Most people in Harrowgate know better than to mess with werewolves.
Not me.
They dominate my hometown. The packs control all illegal activities. If something illegal happens in Harrowgate, you can bet a werewolf is behind it or getting a cut.
Some people pretend not to see it. Others complain that they have too much power. Me? I want to understand them.
Modern anthropology has been most intrigued by werewolves since the emergence of the supernatural world twenty years ago. They recover from fatal injuries, transform quickly, and are inherently dangerous.
Unlike humans, werewolves resort to violence. They struggle for dominance, control, and partners.
And I am obsessed.
My study of them is similar to how others study civilizations. I am familiar with pack hierarchy, rankings, and Alphas. I'm writing about post-Exposure integration and its mythological roots. My advisor believes I'm brilliant. My family believes I'm crazy.
And the Revenant Pack? They're the apex predators of this city.
Kieran Byrne.
An untouchable, compelling Alpha. After his father died, he controlled the Revenant Pack at twenty-three. According to officials, it was a territorial dispute. Rumors suggest the Alpha's death resulted from misplaced trust in a human.
Kieran Byrne has spent five years avoiding the same mistake, no matter the truth. He avoids humans. He excludes them. Barely acknowledges their existence unless forced.
Which makes tonight's plan either brilliant or suicidal.
***
I don't belong here.
Like, on a scale of one to absolutely terrible life choices, this ranks somewhere between texting your ex at 3 a.m. and licking a metal pole in winter.
Here I am, in red lights, with loud music, and surrounded by dangerous people.
The Den is a werewolf nightclub in Revenant Pack territory. This club has no social media and a VIP list. Unofficially? It's where Alphas, enforcers, and the occasional human-obsessed wolf come to drink, fight, and claim.
Which is exactly why I'm here.
I shouldn't be so intrigued, but I am. It's not just attraction, but a darker academic curiosity.
I blame my mother.
Dr. Lilian Hart was a top supernatural biology researcher before her death a decade ago. Her werewolf studies were precise and passionate, almost obsessive. Her final research was never published. The car accident took her first.
At least, that's what everyone says. Car accident. Wrong place, wrong time. Bad weather.
I found her journals, though. Hidden in the attic, wrapped, and buried. She was on the verge. A breakthrough. And her final entries weren't about science—they were about fear.
They're watching. They know I know. I have to protect S—
The entry ended there. Three days later, she was dead.
My father wants me to be educated, employed, and married. He's unaware I'm retracing her possibly fatal research.
I want answers. I want truth.
And if I'm honest? I want Kieran Byrne. But since that's a literal death wish, I'll settle for getting close enough to his world to understand it.
I'm not the only one with this idea.
There's an entire group of us, girls who follow the packs the way others follow rock bands. They call us Luna Chasers.
Some of the werewolves love it. They'll take a human to bed for the night, let them pretend they have a chance. We do not.
The unspoken rule of Luna Chasers: wolves and humans don't bond. Not seriously. Not ever. An Alpha-marked human is a liability, impossible biologically. Is the claiming bite what seals a mate bond? It's deadly.
Which is why I look like I just walked out of a high-end club.
A tight black dress that clings to every inch of my body, the hemline indecently short. Strappy heels that make my legs look long and dangerous. A silver necklace, delicate and pretty—a stupid, dangerous choice, since silver burns wolves from the inside out. Some packs use it to chain traitors until their wolves go mad.
Wearing it here? The ultimate statement.
I stop at the bar, ordering something strong enough to burn on the way down.
I lean against the counter, scanning the room, searching for my target, and that's when I feel it.
A stare.
Kieran Byrne isn't just staring at me.
He's assessing me like he's peeling back my skin with his eyes, stripping me down to the raw, pulsing wants underneath. It's the most attention he's ever given me, and it's a very bad thing.
I swallow, tightening my fingers around my drink.
Isla follows my gaze, sees who I'm looking at, and immediately chokes on her drink. "Oh, no. No, no, no." She grabs my arm, nails biting into my skin. "Sienna, are you insane?"
"Debatable."
"You do not f*ck with him. He doesn't do humans. He doesn't even tolerate them. Do you know his father was killed because he trusted a human? Kieran swore he'd never make the same mistake."
I tilt my head, running my tongue slowly over my lower lip. "I know."
Kieran doesn't react at first. He just watches.
Isla curses under her breath, slamming her drink down onto the bar. "I swear to God, Sienna, if I have to drag your half-mauled body out of here tonight—"
"You won't," I murmur, my voice lighter than it should be.
Before I can push my luck any further, someone moves between us, blocking my view, stepping into my space like he belongs there.
I blink up at the interruption and immediately recognize him. Maddox—Kieran's Beta. Second-in-command.
I shift against the bar, arching a brow, my pulse jumping as I force out a casual, "Can I help you?"
He doesn't answer right away. Instead, he looks me over, assessing.
"The Alpha wants a word."
My breath catches.
Because oh my God. This is it. This is the moment I've been working toward for months—the chance to get close, to observe, to understand what makes an Alpha like Kieran Byrne tick.
Isla's fingers dig into my arm like she's trying to anchor me to reality. "Sienna, no. Absolutely not. You don't mess with him."
But her voice is just background noise.
Isla shakes me. "You're seriously thinking about this? He'll eat you alive."
"Maybe," I breathe, slipping my arm free and smoothing my dress. "But I'm not wasting this opportunity."
I step away from the bar, Isla's stunned silence chasing me.
Aksara