Moonfated Destiny - The Wolf Next Door

The city of Boston looks different from the backseat of a limousine.

Everything does.

When you’re worth several billion dollars, the world tends to rearrange itself into something smoother, quieter, and far more convenient.

The tinted window beside me reflects my own image back at me as the car glides through morning traffic. Dark suit. White shirt open at the collar. Sunglasses resting lazily in my hand. To anyone watching from the outside, I probably look like every headline they’ve ever written about me.

Roman Evans Blackwood.

Fortune 500 CEO.

Billionaire.

New York’s most eligible bachelor.

And depending on which gossip column you read—playboy.

My wolf snorts in quiet amusement somewhere in the back of my mind.

They’re not entirely wrong.

The limousine slows as we approach the iron gates of the university. My alma mater. The place where everything started before the companies, before the money, before the world started taking my calls.

Last night I arrived the way I prefer—by helicopter.

The landing pad on the roof of the hotel had been ready when we touched down. The staff at the five-star The Langham Boston have hosted me often enough that my suite is practically permanent.

The evening had unfolded predictably.

Cocktails at the hotel bar.

A model—tall, blonde, impossibly symmetrical—had recognized me within minutes. They always do.

She’d laughed at my dry comments, leaned a little closer than necessary, and placed a hand on my arm like she already belonged there.

By midnight she’d been in my suite.

By morning she’d been gone.

I don’t even remember her name.

That’s the thing about indulgence. After a while it stops feeling like indulgence and starts feeling like routine.

My driver’s voice cuts through my thoughts.

“Sir, we’re arriving.”

The limousine rolls to a smooth stop outside the main administration building. The doors of the university are open, and a small group of faculty waits on the steps.

As soon as I step out of the car, the first thing that hits me is the noise.

Excited chatter.

Whispering.

A ripple of movement as students realize who just arrived.

Phones come out immediately.

I suppress a sigh.

The Dean steps forward with both hands extended.

“Mr. Blackwood! Welcome back.”

“Dean Whitmore,” I say, shaking his hand firmly. “It’s good to be back.”

That part is actually true.

This campus still smells the same—old brick, fresh grass, books and coffee drifting from nearby cafés.

It’s a far cry from the glass towers of Manhattan where I usually spend my days negotiating acquisitions worth more than this entire university’s endowment.

The Dean gestures toward the surrounding buildings.

“We thought you might enjoy a short tour before the ceremony begins.”

Before I can answer, a group of girls walking past suddenly slows.

One of them whispers loudly.

“Oh my God. That’s him.”

Another one gasps.

“That’s Roman Blackwood.”

I catch the way they stare.

Wide eyes.

Blushing cheeks.

Open admiration.

I’m used to it. Money, power, and a reputation for ruthless business deals tend to attract attention.

Being six foot four doesn’t hurt either.

The Dean pretends not to notice the small audience forming behind us.

“Your scholarships have made a tremendous difference here,” he says as we begin walking across the courtyard. “Five of our top students are currently supported by Blackwood Global.”

“That’s the idea,” I reply.

I started the scholarship program five years ago, when I cleared my first billion.

Talent is the most valuable currency in the world. More valuable than capital, in my experience. Give the right mind an opportunity and it will multiply whatever you invest in it.

We pass a cluster of students sitting on the grass.

The girls stare openly now.

Some whisper.

One waves.

I raise a hand in casual acknowledgement, earning a burst of giggles.

My wolf rolls its eyes.

Humans.

The tour continues through lecture halls and research labs, the Dean enthusiastically pointing out improvements funded by my donations.

Eventually the bells begin to ring.

Graduation.

We head toward the large auditorium where the ceremony is about to begin.

The moment I step inside, the scent of hundreds of people hits me all at once.

Excitement.

Perfume.

Flowers.

But beneath all of it something else slips into my senses.

Something… different.

My wolf stiffens instantly.

A smell drifts through the air.

Soft.

Sweet.

Honeysuckle and vanilla.

My wolf explodes to life inside my mind.

Mate.

The word roars through me like thunder.

My grip tightens on the back of a nearby chair as instinct slams into me with the force of a freight train.

Impossible.

I scan the massive hall. Rows upon rows of students in graduation gowns.

Families.

Faculty.

The scent is everywhere and nowhere.

I can’t pinpoint it. My wolf snarls in frustration.

Then another smell cuts through the air like a knife.

Cold. Ancient.

Vampire.

My head turns slowly, senses sharpening.

There’s definitely a vampire here.

Not uncommon in Boston’s supernatural circles—but unusual at a university ceremony. The scent is faint though. Hidden in the crowd.

My wolf growls but reluctantly settles back as the Dean gestures toward the stage.

“Mr. Blackwood, they’re ready for you.”

I take my seat among the faculty, forcing my attention back to the ceremony.

Degrees are handed out.

Speeches are made.

Students cheer as their names echo through the hall.

But my mind keeps drifting back to that scent.

Honeysuckle and vanilla.

Mate.

Somewhere in this building… she’s here.

And for the first time in years, something other than business has captured my full attention.