The Sterling Wolves

The sound started as a hum, low and electric, like a high-tension wire snapping in the distance.

Liam Sterling gripped the edge of the mahogany conference table, his knuckles turning white. He forced his breathing to remain even, counting the seconds between the thudding beats of his own heart.

Thud-thud. Thud-thud.

It wasn’t just his heart. It was every heart in the room.

There were twelve men sitting around the oval table, representing the board of directors for the merger with Kincaid Industries. To the human eye, they were powerful, wealthy men in five-thousand-dollar suits.

To Liam, they were meat.

"Mr. Sterling," the man at the far end of the table said. It was Silas Kincaid, a bloated man who smelled of stale cigar smoke and cheap cologne. "We are still waiting on your counter-offer regarding the Asian distribution rights. My team feels that fifty percent is… ambitious."

The hum in Liam’s head spiked into a screech. He flinched, imperceptibly, his jaw locking tight.

Don’t look at him, the voice in his head whispered. It was a guttural, animalistic growl—the voice of the Wolf. Rip his throat out. Silence the noise.

" Fifty percent," Liam said. His voice was a low rumble, vibrating in his chest. It came out darker than he intended, scraping against the silence of the room. "Is non-negotiable."

Silas chuckled, a wet, rattling sound that grated against Liam’s heightened senses like sandpaper on bone. "Now, Liam, let’s be reasonable. Your father—"

"My father is dead," Liam cut in. He looked up, his gaze snapping to Silas.

For a second, the air in the room vanished.

Silas froze. His mouth hung open, his face draining of color. He didn’t know why he was terrified—he was just a human businessman dealing with another human businessman—but his instincts were screaming at him to run. He could smell the predator in the room, even if he couldn’t see the fur.

Liam felt the heat rising under his skin. It started at the base of his spine, a burning fever that clawed its way up his neck. The Fracture.

It was happening.

He had checked his levels this morning. The blood toxicity report said he had another week before the Critical Phase. The suppressants were supposed to hold the beast back. They were supposed to keep the madness—the "Noise"—at a manageable volume.

They were failing.

The hum in his ears turned into a roar. The ambient sounds of the city outside—the honking taxis forty floors down, the wind whipping against the glass of the Sterling Tower—amplified a thousand times. It was an assault. A cacophony of chaos that drilled into his skull.

Make it stop, the Wolf snarled. Kill them all. Make it quiet.

Liam looked down at his hand on the table. A spiderweb of black veins was creeping out from under the cuff of his pristine white shirt, crawling over his wrist.

Panic, cold and sharp, pierced through the rage. If they saw the veins, it was over. The secret of the Sterling bloodline would be out. They would know the CEO of the world’s largest private equity firm was a monster on the verge of going feral.

He needed to get out. Now.

"I said fifty percent," Liam said, standing up.

The motion was too fast. The heavy leather chair behind him flew back, slamming into the floor-to-ceiling glass window with a deafening crack.

The boardroom went deadly silent.

The smell of fear hit Liam like a physical blow. It was acrid, sour, rolling off the men in waves. It was delicious. His mouth watered. His vision blurred, the edges of the room tinting red. He could see the pulse fluttering in Silas’s jugular vein. It was beating so fast. One bite. Just one snap of his jaws, and that annoying heart would stop beating. The Noise would stop.

He took a step toward Silas.

"Liam?" It was his CFO, Declan, sitting to his right. Declan was one of the few who knew the truth, a beta wolf who acted as his handler. Declan’s voice was shaking. "Sir? The meeting?"

Liam froze. He blinked, fighting to shove the Wolf back into the cage of his mind. It took every ounce of his willpower, a physical strain that felt like holding back a tsunami.

He looked at Silas. The man was trembling, pressing himself back into his chair.

"Get out," Liam whispered.

Silas blinked. "Excuse me?"

"Get out!" Liam roared. The sound wasn't human. It carried the subsonic weight of an Alpha Command. The glass of the water pitcher in the center of the table shattered, water exploding across the documents.

Chaos erupted. The men scrambled, tripping over their chairs, grabbing their briefcases, fleeing the room as if the building were on fire. They didn’t ask questions. They didn’t protest. The primal terror in Liam’s voice triggered their lizard brains, overriding all social protocols.

Within ten seconds, the room was empty.

Only Declan remained, standing by the door, his face pale.

"Sir," Declan said softly. "Do you need the—"

"Lock the floor," Liam snarled, turning his back on him. He braced his hands against the cold glass of the window, staring out at the Manhattan skyline. "Lock the elevators. Cancel the afternoon. Don’t let anyone in."

"Liam, your eyes," Declan whispered. "They’re bleeding."

"I said get out!"

Declan didn’t argue. He stepped back and pulled the heavy oak doors shut. The magnetic locks engaged with a heavy thud.

Liam was alone.

He collapsed to his knees, his expensive Italian suit straining across his shoulders as his muscles swelled. He ripped his tie off, gasping for air. The pain was blinding. It felt like his bones were trying to rearrange themselves, splintering under the pressure of the Wolf trying to break free.

He scrambled toward the hidden panel in the credenza behind his desk. His fingers, now clumsy and shaking, fumbled with the biometric lock.

Access Denied.

"Damn it," he hissed. He slammed his fist against the panel. The wood splintered. He ripped the door off its hinges and grabbed the orange prescription bottle inside.

He didn't bother with water. He dry-swallowed three of the pills, his head thrown back, his chest heaving.

One, two, three…

He waited for the chemical silence. He waited for the drugs to numb the Wolf, to dull the sensory overload, to push the black veins back down.

Nothing happened.

The Noise didn't stop. It got louder. A screaming, static screech that felt like a drill boring into his temples.

He crawled toward the center of the room, curling into a ball on the plush carpet. He clutched his head, groaning. The suppressants weren't working anymore. He had built up a tolerance.

He was twenty-nine years old. He was a Prime Alpha, the strongest the Sterling line had produced in a century. And he was going to die here, on the floor of his own empire, reduced to a drooling, mindless beast.

He looked at his hand. The black veins had reached his knuckles. His fingernails were lengthening, turning into obsidian claws.

It’s over, the Wolf whispered. Let go.

"No," Liam gritted out, his voice sounding wet and distorted. "Not… yet."

He squeezed his eyes shut, fighting the transformation. He just needed silence. He just needed five minutes of absolute silence to regain control.

Ding.

The sound of the elevator cut through the chaos in his head.

Liam’s eyes snapped open. The iris was no longer blue. It was pitch black, consuming the white.

Someone was on the floor.

Declan had disobeyed him. Or someone had bypassed the security protocols.

He pushed himself up into a crouch, a low growl rumbling in his chest. He was dangerous. He was lethal. If anyone walked through those doors right now—a cleaner, a security guard, a lost executive—they wouldn't walk out alive. The Wolf was too close to the surface. It would attack anything that moved.

He stared at the double doors of his office. He could hear footsteps approaching. Light, hesitant steps. The rhythm was uneven.

Prey.

The handle turned.

Liam bared his teeth, coiled like a viper, ready to strike.

The door creaked open.