I always believed there were two types of silence in libraries. The first is peaceful—the gentle rustle of pages turning, the soft tap of laptop keys, the occasional whispered question. The second is the silence that follows something that shouldn't have been heard.

I was experiencing the latter.


"You can't keep challenging me on every decision, Caleb. The pack follows my lead, not yours. Not yet."

The harsh whisper came from behind the Ancient Literature stacks where I'd been shelving returned books. My hands froze on the spine of "Beowulf," my body instinctively going still at the tension in that voice.

"Your decisions are putting us at risk." This second voice was deeper, with a controlled fury that made my skin prickle. "The Moonstone Pack has requested a meeting three times. Ignoring them is an insult."


"I decide who we meet with and when. You may be my heir, but you're not Alpha yet."

I should have walked away. Should have pushed my cart to the Medieval Poetry section and minded my own business. But something in that second voice—something raw and compelling—kept me rooted to the spot.


"The last time you ignored diplomatic channels, we lost three pack members." The deep voice had lowered further, becoming almost a growl. "I won't let that happen again."

"You forget your place, nephew."

"And you forget your responsibility, uncle."

I leaned forward slightly, curiosity overcoming caution. Through a gap in the shelving, I caught a glimpse of them—two men standing nearly nose to nose. The older one was expensively dressed, his silver-streaked hair perfectly styled, authority radiating from his stance. But it was the younger man who made my breath catch.

He was tall—taller than anyone had a right to be—with broad shoulders straining against a dark henley. His jaw was sharp enough to cut glass, set in a face that looked like it had been carved by an artist with a grudge against mediocrity. Black hair fell across his forehead, slightly too long, as if he couldn't be bothered with something as trivial as haircuts. But it was his eyes that held me—amber-gold and burning with an intensity that seemed almost inhuman.

Those eyes suddenly shifted, locking directly with mine through the gap in the books.

I jerked back, my elbow catching the cart behind me. The metal rattled loudly in the quiet library, and "Beowulf" tumbled from my hands, hitting the floor with a damning thud.

The silence that followed was absolute.

"Someone's there." The older man's voice had changed, becoming silky with threat.

I abandoned all pretense of not eavesdropping and turned to flee, but I'd only taken two steps when a hand closed around my upper arm. The grip wasn't painful, but it was implacable, like being held by living steel.

"Going somewhere?" that deep voice asked, now directly behind me.

I turned slowly, finding myself staring at the broad chest I'd glimpsed through the shelves before forcing my gaze upward. This close, those amber eyes were even more unnerving—flecked with gold and something wild that made my heart race in a way that had nothing to do with fear.

"I was shelving books," I said, gesturing weakly at my abandoned cart. "I didn't mean to overhear anything."

His nostrils flared slightly, as if he were... smelling me? His expression shifted from suspicion to confusion, then to something more calculating.

"What's your name?" he demanded.

"Eve. Evelyn Mitchell." I tried to pull my arm free, but his grip remained firm. "Look, I don't know what you're arguing about, and I don't care. Pack politics or whatever—it's none of my business."

Something flashed in his eyes—surprise, followed by sharp interest. "You know about packs?"

I rolled my eyes, finding courage in annoyance. "It doesn't take a genius to figure out you're talking about some kind of organization with leadership issues. Now, if you don't mind, I have two more carts to shelve before closing."

The older man appeared beside us, his smile not reaching his cold eyes. "Caleb, perhaps we should continue this discussion elsewhere." He looked me over dismissively. "After you've dealt with your... listener."

Caleb—apparently that was tall, dark and intimidating's name—didn't acknowledge the other man. Instead, he leaned closer to me, his gaze intensely focused. I caught a scent like cedar and wild rain, making me dizzy for a moment.

"You work here often?" he asked, his voice lower now.

"Four nights a week. Student job." I lifted my chin. "Are you going to let me go, or should I start screaming for campus security?"

His lips twitched, almost forming a smile. "You're not afraid of me."

It wasn't a question, but I answered anyway. "Should I be?"

The older man made an impatient sound. "Caleb—"

"Leave us, Marcus." Caleb's tone left no room for argument, despite the fact that this Marcus person was supposedly his superior. Surprisingly, after a tense moment, Marcus turned and walked away, disappearing around the stacks.

Caleb finally released my arm, but he didn't step back. "What did you hear, exactly?"

I rubbed my arm, though it didn't hurt. "Something about Moonstones and diplomatic channels. Look, I really don't care about your business disputes or whatever."

He studied me for a long moment, his gaze so penetrating I felt like he was trying to see inside my head. Then he did something unexpected—he picked up "Beowulf" from where it had fallen and handed it to me.

"You have unusual eyes," he said abruptly.

I blinked, thrown by the non sequitur. My eyes were just eyes—a shade of green that changed depending on the light. Nothing special.

"Thanks?" I took the book, our fingers brushing. A jolt of something—static electricity, surely—passed between us, making me nearly drop the book again.

He noticed. Of course he noticed. Those predator eyes didn't seem to miss anything.

"You're not what you appear to be, Evelyn Mitchell," he said quietly.

"It's Eve. And I'm exactly what I appear to be—an overworked English Lit major who's going to get fired if she doesn't finish shelving these books."

I turned back to my cart, trying to ignore the way my heart was pounding. Something about this man—Caleb—unsettled me on a primal level. Not fear, exactly, but awareness. Like my body recognized something my mind couldn't comprehend.

"I'll see you again, Eve," he said, my name sounding like something precious and dangerous at once.

When I turned back around, he was gone, leaving nothing but that cedar-and-rain scent lingering in the air. I released a breath I hadn't realized I was holding and leaned against the bookshelf.

What the hell had just happened? And why did I feel like my ordinary life had just tilted on its axis?

I didn't know then that I'd just met the man who would turn my world upside down. I didn't know about the secrets in my blood or the destiny I'd been running from without even knowing it existed.

I didn't know that in the world of wolves, being noticed is the most dangerous thing that can happen to you.

And Caleb Blackwood had definitely noticed me.