Moonbound: The Alpha's Chosen

The coffee shop buzzed with afternoon activity, providing perfect cover for their meeting. Emily had chosen a public place, unwilling to be alone with Lucas after her disturbing dreams.

He arrived precisely on time, commanding attention in a charcoal suit that emphasized his broad shoulders. Several women openly stared as he crossed toward her table.

"You're difficult to reach," he said without preamble, sliding into the seat opposite her.

"I've been busy," Emily replied, ignoring the flutter in her stomach. "Investigating."

Lucas leaned forward, voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "I told you to drop this story."

"And I told you I don't take orders from sources." She matched his intensity. "Especially ones with obvious conflicts of interest."

"This isn't about business ethics, Emily." His hand shot out, capturing hers before she could withdraw. "It's about your safety."

The contact sent electricity racing up her arm. His skin burned unnaturally hot against hers, his grip firm but not painful.

"Let go," she demanded, hating how breathless she sounded.

Lucas's eyes darkened, pupils expanding. "Your heartbeat. It's racing."

"Because you're threatening me."

"No." His thumb traced circles on her inner wrist. "It's something else. You feel it too."

Emily pulled her hand away, fighting the inexplicable attraction. "What I feel is irritation at being manhandled."

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "Liar."

"Why are you here, Lucas?"

His expression sobered. "People are dying, Emily. Not just the victims in the reports. Others. Internal matters."

"Internal to A Group?"

"Internal to my... community." His gaze held hers. "There are things happening you can't understand. Forces aligning against my family. Your article could tip the balance at exactly the wrong moment."

"So this is about protecting your corporate interests."

"This is about protecting you!" Lucas snapped, drawing glances from nearby tables.

He ran a hand through his hair in frustration, the gesture strangely vulnerable. "You're walking into a war you don't recognize, armed with nothing but a notepad and stubborn determination."

Despite herself, Emily felt a flicker of doubt. "If people are dying, the public deserves to know."

"Even if your reporting causes more deaths?" Lucas countered softly. "Even if it puts you directly in the crosshairs?"

Their eyes locked in silent battle. Emily was startled to find genuine concern beneath his authoritative exterior.

"Why do you care what happens to me?" she asked finally.

Lucas's expression shifted, becoming almost tender. "I've been asking myself that question since college." He hesitated, then admitted: "I've never been able to get you out of my head. Your defiance. Your fire."

The confession hung between them, fraught with implications. Emily's pendant warmed against her skin, seemingly responding to his proximity.

"I..." she began, uncertain how to respond.

Lucas reached out again, this time gently touching the wolf pendant. "Where did you get this?"

"It was my mother's."

Something flickered in his eyes—recognition? "Emily, this symbol..." He pulled back suddenly, scanning the room with new alertness. "We're being watched."

Emily turned to follow his gaze but saw only ordinary coffee shop patrons. "What are you—"

"Meet me tonight," Lucas interrupted, scribbling an address on a napkin. "Ten o'clock. I'll show you the truth. All of it."

He stood abruptly, towering over her. For a heartbeat, he looked like he might say more—or perhaps bend down to kiss her. Instead, he turned on his heel and strode out, leaving Emily breathless and confused.

Outside, through the window, she glimpsed Lucas confronting a man in the parking lot. The stranger seemed familiar—hadn't she seen him at A Group headquarters? Their body language was tense, aggressive.

Her phone chimed with an incoming message from Alexander Stone: "Time we spoke about your mother. Auction preview tomorrow night. My car will collect you at seven."

Emily looked from the message to Lucas's hastily scrawled address, feeling caught between invisible forces pulling her in opposite directions.