My Alpha's Heartless Contract Wife

Anya POV

Camryn's whisper hit the silent lobby like a grenade.

1501? Anya, wasn't that your room?

Time seemed to warp, stretching into an agonizing eternity. Every head in the room swiveled toward us. I felt the blood drain from my face, leaving me lightheaded and cold. I wanted to dissolve into the floor tiles. I wanted to vanish.

But Alpha Declan Blackwood did not let me vanish.

He stopped mid-stride near the exit. Slowly, with the lethal grace of a predator scenting blood, he turned. His eyes, dark and tempestuous as a stormy sea, locked onto mine. There was no recognition of the intimacy we had shared hours ago—no warmth, no lingering passion. There was only a cold, clinical assessment that stripped me down to my very bones.

He didn't speak. He didn't roar. He simply looked at me, his gaze lingering for a heartbeat that felt like a lifetime, branding me with a silent promise of retribution. Then, without a word, he turned his back and walked out the glass doors, his entourage trailing behind him like shadows.

The air in the lobby rushed back in, but it was thick with tension.

"Anya?" Camryn squeaked, her hand flying to her mouth as the realization of what she had done crashed over her. "Oh, Goddess. I didn't mean—"

"Carroll!"

The barked name made me jump. Dannie Hill, the regional manager leading this training seminar, was barreling toward us. He was a balding, portly man who usually looked bored, but now his face was slick with sweat and pale with terror. He knew the Alpha's temper, and he knew that a screw-up on his watch could cost him everything.

He grabbed my arm, his fingers digging into my flesh hard enough to bruise.

"You stupid, stupid girl," Dannie hissed, spittle flying from his lips. "What did you do? Did you steal something? Did you break something?"

"I... I didn't..." I stammered, my throat dry.

"Shut up," he snapped, his eyes darting around the lobby to see who was watching. "I am not going to lose my position because a wolfless decided to play games. You are going to fix this."

He shoved me toward the elevators, his grip unyielding. "Carroll. The Alpha wants to see you. In his suite. Now."

"No," I whispered, panic clawing at my chest. "Please, Mr. Hill. I can't—"

"You don't have a choice!" Dannie's voice rose to a desperate squeak. "You go up there, you apologize, and you beg for mercy. Or so help me Goddess, I will make sure you never work in this pack again."

He practically threw me into the elevator and hit the button for the penthouse. As the doors slid shut, I caught a glimpse of Camryn's face—pale, tear-streaked, and horrified. Then, I was rising, alone, toward my execution.

The hallway to the penthouse was silent, the plush carpet swallowing the sound of my trembling footsteps. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird, frantic and bruising.

I stood before the double mahogany doors, my hand hovering over the wood. I couldn't do this. I should run. But where? He was the Alpha. He owned the hotel. He owned the city. He owned me.

Before I could knock, the lock clicked. The door swung open, not by a servant, but seemingly on its own.

I stepped inside.

The suite was massive, a cavern of black marble, chrome, and floor-to-ceiling glass overlooking the city skyline. It was beautiful, cold, and utterly devoid of warmth—just like the man standing by the window.

Declan Blackwood stood with his back to me. He had shed his suit jacket and shirt. His broad, muscular back was a landscape of power, the muscles shifting beneath his skin as he breathed.

The scent hit me instantly—that intoxicating blend of rain-soaked earth, pine, and ozone. It slammed into me, wrapping around my senses and making my knees weak. My body, traitorous and pathetic, hummed in recognition. It wanted him, even as my mind screamed in terror.

"Close the door," he commanded. His voice was a low rumble that vibrated through the floorboards.

I pushed the door shut. The click of the latch sounded like a prison cell locking.

Declan turned slowly. His face was a mask of stone, his eyes devoid of the heat that had burned me alive last night. Now, they were ice. He scanned me, from my cheap corporate blouse to my scuffed heels, his lip curling slightly.

"So," he said, his voice dangerously soft. "This is the wolfless who thinks she can summon her Alpha for a night, and then scurry away like a frightened mouse?"

I swallowed hard, clutching my hands together to stop them from shaking. "Alpha, I... I didn't mean to—"

"Didn't mean to what?" He took a step toward me. The air in the room grew heavy, charged with his dominance. "Didn't mean to sneak into my bed? Didn't mean to claw my skin?"

He tapped the fresh scratch marks on his shoulder—marks I had left. My face burned with shame.

"I was drunk," I whispered, staring at the floor. "I didn't know it was you until this morning. I panicked."

"You panicked." He scoffed, a harsh, humorless sound.

In a blur of motion, he closed the distance between us. I gasped, backing up until my spine hit the solid wood of the door. Declan loomed over me, placing one hand on the door beside my head, boxing me in. His heat radiated off him, searing my skin even without touching.

He lowered his head, his nose brushing against my jawline, inhaling deeply. I trembled, a jolt of electricity shooting down my spine at the contact.

"You smell like fear," he murmured against my ear, his voice dropping an octave. "And cheap soap. You tried to scrub me off you."

He pulled back slightly, his hand moving to grip my chin, forcing me to look up into his furious, mesmerizing eyes.

"Tell me, Anya," he said, saying my name like it was a curse. "What was the plan? Get the Alpha drunk, spread your legs, and hope for a payout? A promotion? Or did you think you could trap me with a pregnancy?"

"No!" The accusation stung worse than a slap. "I'm not... I would never..."

"Then why run?" His grip on my chin tightened, not enough to hurt, but enough to hold me captive. "Innocent women don't flee crime scenes, Anya. Only the guilty run."

His thumb brushed over my lower lip, a gesture that was confusingly tender yet terrifyingly possessive.

"Tell me," he demanded, his eyes searching mine with a terrifying intensity. "What did you hope to gain by warming my bed?"