Chapter 2

Oh no. My secret vampire pen pal was my werewolf Alpha.

At first, I told myself I was being paranoid. Dominic wasn't looking at me. He was probably staring at Clara, who was gorgeous and standing right next to me.

But Clara shoved me forward, and I stumbled.

Dominic caught me by the wrist. His grip was warm. His pupils dilated. And I watched his nostrils flare as he inhaled — once, twice — and something shifted in his expression. Something raw and unguarded.

Then Selene Pierce stepped between us.

"Dominic." Her voice was ice. Selene was the daughter of our pack's most powerful elder, beautiful, ruthless, and she'd been publicly declaring herself as Dominic's future Luna since we were teenagers.

"If your so-called mate is some kitchen rat, I swear on the Moon Goddess, I will—"

"Move, Selene."

Two words. The entire hall went silent.

But the moment broke. Dominic released my wrist, his expression shutting down like a steel door slamming. He turned and walked back to the platform.

"False alarm," he said flatly. "Everyone, go back to your duties."

The crowd dispersed, buzzing with confusion. Clara pulled me aside.

"Did you SEE that? He grabbed you! His wolf was practically surfacing!"

"He grabbed me because I tripped into him, Clara."

"Girl, his eyes were GOLD."

I didn't answer because my phone buzzed again.

D: "Sorry, had to deal with something. Someone got in the way. But I meant what I said — you're the only one."

I stared at the message.

Then I stared at Dominic's retreating back.

No. No way. Absolutely not.

That night, I lay in my tiny room in the servants' quarters, phone pressed to my chest, running through every conversation D and I had ever had.

He'd told me he was in a leadership position he never wanted. That his parents had left him with responsibilities he couldn't escape. That people constantly threw themselves at him and he hated it.

I'd assumed he was some mid-level vampire coven manager.

Not the Alpha of my own pack.

The next morning, I was still spiraling when Dominic walked into the kitchen during breakfast service. He never came to the kitchen. The Alpha eats in the dining hall, served by senior wolves.

Yet here he was, leaning against the doorframe, watching me scramble eggs.

"Nora Blackwell."

I almost dropped the pan. "Yes, Alpha?"

"I need you to take on the liaison role for the upcoming Summit with the Crimson Veil coven."

The Crimson Veil. Our rival vampire coven. The negotiation that could end a century-old blood feud — or start a war.

"Me? I'm a kitchen Omega. I don't even attend pack meetings."

"You speak three languages, you're the only one here who's read the original treaty documents, and you don't flinch around vampires."

How did he know any of that?

"I'll take that as a yes," he said, and left.

Clara appeared behind me instantly. "Since when does the Alpha know your resume?"

Since never. Unless he'd been paying attention far longer than I realized.

That evening, drowning in Summit documents I wasn't qualified to read, I got a message from D.

"Rough day, Little Wolf. Tell me something good."

I typed back furiously: "Something good? I just got assigned impossible work by a tyrant who doesn't care about his people."

He took a while to reply: "What kind of tyrant?"

"The kind who dumps critical assignments on the least qualified person and calls it an opportunity."

Another long pause. Then: "Maybe he sees something in her that she doesn't see in herself."

I threw my phone on the bed.

The next morning, the pack notice board had a new announcement:

All Omegas were now eligible for combat training, education funding, and rank advancement.

Clara nearly fainted. "In six years, nothing has changed for us. What happened?"

I stared at the notice, my stomach sinking.

On my phone, a message from D: "I made some changes at work today. Want to see?"

He sent a photo — a typed memo on official letterhead. The exact same announcement. From the inside.

From the Alpha's desk.