not of enemies.
Not of power.
But of what would happen if he let himself reach for her.
Arielle realized she was being followed on a Thursday.
It wasn't dramatic at first. No sudden footsteps behind her, no shadow stretching unnaturally across the pavement. Just a feeling—subtle but persistent—that the space around her had changed.
She felt it the way she always felt things before they happened.
The air tightened.
Her warmth reacted before her mind caught up, pulsing sharply beneath her skin like a warning flare. She slowed her steps as she exited the small grocery store near her apartment, the plastic bag cutting into her fingers.
Don't panic, she told herself.
She crossed the street.
So did the feeling.
Her shoulders tensed. She kept walking, her pace steady, refusing to look over her shoulder. The city was busy—cars passing, people talking, life continuing as it always did. Nothing looked wrong.
But the warmth inside her had never lied to her before.
At the corner, she stopped abruptly and pretended to check her phone.
The air behind her shifted.
Close.
Her pulse spiked.
Arielle turned.
The man standing a few feet away was tall, dressed plainly, his face unremarkable in a way that felt deliberate. His eyes, however, were sharp—too sharp. They lingered on her with an intensity that made her skin prickle.
Recognition flared inside her.
Not familiarity.
Danger.
She took a step back.
The man smiled faintly. "You shouldn't walk alone at night."
Her throat tightened. "I'm fine," she said, forcing steadiness into her voice.
He tilted his head slightly, studying her. "You don't know what you are, do you?"
The warmth surged violently.
Arielle's breath hitched. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"No," he said softly. "I didn't think you would."
She turned and ran.
She didn't scream. Panic would slow her down. She focused instead on movement—on the sound of her shoes striking the pavement, on the burn in her lungs as she pushed herself harder than she ever had before.
The streetlights blurred.
Her apartment building was too far.
The warmth inside her flared brighter with every step, spilling outward in waves she couldn't control. The air around her felt thick, electric.
Footsteps pounded behind her.
Faster.
Closer.
Arielle darted down a narrow alley, her heart racing. Trash bins lined the walls, the smell of rain and metal filling the air. She skidded to a stop when she reached the dead end.
Her chest heaved as she turned.
The man stepped into the alley calmly, as though she hadn't just run for her life.
"You feel it now, don't you?" he asked. "The pull. The heat."
"Stay away from me," Arielle said, backing up until her shoulders hit brick.
He smiled again, but this time there was something hungry in it. "The Alpha will want to see you."
Her heart lurched. "I don't know who that is."
"Yes, you do."
The warmth inside her exploded.
Light—soft but blinding—burst outward from her chest, flooding the alley with golden heat. The man staggered back with a sharp cry, shielding his eyes.
Arielle gasped, staring down at her hands.
They were glowing.
"What—what am I?" she whispered.
Lucien felt it like a blade through his chest.
He doubled over, one hand gripping the edge of his desk as raw heat tore through the curse binding his heart. His wolf roared in fury, surging forward with violent urgency.
She is in danger.
Lucien didn't hesitate.
"Find her," he snarled into the comm. "Now."
Within seconds, the city was alive with movement.
By the time Arielle's knees gave out, the alley was empty.
The man was gone.
The light faded.
She slid down the wall, shaking, her arms wrapped around herself as the warmth settled back into a steady glow beneath her skin.
Tears burned her eyes—not from fear alone, but from the crushing weight of realization.
She wasn't normal.
She never had been.
And somehow, impossibly, the cold man in the glass tower was connected to all of it.
The sound of footsteps approached—multiple, purposeful.
Arielle looked up, panic surging again.
Then she felt it.
Cold.
Deep. Powerful.
And threaded through it—
Relief.
Lucien stepped into the alley, his presence blotting out everything else. His eyes locked onto her instantly, glowing faintly in the darkness.
For the first time, he didn't look at her like she was a mistake.
He looked at her like she was his.
"You're coming with me," he said, his voice low and absolute.
Arielle met his gaze, her heart pounding.
"I don't even know your name."
Lucien hesitated.
Just for a second.
"Lucien," he said. "And you're not safe anymore."
The warmth in her chest answered his cold perfectly.
And Arielle knew—beyond fear, beyond doubt—that there was no turning back.