Maya's POV
I couldn't stop staring at the photos.
Giant wolves. Impossibly large. Standing next to Damon like they belonged together.
My phone sat in my hand, Ivy's number pulled up on the screen. I needed to tell someone. Needed someone to confirm I wasn't losing my mind.
The phone rang three times before Ivy answered. Maya? It's midnight. What's wrong?
I need you to look at something. My voice shook. Can I send you a photo?
Of course. Send it.
I photographed the clearest image—the massive wolf standing beside Damon—and sent it.
Silence stretched across the line. Then: What am I looking at?
A wolf. At the place where I'm going tomorrow for the consulting job. Do you see how big it is?
Maya... Ivy's voice filled with concern. This is obviously photoshopped. Bad photoshopping, actually. The proportions are all wrong.
What if it's not?
Then you're looking at a genetically modified animal, which is illegal and terrifying. Where exactly are you going tomorrow?
I couldn't answer that. Didn't know how to explain.
Maya, talk to me. You've been weird for days. Secret consulting jobs, mysterious money, now photos of monster wolves, what's really going on?
I told you. I took a consulting position
Bullshit. Ivy's voice hardened. I've known you for three years. You're a terrible liar. Something is wrong, and you won't tell me what.
Tears burned my eyes. She was right. I was lying to my only friend, heading into danger I didn't understand, all for money from a man with golden eyes and too many secrets.
I can't explain right now, I whispered. But I promise I'll tell you everything when I get back. Two weeks. Just trust me for two weeks.
Two weeks at a place with photoshopped monster wolves and mysterious wealthy clients who won't let you talk about your work. Ivy's fear came through clearly. Maya, this sounds like human trafficking. Or worse.
It's not. I promise it's not.
Then what is it?
I had no answer that wouldn't sound insane.
I have to go, I said quietly. I'll call you when I can.
Maya, don't hang up
I ended the call, guilt crushing my chest.
Ivy was right to be worried. Everything about this was wrong. Dangerous. Potentially deadly.
But I'd already taken the money. Already signed the contract. Already committed.
The only way out was through.
I pulled up a browser on my phone and searched: largest wolf species size
The results appeared: Gray wolves typically measure 26-32 inches at shoulder height and weigh 50-110 pounds. The largest recorded wolf was 40 inches at the shoulder.
I looked at the photo again. The wolf standing next to Damon reached his chest. Damon was at least six-three.
That made the wolf roughly five feet tall at the shoulder.
Twice the size of the largest wolf ever recorded.
Impossible.
Unless...
I typed: genetic modification wolves illegal
Pages of results. Articles about attempts to breed larger dogs, create hybrid species, genetic experimentation on animals.
All of it illegal. All of it dangerous.
Was that what Damon was involved in? Illegal genetic experiments?
My phone buzzed. A text from Damon: Stop researching. Sleep. Tomorrow changes everything.
I threw the phone across the room.
How did he always know? How was he always watching?
Kieran returned at 8 AM with coffee and a grim expression.
We need to work on your body language.
Good morning to you too, I muttered.
He ignored my sarcasm, pulling me to stand in the middle of my living room. When you're with Damon in public, you need to look completely devoted. Like he's the only person in the room. Like you'd die for him if necessary.
That's insane
That's survival. Kieran circled me like a predator. These people can sense lies, doctor. They can smell fear. If you look uncertain, hesitant, or fake—they'll know. And they'll use it against Damon.
How can anyone 'sense' lies? That's not scientifically possible.
You're about to learn that a lot of things you thought impossible are very, very real. He stopped in front of me. Now, pretend I'm Damon. Look at me like you're in love.
I stared at him. You're joking.
Do I look like I'm joking?
I tried. I really tried. But staring at Kieran's scarred, terrifying face while pretending to be in love felt ridiculous.
You look constipated, Kieran said flatly. Again.
I can't just manufacture feelings
Then remember feelings you've had. A man you loved. A moment you felt safe. Channel that. His pale eyes studied me. You were engaged once, right? To the bastard who framed you. Remember how you looked at him before he betrayed you.
Pain lanced through my chest. Richard. I'd looked at Richard like he was my future. My family. My home.
And he'd destroyed me.
I can't, I whispered.
You have to. Kieran's voice softened slightly. Maya, if you can't make this convincing, Marcus will challenge Damon publicly. Will expose you as a fraud. And then... He paused. Then bad things happen to both of you.
What kind of bad things?
The kind you don't walk away from.
We practiced for hours. How to stand close to Damon without looking stiff. How to touch his arm naturally. How to laugh at his comments. How to look at him with genuine affection.
By noon, I felt like a puppet learning to move on strings.
Better, Kieran finally admitted. You're a good actress, doctor. But these people... they can sense lies in ways you don't understand. You'll need to make it feel real. Actually real. Not just convincing.
How? Frustration leaked into my voice. How do I fake real feelings?
You don't fake them. You find them. He picked up his jacket. Damon saved you from destroying yourself after Richard's betrayal. He gave you a way to fight back. That's worth something, isn't it? Hold onto that. Make it real.
The way he said these people—like they weren't quite human—made goosebumps rise on my arms.
Kieran, what are they?
Survivors. Like you. He headed for the door. Tomorrow at dawn, we leave. Pack light. Wear comfortable clothes. And doctor? He looked back. Whatever you see tomorrow, whatever happens—remember that Damon chose you for a reason. Trust that.
He left.
I stood alone in my apartment, surrounded by half-packed bags and unanswered questions.
That night, sleep was impossible.
I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, my mind racing through everything I knew and didn't know.
Damon Blackridge. Wealthy. Powerful. Secretive. A man who'd survived injuries that should have killed him.
I pulled up the photos from his ER admission on my phone—I'd taken pictures of his chart for my records, standard procedure for complex cases.
The wounds had been devastating. Deep lacerations across his chest, his back, his arms. Like he'd been mauled by something with massive claws.
But the pattern was wrong. Too organized. Too deliberate.
Like he'd fought something that knew how to kill.
I zoomed in on one photo, studying the scar placement.
Four parallel lines across his chest. Deep. Surgical precision despite the violence.
Claw marks.
But what kind of animal had claws that large? That powerful?
My mind flashed to the photos Kieran had accidentally left. The massive wolves. The golden eyes.
Don't scream. Don't run. Don't react.
I pulled up Google again, typing with shaking hands: wolves attacking humans patterns
The results showed typical wolf behavior. Pack hunting. Prey animals. Rare human attacks.
Nothing that matched Damon's injuries.
I typed: large predator attack patterns humans
Bears. Mountain lions. Tigers in captivity.
Nothing matched.
I stared at the scar photo again, my medical training warring with impossible conclusions forming in my mind.
Those weren't animal attack wounds.
They were fight wounds.
Like he'd fought something that stood on two legs. Something that used its claws like weapons.
Something intelligent.
My phone buzzed, making me drop it.
Text from unknown number: Sleep, doctor. Tomorrow, all your questions get answered. Whether you're ready for those answers or not. -K
Kieran.
I pulled the covers up to my chin, my body shaking.
Tomorrow I'd leave for a place that didn't officially exist. Surrounded by people who weren't quite normal. Following rules that made no sense.
All for a man who'd survived wounds that should have killed him.
A man with golden eyes.
Like the wolves in the photos.
No. That was crazy. Impossible.
Wolves were animals. Humans were humans. There was no connection.
Except...
I remembered Damon standing in my apartment. The way he'd moved—too fluid, too graceful. The predatory awareness in his eyes. The way Kieran had said these people can sense lies.
Not people sense lies through body language. Not people are good at reading others.
These people. Like they were different. Other.
I grabbed my phone with shaking hands and pulled up the photo of Damon standing beside the massive wolf.
Same height. Same posture. Same golden eyes.
Standing together like equals.
Like family.
My medical mind rejected it. Screamed that it was impossible.
But a small, terrified part of me whispered: What if?
What if the wolves weren't just unusually large animals?
What if the business associates weren't just powerful people with strange customs?
What if Damon's wounds came from fighting something that shouldn't exist?
What if I'd agreed to spend two weeks surrounded by monsters?
I pulled the covers over my head like a child hiding from nightmares.
But the nightmares were real.
And tomorrow, I was walking straight into them.
My phone buzzed one final time. Damon.
Dawn comes fast, Maya. I hope you're ready. Because once we arrive at the Summit, there's no turning back. You'll see things you can't unsee. Learn truths you can't unlearn. And you'll have to choose—accept what I am, or die trying to run from it.
I read the message three times, my heart pounding so hard I could hear it.
Accept what I am.
Not who.
What.
I dropped the phone and stared at the darkness pressing against my windows.
What had I gotten myself into?
And more terrifying—was I going to survive finding out?