Sylvie woke up on her couch at three in the afternoon with a hangover and her head filled with memories that felt like scenes from a movie someone else had watched. She sat up slowly, her head pounding, and tried to piece together how she'd gotten home.

The last clear memory she had was staring at a massive black wolf in Myles Martins' office. Everything after that was a blur of car rides and Maya's voice explaining strange things and someone walking her up the stairs to her apartment.

Her phone was buzzing on the coffee table. Seven missed calls from Marcus, twelve from a number she didn't recognize, and forty-three text messages from various contacts who'd heard about the chandelier incident on the news.

She ignored them all and stumbled to the kitchen to make coffee. Her black dress from the gala was draped over a chair, and seeing it made the memories come flooding back. The chandelier falling. Myles moving impossibly fast. The photograph of the pink wolf with her eyes.

The transformation.

She'd watched a man turn into a wolf. Right in front of her. In his office. And then Maya had driven her home while explaining werewolves like it was a completely normal conversation to have at two in the morning.

Her phone rang again. Marcus.

"Are you alive?" he asked when she answered.

"Barely."

"Thank God. I saw the news about the chandelier. Are you hurt?"

She tested her arms and legs. Everything seemed to work normally. "No. Someone pulled me out of the way."

"Someone?"

"Myles Martins."

There was a long pause. "The subject of your investigation saved your life?"

"Apparently."

"Sylvie, that's not a coincidence. You know that, right?"

She did know that. She also knew things about Myles Martins that would make Marcus question her sanity if she tried to explain them. "I know."

"I want you to come in. We need to talk about this story. Face to face."

"I can't today. I need to process what happened."

"Process it here. With backup. Sylvie, someone tried to kill you. You shouldn't be alone."

Before she could respond, someone knocked on her apartment door.

"Someone's here," she whispered.

"Don't answer it. Not until we know who's behind the chandelier."

But she was already walking to the door. She looked through the peephole and saw a man in an expensive gray suit standing in her hallway. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with salt-and-pepper hair and a posture that could only be gotten from military training. He held a manila envelope in his left hand.

"Ms. Carter?" His voice was deep and carried easily through the door. "I'm James Patterson, representing Martins Corporation. Mr. Martins would like to speak with you."

"I have to go," she told Marcus, and hung up before he could argue.

She opened the door but left the chain lock engaged. "I didn't make an appointment."

"No, ma'am. But given last night's events, Mr. Martins felt it was important to follow up personally. He's asked me to deliver this and escort you to his office, if you're willing."

He held up the envelope. Through the crack in the door, she could see the Martins Corporation logo embossed on the paper.

"What if I'm not willing?"

"Then I'll leave the envelope and report back that you declined the meeting. But Ms. Carter, I think you'll want to hear what Mr. Martins has to say."

She studied his face through the gap. He looked like he'd spent his career handling sensitive situations for powerful people. Professional, discrete, and probably dangerous if the situation required it.

"Give me ten minutes to get dressed."

"Of course. I'll wait in the car."

She closed the door and leaned against it, her heart racing. This was insane. She was about to get in a car with a stranger who worked for… for a werewolf. He'd saved her life, but still. He represented everything she didn't understand about the world she'd apparently been born into.

But she was also a journalist, and this was the biggest story of her life. Assuming she lived to write it.

She hurriedly took her shower, threw on a fresh pair of jeans, she stared down at it. Jeans felt too casual. So she pulled it off and settled for a grey corporate trouser and a white shirt to match. She grabbed her purse and phone, and opened the envelope Patterson had left.

Inside was a single sheet of paper with the Martins Corporation letterhead. The message was brief and formal:

Ms. Carter,

Given the events of last evening, I believe we have matters to discuss that would be better addressed in person. If you'll come with, Mr. Patterson will provide transportation to my office.

The choice is entirely yours.

M. Martins

At the bottom of the page, someone had written in blue ink: "Your questions deserve answers. - Maya"

That decided it. She grabbed her jacket and headed for the door.

Patterson's car was a black sedan with tinted windows. He held the rear door open for her and closed it gently after she got in.

"How long have you worked for Mr. Martins?" she asked as they pulled into traffic.

"Five years. He's a good employer."

"What kind of work do you do for him?"

Patterson glanced at her in the rearview mirror. "Security consulting. Risk assessment. Problem solving."

That was all she could get out of him during the twenty-minute drive to Martins Tower. He was polite but professional, answering her questions without actually telling her anything useful.

The tower looked different in daylight. Still impressive, but somehow less intimidating than it had seemed from the outside. Patterson led her through the lobby to a private elevator that required a key card to operate.

"Mr. Martins is expecting you," he said as the doors opened on the executive floor. "Conference room B. Down the hall, last door on your right."

"You're not coming with me?"

"That won't be necessary."

The hallway was quiet except for the sound of her footsteps on marble floors. In no time, she'd gotten to Conference room B. She knocked and waited.

"Come in."

Myles was sitting at the head of a long conference table. He looked exactly like he had the night before, perfectly groomed and completely in control. The only difference was his eyes. In the fluorescent conference room lighting, they looked more green than blue.

Maya was sitting to his right, wearing a black business suit and typing on a laptop. She looked up when Sylvie entered and smiled.

"How are you feeling?" Maya asked.

"Like I got hit by a truck. Or a chandelier."

"That's normal. Adrenaline crash. It'll pass."

Sylvie took a seat across from them, setting her purse on the table. "So. Werewolves are real."

"Yes," Myles said simply.

"And you're the leader of a pack."

"Alpha of the Blackthorn Pack. The largest and most influential pack on this Coast."

"And I'm apparently some kind of werewolf royalty."

"Luna bloodline," Maya corrected. "Not royalty exactly, but close. Your great-great-grandmother was legendary."

Sylvie rubbed her temples. "This is insane. Yesterday I was a normal person with a normal job and normal problems. Today I'm sitting in a conference room talking about werewolves."

"Yesterday someone tried to kill you with a chandelier," Myles pointed out. "Normal people don't usually attract that kind of attention."

"Why me? Even if I am what you say I am, I don't know anything about werewolf communities or pack politics. I'm not a threat to anyone."

Maya and Myles exchanged one of their looks.

"You're more of a threat than you realize," Maya said. "Luna bloodlines can do things other werewolves can't. Unite packs. Challenge Alpha authority. Change the balance of power in supernatural communities."

"But I can't even change into a wolf. Assuming that's something I'm supposed to be able to do."

"You haven't tried," Myles said. "And you haven't been trained. But the potential is there. Which is why someone wanted you dead before you could discover it."

She leaned back in her chair and stared at the ceiling. "So what happens now? Do I go back to my apartment and pretend last night didn't happen? Do I quit my job and join your pack? Do I spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder for people who want to kill me?"

"That depends," Myles said.

"On what?"

"On whether you accept the job offer I'm about to make you."

She sat up straight. "Job offer?"

Maya closed her laptop and folded her hands on the table. "We think the best way to keep you safe is to keep you close. And the best way to do that is to give you a legitimate reason to be around."

"What kind of job?"

"Personal assistant," Myles said. "You'd handle my schedule, coordinate meetings, manage correspondence. Normal executive assistant duties."

"And the abnormal duties?"

"Learning about werewolf society. Understanding pack dynamics. Training to access your Luna abilities." He leaned forward slightly. "And helping us figure out who tried to kill you."

Sylvie stared at him. "You want me to work for the man I was sent to investigate."

"I want to keep you alive long enough to get answers. Someone killed your parents to hide your heritage. Someone tried to kill you to prevent you from discovering it. Working for me gives you protection and resources to find out who and why."

"And what do you get out of it?"

"A Luna bloodline allied with my pack instead of working against it."

She looked at Maya. "What do you think?"

"I think my brother is right. You're safer with us than on your own. And we could use someone with your investigative skills to help solve our security problems."

"How do I know this isn't some elaborate trap?"

Myles stood up and walked to the window. "You don't. But consider the alternative. Go back to your normal life and hope whoever tried to kill you gives up. Keep asking questions about my business and hope you find answers before they find you."

"Or?"

He turned back to face her. "Accept that your life changed the moment that chandelier fell. Accept that you're not normal and never were. And let us help you figure out what that means."

She sat in the quiet conference room, weighing her options. Go back to her apartment and wait for another attempt on her life. Or stay close to the people who seemed to know what was happening and why.

It wasn't really a choice at all.

"What would the salary be?”