Sloane POV
The air in Finn Crawford's apartment was suffocating, thick with the chaotic scent of rain-soaked grass, cheap whiskey, and the frantic distress of a rejected male wolf.
Finn was sprawled on his leather sofa, staring blankly at the ceiling. His phone lay on the coffee table, the screen glowing with an official pack announcement bearing the crests of the Black Moon and Crimson Fang packs. Delilah Corbett, his toxic, on-again-off-again obsession, was officially engaged to Alpha Hunter Strickland.
I sat beside him, projecting the calm, scentless aura of a wolfless human, playing the role of the supportive best friend. Inside, my heart was soaring. The parasite was finally gone.
"Statistically speaking," I started, trying to use the logic that governed my human world, "there are thousands of unmated females out there. You can just pick someone new."
Finn let out a hollow, mocking laugh. "Statistically? Goddess, you are such a nerd, Sloane."
The word stung, a sharp reminder of the chasm between us. To him, I wasn't a woman; I was a safe, wolfless emotional support animal who couldn't possibly understand the primal agony of his Inner Wolf.
Desperate to prove I wasn't just a sterile outsider, I blurted out, "Let's go to Obsidian. Get a drink. Get your mind off her."
Finn finally looked at me, a reckless spark igniting in his bloodshot eyes. "Yeah. Let's show Delilah what she's missing. But first, we're stopping by your place. You need to change out of... whatever that is." He gestured vaguely at my modest blouse and jeans. "You look like you're heading to a library book sale."
I swallowed the lump in my throat, my insecurities flaring. "Right."
Forty minutes later, the heavy bass of the Alpha's club, Obsidian, vibrated through my bones. The air was a suffocating cocktail of aggressive pheromones, sweat, and raw, predatory energy. I stood rigidly at the edge of the dance floor, clutching a barely touched vodka, feeling entirely invisible.
Until I wasn't.
A few feet away, Finn had his face buried in the neck of a tall, blonde Warrior named Amber. Her scent—spicy tuberose—was aggressive and confident. As they swayed, Amber's sharp eyes locked onto me. I watched her nostrils flare, easily detecting the glaring absence of a wolf in my blood.
She pulled back from Finn, eyeing me with predatory assessment. "Why is that here?"
Defensiveness spiked in my chest. "I'm his chaperone," I snapped, my voice tight.
Finn groaned, looking embarrassed as he ran a hand through his messy hair. "Ignore her, Amber. She's a control freak. Basically my sister."
Sister. The word was a physical blow. In front of a high-ranking pack member, he had just publicly stripped me of any potential as a mate.
But Amber didn't laugh. Instead, her gaze swept over me again, slower this time, lingering on my glasses and the tight skirt I had nervously changed into. A provocative smirk played on her lips.
"I don't know, Finn," Amber purred, leaning into him but keeping her eyes fixed on me. "For a wolfless girl, she's actually pretty hot. A hot nerd with those little glasses." She tilted her head, her voice dropping to a husky whisper that I could just barely hear over the music. "Doesn't her little nerd vibe get your Inner Wolf all riled up?"
Finn froze.
For the first time in ten years, a flicker of genuine, uncomfortable confusion crossed his face. His brow furrowed deeply, and his jaw clenched. He deliberately avoided my eyes, his body suddenly rigid against Amber's.
"Less talking, more dancing," Finn muttered, his voice rougher than usual, forcefully pulling Amber back into the suffocating crush of the crowd.
Sloane POV
Finn tried to pull Amber into the crushing weight of the crowd, but the blonde Warrior dug her heels in. She wasn't done with me.
Amber looked me up and down, her eyes tracking over my body with the assessing, merciless gaze of a predator sizing up a wounded deer. "It's fascinating," she purred, her voice cutting through the heavy bass. "No scent, no wolf, yet you've got his tied in knots. I wonder what a real she-wolf could do to him."
Before I could even process the insult, she stepped closer, her spicy tuberose scent suffocating me. "I bet he's never even seen you shift out of those library clothes. I'd like to."
Blood rushed to my face, burning my cheeks. It was a dual strike—an attack on my femininity and a brutal reminder of my biological defect. I looked at Finn, silently begging him to say something, to defend me. But he just stood there, his brow furrowed in awkward silence, refusing to meet my eyes.
I couldn't breathe. I grabbed my small clutch bag from the bar top, but in my panic to escape, I left it sitting there. Shoving past the sweaty bodies, I fled to the bathroom, locking myself in a cramped stall. The air smelled of cheap air freshener and vomit, but it was the only place I could hide.
Ten minutes later, I forced myself to walk back out. I wouldn't let them break me. But when I reached the dance floor, Finn and Amber were gone.
A cold panic gripped my chest. I rushed out the back exit into the freezing alleyway. The neon sign of Obsidian cast a blood-red glow over the wet pavement. There, standing by my sensible sedan, were Finn and Amber. Finn was fumbling with my small clutch bag, my keys jingling in his hand as he tried to unlock the driver's door.
"What are you doing?" I demanded, my voice shaking. "That's my bag."
Finn flinched, a flash of guilt crossing his features. But Amber just leaned against the car, looking me over with pure disdain. "Run along and call a ride-share, little pup," she sneered. "The grown wolves are leaving."
Little pup.
The words ignited a spark of pure, unadulterated rage in my chest. It wasn't just an insult about my size; it was a mockery of my very existence, a reminder that I didn't even qualify as a complete wolf.
I marched forward, snatched the bag and keys right out of Finn's hand, and glared at them with a coldness I didn't know I possessed. "Get in the back," I commanded. "Both of you."
Finn opened his mouth to argue, but something in my tone made him snap his jaw shut. They climbed into the backseat.
The drive was a nightmare. My small, safe sanctuary—which usually smelled of old books and soap—was instantly polluted by the heavy, intoxicating scent of their lust and alcohol. In the rearview mirror, I could see them tangled together, their low pants and wet kisses scraping against my raw nerves.
Amber wasn't satisfied with just having him. She wanted to destroy me.
She pulled back slightly, her lips brushing Finn's ear, but her voice was loud enough to fill the small cabin. "You can smell the desperation on her, can't you, Finn? A decade of pathetic, wolfless pining. She follows you around like a stray, hoping for a scrap from the Alpha's brother's table."
Finn stiffened. "Amber, stop," he muttered.
But it was too late. The secret I had guarded for ten years was laid bare, ugly and pathetic in the dim light of the streetlamps.
My heart shattered, but the tears didn't fall. Instead, a terrifying numbness washed over me. I slammed my foot on the brake. The tires shrieked against the asphalt as the car jerked to a violent halt on the empty street.
I turned around, my voice trembling with a rage that felt almost lethal. "Get. Out."
I left them standing on the cold curb, two discarded dolls in my rearview mirror, and drove away. That night, my friendship with Finn Crawford died.
Almost a week passed. I ignored his calls and the phantom pressure of a Mind-Link I couldn't even receive. I retreated to my human workplace, finding solace in the sterile smell of carpet cleaner and ozone.
Until Tuesday.
Finn's massive frame suddenly loomed over my cubicle. His aggressive, chaotic scent instantly shattered the mundane peace of the office. Over the partition, I could see Jenna and Carla staring, their eyes wide with gossip.
"Why are you ignoring me?" Finn demanded, completely oblivious to the scene he was causing.
"Leave, Finn," I said coldly, not looking up from my monitor.
He scoffed, leaning his hands on my desk. "Is it... that time of the month or something?"
I froze. He had just reduced the agonizing tearing of my soul to a human menstrual cycle. It was the ultimate invalidation.
Before I could unleash the venom boiling on my tongue, Finn pulled a piece of glossy paper from his jacket and dropped it onto my keyboard. It was a plane ticket.
"We need to talk. Be there," he ordered, turning on his heel and striding out of the office.
I stared at the ticket, my blood turning to ice. The destination was an airport outside the Crimson Fang Pack territory. Why would he want me to go there? The sheer audacity of his demand sent a fresh wave of fury through my veins. I grabbed the ticket, shoved my chair back, and marched toward the parking lot to give him a piece of my mind.
Sloane POV
The crisp air of the company parking lot did nothing to cool the fire burning in my veins. I marched past rows of sensible sedans, the glossy plane ticket crumpled in my fist. Finn was leaning against his car, his massive frame hunched, looking entirely out of place among the mundane human vehicles.
"Are you out of your mind?" I shoved the ticket hard against his chest. "Asheville? You humiliate me in front of your Warrior flavor of the week, ignore me for days, and then demand I fly across the country with you?"
Finn didn't snap back. Instead, he looked up, and the sheer desperation in his eyes made me falter. His scent—usually a chaotic mix of rain and grass—was sour with panic and the raw, feral distress of a dying Inner Wolf.
"Delilah is mating Hunter Strickland," Finn choked out, the words scraping his throat like glass. "The Mating Ceremony is in Asheville."
I stared at him, appalled. "And you want to go? Finn, that's suicide. Hunter is an Alpha. He'll kill you for just stepping onto Crimson Fang territory."
"I have to see it, Sloane!" Finn suddenly grabbed my shoulders, his grip bruising. "My wolf is tearing me apart from the inside. He still thinks she's ours. If I don't see her marked by another Alpha, if I don't witness the bond snapping with my own eyes... I'm going to lose my mind. I'll go feral. I'll become a Rogue."
A cold dread washed over me. Becoming a Rogue wasn't just losing a pack; it was losing your humanity. It was a death sentence.
"Then take one of your Warrior friends," I whispered, trying to pull away. "Take Amber."
"I can't," he pleaded, his voice breaking. "Any wolf I bring will just trigger my territorial instincts. I need you. You're *wolfless*. You're safe. You're the only thing that grounds me, Sloane. Please. I'm begging you."
He knew exactly what he was doing. He was weaponizing my ten years of pathetic, one-sided loyalty. He was using my biological defect as a tool to keep himself sane. I felt sick to my stomach, disgusted by him, but even more disgusted by myself as that deeply ingrained, toxic need to protect him flared to life.
"This is it, Finn," I said, my voice hollow, the words tasting like ash. "This is the last time I clean up your mess."
*
Seven weeks later, the sterile, human scent of the Asheville Regional Airport was doing nothing to calm my racing heart.
I sat on a cold metal bench in the arrivals area, my suitcase tucked between my legs. It had been over an hour. Finn was completely MIA. My calls went straight to voicemail, and my texts remained unread. As a *wolfless*, I was deaf and blind to the pack's Mind-Link network. For all I knew, Finn had already gotten himself killed.
Anger and a deep, humiliating sense of abandonment warred in my chest. I was about to drag my suitcase to the taxi stand and book the first flight back to New York when a low, predatory growl vibrated through the concrete floor.
It wasn't a wolf. It was an engine.
A sleek, aggressive black Ford Mustang Shelby GT500 slid to a halt at the curb directly in front of me. The tinted passenger window rolled down with a smooth hum.
The air around me instantly changed. The mundane smell of exhaust and cheap coffee was obliterated by a suffocating, intoxicating wave of petrichor, gunpowder, and pure, unadulterated male dominance. My breath hitched. Even without an Inner Wolf, every cell in my body screamed that an apex predator had just entered my space.
I slowly stood up, my knuckles turning white on my suitcase handle.
The man behind the wheel leaned over. He had dark hair, a jawline that looked carved from granite, and eyes that missed absolutely nothing. He was older than Finn, larger, and radiated a lethal stillness that made my knees feel weak.
"Sloane." His voice was a dark, rumbling baritone that sent a bizarre, electric shiver straight down my spine.
I took a step back, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. "Who are you? Where is Finn?"
The man's lips curved into a slow, dangerous smirk, his eyes trailing over my sensible clothes and the nervous grip I had on my luggage.
"I guess you can call me the wrong brother."
