The Throne of glass and blood

The Manhattan rain didn’t clean the streets; it suffocated them. Alexander Thorne watched the droplets slide down the tinted glass of his Bentley with the coldness of an executioner. He was twenty-eight days away from his thirtieth birthday. Twenty-eight days before the Council would strip him of his title as King, reducing him to a landless pariah. His penthouse at the top of Thorne Tower awaited him, but the thought of being locked within walls of glass and steel made him feel caged.

«Victoria has called three times» Elias, his Beta, murmured from the front seat «She wants to discuss the details of the engagement gala before the meeting with the pack leaders»

Alexander didn't answer. His wolf growled beneath his skin, a low sound that made his ribs vibrate. Victoria was the imposed choice, a pure-blooded wolf who smelled of expensive perfume and ambition. But the idea of binding himself to her brought a sense of nausea he couldn't explain.

«Stop the car» he ordered suddenly.

«Alexander, we’re late for the meeting with the North District» Elias noted, glancing at him through the rearview mirror.

«I said stop the car»

Alexander’s voice was a whip-crack. Elias pulled over abruptly in front of a nameless, gritty block. Alexander stepped out without waiting for an umbrella. He needed silence. Instead, instinct guided him toward a flickering, half-rusted neon sign: The Rusty Bean.

He entered. The bell above the door rang like an alarm. The smell of burnt coffee and dampness hit him, but beneath that veil of mediocrity, there was something else. A heat. Unusual, feverish, almost irritating.

«We’re nearly closed, but if you’re quick, I can make you an espresso» a voice said.

Alexander looked up. Behind the counter, a girl with chestnut hair gathered messily was cleaning a cup. She wore a black apron that hid a petite body, but her posture was strange. Too proud for someone serving tables for ten dollars an hour.

He approached, towering over her with his massive frame. She raised her green eyes and stared at him. There was no fear, none of the submission Alexander received from everyone else. Just weariness and a hint of annoyance.

«So? Black or with milk?» she asked, tilting her head.

Alexander leaned his hands on the counter, his gaze fixed on her neck, where a vein pulsed. He caught a strange scent... like a wet forest and lightning, but it was so faint he thought it was a trick of his senses, heightened by stress. She’s just a human, he told himself. And yet, his blood boiled.

«Who are you?» his voice came out as a hoarse whisper.

«Elena. It’s on the nametag, if you’re not too busy being cryptic» she replied with a spark of defiance.

At that moment, the door swung open. A blonde guy walked in smiling, bringing with him the smell of rain and normalcy. He approached Elena and wrapped a possessive arm around her waist. Alexander felt a violent impulse, a sudden urge to snap that arm and hurl the boy out of the shop.

«Hey, baby. You ready? I got the movie tickets» the blonde guy said.

Elena smiled at him, not at Alexander. And that’s when Alexander saw the reflection. A silver ring on her finger. A token of poverty and a mundane life from which he, for some dark reason, felt the urge to rip her away.

«Your coffee» Elena held the cup out to him.

Their fingers brushed. Alexander felt a jolt, an electric heat that surged up his arm to his heart. Elena flinched, pulling her hand back as if she’d been burned. She stared at him for a second too long, her pupils dilated, her breath short.

«Keep the change» Alexander said, tossing a hundred-dollar bill onto the counter.

He walked out without looking back, but once in the car, his gaze remained glued to the window. He saw Marco—that insignificant boy—kiss her cheek.

Alexander clenched his fist until his knuckles turned white. He didn’t know who that girl was, or why her scent was driving him insane. He only knew that the thought of her with that Marco triggered a desire for destruction he couldn't control.

«Elias. I want to know everything about that girl» he said, his voice cold as ice «Everything. Who she sees, where she sleeps, and who the kid is who thinks he can touch her».