Chapter 1

Caden

The suit cost more than most men in this city earned in a month, and Caden Wolfe hated wearing it. It was a dark gray suit; inside, he wore a black shirt with the first button undone. He knew he’d be in a magazine tomorrow with a breakdown of the prices. It wasn’t just about the suit. It was everything: the clothes, the city, the eyes on him. 

Portland did its best, but he was never actually at peace anywhere. The rain on asphalt, pine threading down from the West Hills, the river carrying secrets that may never come to light. Portland was not a terrible city, but cities were cities. 

Too many bodies, too many voices, and most times they all wanted to speak to him. His schedule was always full, and people always had opinions on what he should do. It didn’t make it easier that he ran the most successful shipping company in the city. 

Caden had learned to manage things. As a leader, his life meant managing discomforts, including this party.

He stood at the upper rail of Onyx. The club had no sign outside, and yet it had a three-month waitlist. People tried to befriend him for invites, but every time he visited the club, he looked down at the crowd from his suite with indifference. 

There was nothing special anymore; he had been a party animal in the past. Now he just observed, feeling detached from everything while waiting for when he could get home.

"You could at least pretend," Marcus said, appearing at his elbow with two glasses of whiskey. Marcus Reid was his Beta, his oldest friend, and the only person who was equal parts annoying and fun. He was a tall man, but still a bit smaller than Caden. Six-foot-two, dark-skinned, with an easy smile that made people underestimate him, which was exactly how Marcus preferred it.

Caden took the glass without looking at him. "Pretend about what?"

Marcus had dragged Caden out to this event; he had been adamant that Caden should let loose, even if it was once in a year.

"That you're enjoying your own birthday." Marcus siad, handing a glass to Caden.

"I'm thirty-five."

"Yes."

"There is nothing to enjoy about that."

“You’re thirty-five, not dead.”

"Well, I'm enjoying the whisky."

"You haven't drunk the whisky."

Caden took a sip of the drink.

"Your father called," Marcus said.

"I know."

"He left a message."

"I know."

"He said —"

"Marcus." Caden turned to look at him. "I know what he said."

I still have to say it. "Your father was mated by twenty-five. Your grandfather was twenty-three."

Caden's jaw tightened. There it was. They'd been dancing around it for two years, and Marcus, who had the patience of stone, had chosen tonight to finally say it plainly. Caden didn't respond. 

He looked at the crowd below again. Once, he had been among the bodies moving under low violet light. As the smell of alcohol and perfume and humanity rose to his nose like heat, his body didn’t stir.

His wolf had been quiet when it came to a mate for so long, he sometimes forgot it was there. 

At six-foot-four, with broad shoulders, dark hair, and a face that people described, depending on their relationship to him, as striking or severe.  He was a catch. He knew this, and it was why he started keeping to himself. Everyone wanted him for something. When he was young, he had performed as a rebel running from responsibilities. He could never run fast enough, though. Now he was more comfortable in his power, and he was chasing.

Alpha of the Ironveil Pack. Ten years. No mate. Most times, he wondered if the Moon Goddess had cursed him to be without a mate, a payment for the trail of broken hearts he left, but he knew worse men; surely, he couldn’t be the one she chose to punish.

He wanted his mate. He had seen acqiuntances find their person and while he once thought of settling down as the end of life, it was now something he wanted for himself. He wanted his person.

"I'm going home at midnight," he said. 

"It's eleven forty-five."

"Then I have time to finish this drink."

His phone buzzed.

iMessage — 

Dad Elias Wolfe: Happy birthday, son. Call me when you're ready.

Read 11:46 PM

He put the phone face down on the railing.

"You should call him," Marcus said. Marcus always saw everything.

"Tomorrow."

"He's not getting younger, Caden."

"None of us are. That's rather the theme of the evening." His relationship with his father was strained; he knew that his father had been tough on him to prepare him for leadership, but it had come at the price of their closeness.

Marcus opened his mouth to say something else, but Caden felt something in that moment.

He had no name for what happened, nothing in thirty-five years had prepared him for the sensation of the floor dropping out from under his life. It wasn't something that pleasure or pain would explain; he felt like he was floating, detached from gravity. Something shifted in his mind, and he suddenly understood what his body needed to survive. He suddenly knew that he had not been living fully. His wolf, usually silent, was pacing, looking.

He grabbed the railing till his knuckles went white.

Find her. The words didn’t come to him in English. It was older than language, but he understood clearly. His body was honed towards the floor. His carefully constructed persona, the cold, controlled person, collapsed.

"Caden." He knew it was Marcus calling him, but the call was muffled as though there was water between them.

He couldn't answer. His entire being was scanning. Every woman in his eyeline looked wrong in a way he couldn't articulate. They were all wrong, not unattractive, simply wrong.  He couldn’t explain it; he had no idea what he was looking for, but he knew he wasn’t finding it yet. He turned his head, scanning the floor again. 

It was an impossible task; the club was at capacity, and bodies were pressed against each other. He could feel his wolf searching like a hand in dark water, grasping.

Before he could find what he was looking for, the world suddenly became normal again. The sensation stopped, and he found that he was, for the first time in years, rattled. He felt like a door had been slammed shut in his face. He was left standing at the rail, his hand still gripping it, and Marcus watched him with an expression he couldn't read.

"What just happened to you?" Marcus asked.

"Nothing." He released the railing. Straightened his jacket. His heart rate was still elevated. He could feel it and hated it. "I'm going home."

"Caden —"

"Midnight came early."

He left the suite, went downstairs, and moved through the crowd in a hurry. The people parted without being asked. He was almost at the exit when he stopped. He turned around immediately, looking for what was calling to him. His wolf was quiet again. The only thing he would hear was the loud music. He left.

In his car, forty minutes from the club, he rolled down the window and watched the city move past him. He had asked Sam to take the long route; he was eager for alone time. Time to sort out his confusion. Marcus followed in another car.  

Caden watched Portland move past the window. The Pearl District glittering, the bridges lit against the Willamette, the West Hills dark and solid beyond the city's reach. His territory was up there in the black. He could feel it,  a low, constant awareness of the responsibility he had. 

He was still thinking when it happened. Daisies!

The smell hit him. It should have been impossible; there were no flowers on this road, no market stalls at this hour, no reason in the world for the smell of daisies to enter a moving car with its windows shut on a highway. 

He was convinced he was going crazy, but the smell remained; he felt like he was choking. His wolf stirred again,  a low, mournful sound. 

"Sam, can you smell that?" he said quietly.

Sam looked confused; his face was answer enough. He couldn’t smell anything.

"Stop the car." Caden barked.

Sam pulled onto the sidewalk. Caden stepped out of the car and stood in the dark and breathed. He tried to locate the smell, but it was already fading. By the time he'd taken three steps away from the car, the smell was gone entirely.

He closed his eyes and pushed his fingers into his dark hair. What the fuck was going on?

He stood in silence for two full minutes, aware that Sam was astonished by his behavior. He sighed, then he got back in the car and said nothing for the rest of the drive home.

In the other car, Marcus exchanged a series of texts.

Message — Marcus & [UNSAVED NUMBER]

Marcus: It activated tonight. 

[UNSAVED NUMBER]: You're certain. 

Marcus: I was standing next to him. Yes. 

[UNSAVED NUMBER]: Does he know?

Marcus: He knows something happened. He doesn't know what. 

[UNSAVED NUMBER]: Keep it that way for now.

Marcus: I can't do that indefinitely. 

[UNSAVED NUMBER]: You don't have to. Just long enough. 

Marcus: Long enough for what?

[UNSAVED NUMBER]: Good night, Marcus.

The contact went offline. Marcus sat in his dark car, hoping he was doing the right thing.