Handing Over

CONNOR

“Doc,” I said as I entered the infirmary. Willow was still under, thank the gods, and the beeping machines had resumed their steady rhythm. “How long until she wakes again?”

Doctor Ross didn’t look up from checking her vitals, but his posture stiffened. “I’d like to keep her under at least another twenty-four hours. Until the wolfsbane clears out and the major wounds start self-healing. We don’t want the pain to send her into shock again.”

He gave me a side-eyed glare, and I nodded, my jaw tight.

“Keep her under, then,” I said. “Do whatever’s necessary to keep her comfortable. And alive.”

That earned me an approving glance from the man, one eyebrow twitching upward. He nodded. “Yes, Alpha.”

I lingered for a moment by the edge of her bed, watching the unnatural stillness of her body. My eyes caressed the contours of her face—so beautiful now without the swelling and bruising of just a day ago.

However, her smooth skin was deathly pale. If not for the monitors and the soft rise and fall of her chest, she could’ve passed for dead. It unnerved me more than I cared to admit.

As much as I’d have liked to stay by her side, I had work to do and decisions to make. And by midday, I was on a private helicopter headed to Seattle.

The city below looked sharp, angular, a machine waiting to eat me alive. Aurora’s headquarters sat near the waterfront, a sleek, architectural flex of silver and obsidian glass.

I’d built it after my father’s passing, transforming the business from a few quiet, behind-the-scenes hotels into one of the most influential luxury hotel groups in the world.

But I couldn’t wait to be rid of the “face of Aurora” label. All the news articles, photo shoots, and invitations to galas and charity balls felt like wearing someone else’s skin.

Even if I despised being Aurora’s spearhead, it was our pack’s shield. The money it brought in kept us hidden and thriving, funding everything from our worldwide safe houses to intricate integration strategies into the human world.

This afternoon, I’d arranged for a senior staff meeting to begin the handover process. It was time for Raymond to step up. After today, I could focus fully on protecting my people from the unknown threat that Willow might or might not represent.

Or was running from.

The driver pulled the SUV up in front of the headquarters. I stepped out into the chilly Seattle wind, tugging my coat tighter. I hadn’t walked more than ten steps toward the revolving glass doors when something in the flow of passersby stopped me in my tracks.

It was a woman.

She was tall and poised, her shoulders stiff with purpose and her gait swift but elegant. Her glossy black hair, long and straight, caught in the wind when she turned her head briefly.

I got only a glimpse, but it was enough to punch the breath from my lungs.

The woman was Willow.

Well, she looked like Willow. And not a little—a lot~.~ The bone structure. The high cheekbones. The mouth. But she appeared older, maybe late thirties or early forties. Too old.

The age difference should’ve been reassuring, should’ve told me I was seeing things.

Instead, my wolf surged, his claws scraping against the inside of my skin as he said, “~Mate’s blood~.”

I took a step forward, pushing through two men in suits. “Hey! Wait!”

The woman didn’t turn, didn’t slow. She disappeared into the wave of bodies moving along the sidewalk like a river current. One moment she was there, and the next, gone.

I stood rooted to the concrete for a long moment, my chest tight. I was imagining things; I had to be. My brain must’ve been filling in the gaps, projecting familiarity where there was none. After all, I barely knew Willow’s real face.

The bruising had only just faded enough for me to start seeing her properly. My image of her was still dominated by those wild green eyes and arresting symmetry—nature had clearly taken her time.

~Of course that woman wasn’t Willow. Did she even have green eyes?~ I dragged a hand down my face, scanning the crowd again.

Nothing. No sign of her. No scent either.

Growling under my breath for getting so rattled, I turned back toward the building. ~You’re unraveling, Connor~, I told myself, trying to shake off the cold sweat at the base of my spine.

I walked through the mirrored doors and strode into the polished expanse of glass and steel, barely hearing the greetings from the front desk staff. My shoes echoed as I made my way to the private elevator, the memory of that woman’s face refusing to leave my mind.

~Could she maybe be Willow’s mother? Is it possible she’s lived in Seattle all this time?~ I hadn’t heard of any packs based in the city, but it wasn’t unthinkable. ~But if humans had captured her daughter, why wouldn’t she have reached out to other packs for help?~

~Maybe she’s complicit.~

The thought sent a chill through me, but I refused to entertain it. No way would a werewolf parent allow their pup to be a lab rat for humans.

By the time the elevator dinged open on the management floor, I’d already decided to have Josh review every street camera on and around this block. He’d find her.

Inside the meeting room, the usual suits were already seated. They looked up from their tablets and conversations when I entered, all straightened posture and polite anticipation. They could smell the change and were ready for it.

Good.

I sat at the head of the table and let the silence settle first. Then I told them what they needed to hear. “I’m stepping back as president of Aurora. Effective immediately.”

The room burst into excited murmurs, and my eyes landed on Raymond, who practically preened.

“I’ll retain final sign-off on any outstanding contracts,” I continued, speaking over them, “everything else will be handled by Raymond, your new president.” I nodded at him, and everyone clapped in congratulations.

After that, I was trapped in an endless succession of meetings to tie up the handover of leadership. The day dragged on, a relentless slog through a haze of corporate jargon. Through all of it, though, my mind wasn’t there.

It was back home, on the half-dead girl in the hospital bed—Willow, my mate.

And beneath that, a gnawing unease had burrowed back into my bones, setting off alarm bells in my gut. It was the kind of discomfort that gnashed and scraped at the edges of my sanity, screaming that danger lurked just out of sight.

That stranger on the street whose face looked too much like Willow’s to be a coincidence… Something wasn’t right.

I’d learned to trust this sixth sense, this primal warning system that kicked into overdrive when things were about to go sideways. But I was trying to catch smoke with my bare hands; the threat felt everywhere and nowhere at once.

The torturous day eventually came to an end. Exhausted and relieved, I walked out to my awaiting car, looked up—and stopped dead.

Right there, in the flesh, no doubt about it this time, was my mate, standing across the street, some ghost from a damned fever dream.

And this time, she was staring straight at me.