Chapter 7

Richard

Michael thoughtfully swirled his whiskey. "Regular Omegas can't handle the intensity of bonds with all three of us simultaneously. It would destroy their minds." His voice mixed academic analysis with suppressed desire, fingers anxiously tapping the rim of his glass.

"We won't force anyone to be our mate," I said firmly, my sense of honor demanding clarity on this point. "That will always be her free choice, made without our influence. That's pack honor." Even as I said this, the wolf inside me had already claimed her as mine, craving to possess every inch of her skin.

Michael nodded in agreement, but his eyes still gleamed with excitement. Kevin remained characteristically silent, yet I could sense the intense aura radiating from him—his battle-hardened nature already calculating, planning, strategizing.

"I'm going to speak with Violet again," Michael suddenly announced, setting down his glass. "She might have more information about our mysterious Isabella." His eyes sparkled with the light of curiosity, reflecting his insatiable thirst for knowledge.

As he left, I sank into my chair, the leather creaking beneath my weight. Kevin continued smoking in silence, his dark eyes reflecting the moonlight streaming through the windows. The air in the room thickened with our presence, heavy with masculine hormones and restrained desire.

Our club has hosted all kinds of werewolves, I thought, staring into my whiskey, the taste of alcohol mingling with the longing on my tongue. But she seemed different. Her scent... that pure yet powerful Omega fragrance, I've never smelled anything like it. Every time I recalled her scent, my body responded instinctively, blood rushing to my groin, causing a hardness impossible to ignore.

Isabella Hart. The name echoed in my mind like a prayer. She looked so young, so innocent—tonight was her coming-of-age ceremony, when her wolf would have awakened for the first time. Yet beneath that innocence, I sensed a wild, untamed power.

She was so beautiful, so pure, yet radiating a primal energy. Could she really be...? No, that would be too rare. But deep inside, my wolf had already determined the answer. There was something about her, something that distinguished her from any woman I'd ever met. It wasn't just her stunning beauty or perfect figure, but the essence of her being.

The three of us had been searching for suitable mates for years, never finding anyone who truly resonated with our souls. But her... her very existence seemed to touch something deep within our wolves. Just thinking about her potentially becoming our mate made my body hot with desire, my teeth itching with the need to mark her.

Kevin and I waited in comfortable silence. Tobacco smoke and the scent of ancient wolf spices filled the air, the smoke forming strange shapes in the moonlight, like it was telling old pack tales. I swirled my glass, listening to the ice cubes clinking against the sides, my thoughts drifting to that black-haired girl, imagining where she might be now, what she might be doing.

When Michael finally returned, his expression was a mixture of excitement and frustration, his steps hurried and purposeful.

"Well?" I asked eagerly, unable to hide the longing in my voice.

"This was her first visit to any werewolf gathering," Michael reported, dropping back into his chair. I could see his pulse throbbing at his throat, revealing his excitement. "Violet says Isabella is willing to find a mate, but seems somewhat insecure about her identity."

I frowned. "How does she know?" Isabella's scent lingered indelibly in my memory, sweet and alluring, yet with a unique note I'd never encountered before.

"Violet asked her," Michael explained. "Apparently, Isabella knows very little about her adult reactions. Her responses were unusually intense. Her scent becomes abnormally active near the full moon, which might indicate she's a special type of Omega." He paused, then added, "And she said she wouldn't become a member."

"Why not?" I felt a flash of indignation, my pride slightly wounded. "Is my club not good enough for her?" My voice carried unmistakable possessiveness and pride, as if being rejected was an insult.

Michael raised an eyebrow slightly. "I'm guessing she doesn't qualify. Diana also 'forgot' to tell her." His tone carried irony, suggesting Diana's "forgetfulness" might have been deliberate.

My jaw tightened. Of course, Diana would "forget" to properly introduce a beautiful Omega to club membership. Her jealousy was as transparent as glass. I could feel my blood pressure rising, my resentment toward Diana boiling like magma.

"I'll handle it," I said firmly, already planning how to personally approach Isabella. My mind had begun weaving various possible scenarios, imagining what I would say and do when I saw her again.

Kevin exhaled a cloud of smoke, his dark eyes narrowing slightly. "Does it matter? She's who we want."

This simple statement cut through all speculation and discussion. He was right, as Kevin typically was during his rare moments of speech. Whether Isabella was a Golden Omega or merely an unusually captivating regular Omega didn't matter. The three of us—powerful leaders, each managing our own packs, rarely agreeing on anything—were unanimously drawn to her.

That fact alone made her extraordinary.

By one in the morning, Michael and Kevin had left. Michael needed to prepare for an early class, and Kevin had his pack meeting to attend. I remained to complete the management tasks that came with owning the most exclusive werewolf establishment in Silver Moon City. As each person departed, I felt a strange emptiness, as if her appearance had ignited some connection between us that persisted even after she'd gone.

As I worked through financial reports and membership applications, my thoughts kept returning to Isabella Hart. How her raven hair cascaded down her back like silk, her full lips, the curves of her body my hands ached to explore... My imagination began sketching what she might look like beneath her clothes, the feel of her skin, how she would fit in my arms. Each thought intensified my desire, making me harder until sitting in my chair became difficult.

I love this club, love my pack, but sometimes it's exhausting, I thought, signing off on the last document. When the moon nears full, my wolf nature grows stronger, yearning for a mate to share my territory and my life. This loneliness felt like an invisible hand squeezing my heart, reminding me of what was missing among all I possessed.

A soul-bonded mate—one who could understand my power and accept my intensity—was every male werewolf's dream.

The perfect mate should have both an independent personality and the ability to accept protection and guidance, I mused, locking my office door. Isabella seems to possess these qualities. There was a resilience and pride in her eyes that's rare and captivating.

Outside the club, the night air carried the coolness of approaching autumn. My skin tingled, senses sharpening to the smells around me—wet asphalt, distant forests, and Isabella's faint scent, now merged with the night. A guard respectfully nodded as I passed.

As I walked toward my car, moonlight illuminated the empty street. My eyes glowed red in the darkness, my wolf surging just beneath the surface, restless and hungry. I could feel it churning beneath my skin, craving to run, chase, possess.

Isabella Hart had walked into my club tonight, and nothing would ever be the same.