The words should have made her angry. Part of her was angry—that familiar spark of defiance that always ignited when someone tried to steamroll over her. She’d grown up fighting for every scrap of autonomy, every bit of control over her own life. She didn’t back down easily.
But there was something else happening too. Something in the way he was looking at her, with that intense golden gaze that seemed to see past her defenses straight to the confused, flustered mess underneath. Something in the way his presence filled the hallway, commanding and absolute, making her feel small and safe and claimed all at once.
What is wrong with me?
“Fine,” she said, and hated how breathless the word came out. “Your office. But I need ground rules.”
His eyebrow rose fractionally. “Ground rules?”
“Yes. First, no hovering. I can’t work with someone breathing down my neck. Second, no commentary on my process. I work the way I work, and it might look chaotic but it’s actually extremely organized. Third, no…” She faltered as he took another step forward, closing the distance between them until she could feel the heat radiating from his body. “No… that. What you’re doing right now.”
“I’m standing.”
“You’re looming.”
“I’m tall. Standing and looming are functionally equivalent for someone my size.”
Her traitorous mouth twitched. “Fourth ground rule, no humor. It’s confusing.”
“I’ll add it to the list.” His expression remained unreadable, but something in his posture shifted, some microscopic relaxation that her overly analytical brain catalogued and filed away. “Anything else?”
Yes. Stay at least five feet away from me at all times, don’t look at me with those eyes, and for the love of God stop smelling like a forest that I want to get lost in.
“No,” she squeaked. “That’s it.”
“Excellent.” He turned without another word and led her to a heavy oak door at the end of the hallway. “Your new office. Orperhaps I should sayournew office. The main set of servers are in the service closet behind your desk.”
The room was large and comfortable with a huge desk in the middle of the room and French doors leading out to a stone terrace. Another large desk was positioned in a corner behind his desk, not private exactly, but… protected. There were two large wall-mounted monitors above it, as well as the three on the desk, and—miracle of miracles—her own mini-fridge stocked with her preferred brand of energy drinks. He’d even arranged for a chair exactly like the one in her office.
“Is this acceptable?” he asked as she ran her fingers over the desk, and she jumped when she realized he was right behind her.
“Yes.” She turned to face him. The room was suddenly too small, too full of him. “It’s… fine.”
They stood there for a moment, too close, the air between them thick with something she refused to name. She could hear her own heartbeat pounding in her ears and wondered if he could hear it too—if werewolf senses were as sharp as the legends claimed, if he could smell the adrenaline and confusion and unwanted desire rolling off her in waves.
“Good.” He moved towards the door. “Communal dinner is at seven. Don’t be late.”
She thought about a room full of werewolves, all watching the interloper human, all judging her clothes and her pink hair and her obvious discomfort with social situations. It sounded like a nightmare. It sounded like every lunch table she’d been excluded from throughout her entire childhood, amplified and fur-covered.
“Great,” she said weakly. “Looking forward to it.”
He left, and she sagged against the desk, her legs trembling. Her gaze fell on the mini-fridge and a wave of warmth spread through her chest. He’d done his best to make her comfortable. No one had bothered to do that since Professor Rhineland.
She unpacked her laptop and peripherals, her movements becoming more confident as she fell into the familiar ritual of setting up her workspace. Within an hour, she was surrounded by a fortress of technology, her screens glowing with lines of code, the low hum of servers a familiar lullaby. This was her world. This was where she was in control. This was where she belonged.
She worked until the sun began to set, her focus absolute. When she finally looked up, the room was dark except for the glow of her monitors. She glanced at the clock on her screen and swore. Five after seven.Fuck.She was late for dinner.
Chapter Six
Harper’s scent followed Adrian out into the hallway, but he tried to convince himself it was some kind of olfactory hallucination brought on by stress and insufficient sleep and absolutely not the tiny pink-haired human currently unpacking her belongings in his office. His original intention had been to set her up in one of the isolated cottages surrounding the pack house, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Having her in his office was… inconvenient, but it was also satisfying to have her in his personal territory. Even if he had immediately left it again.
Mate,his wolf demanded, pressing insistently against his consciousness.Ours. Go to her.
He swore and climbed the backstairs, heading for the small library at the rear of the second floor. “No.”
A surge of frustrated longing rolled through him. One small human had his wolf acting like a pup presented with its first rabbit.
Pathetic.
