Grounded
The definition of hell wasn’t fire and brimstone. It was sixty-two degrees below zero, a terminal caked in gray Alaskan ice, and a corporate dress code that explicitly forbade thermal underwear beneath a bespoke Max Mara pantsuit.
I rubbed her temples, where a tension headache was currently staging a hostile corporate takeover.
“Let me ensure I have the legal parameters of your corporate policy correct, Brenda,” I said, my voice dripping with a dangerous blend of customer-service sweetness and pure venom.
I leaned against the high Formica counter of the gate desk, staring down the airline representative who looked like she hadn’t slept since the previous millennium. “You are telling me that because a light breeze -”
“A historic Arctic cyclone, ma’am,” Brenda corrected, her fingernails clacking rhythmically against her keyboard without her looking up.
“- a light breeze,” I continued seamlessly, refusing to yield the floor, “has grounded every commercial carrier heading south to Texas, my only option to avoid sleeping on a linoleum floor in Anchorage is a twin-engine puddle-jumper heading to... where did you say?”
“Billings, Montana.” Brenda finally looked up, blinking tiredly through thick lenses. “The storm is moving East, but Billings is currently in a clear pocket. It’s the only bird getting in the air before the airport completely locks down and the runway turns into a hockey rink. You want the last ticket or not?”
“Montana is north, Brenda. Houston is south. Houston has humidity. Houston has eighty-five-degree nights, air conditioning, and margaritas. Montana has—”
“Wolves,” a deep, gravelly baritone rumbled from directly behind my ear. “And a spectacular lack of patience for people who block the queue.”
I didn’t flinch. I didn’t give him the satisfaction. But every muscle in my back locked into a rigid, defensive line.
The air pressure in our immediate five-foot radius shifted instantly. The ambient chill of the drafty terminal evaporated, replaced by a sudden wave of dry, suffocating heat that smelled faintly of ozone, crushed pine needles, and a terrifyingly expensive cologne.
I didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. The sheer, predatory gravity pulling at my center of balance was a dead giveaway.
Mr. Vaelen.
Alpha of the Ridgecrest Pack, a man who controlled three-quarters of the Pacific Northwest’s logistics infrastructure, and the exact individual I had spent the last seventy-two hours legally castrating in a windowless boardroom downtown.
I slowly turned on the heel of my four-inch Louboutins, tilting my chin up just enough to meet his gaze.
He was massive - easily six-foot-four - shrouded in a heavy charcoal overcoat that cost more than my monthly retainer.
His dark hair was dusted with melting snow, and his amber eyes held a terrifying, predatory intelligence that usually made grown men wet themselves and sign over their liquid assets.
I just crossed my arms, letting my corporate armor do the heavy lifting.
“Well, if it isn’t the Apex Predator of mid-level management,” I purred, my smile razor-sharp. “Shouldn’t you be busy crying into your corporate tax returns? I hear the Denali just retained full ownership of their valley. Such a shame about your hostile takeover. I guess your legal team doesn’t know how to read a basic zoning loophole.”
Vaelen didn’t snarl. He didn’t even look angry. Instead, a slow, devastatingly handsome smirk curved his lips, revealing just a hint of teeth that were slightly too sharp to be entirely human.
He stepped closer, deliberately invading my personal space until I could feel the heat radiating off his chest like a furnace.
“A temporary setback, counselor,” he murmured, his voice a low, sub-audible vibration that rattled somewhere in my ribcage. “You played a beautiful game with those shell companies. Truly. But the law is a human construct. Out here, the rules get a little... more primal when the power goes out.”
“Is that a threat, Mr. Vaelen? Because I can file an injunction for harassment faster than your inner dog can chase a mail truck. Don’t mistake my lack of fur for a lack of teeth.”
He let out a low, dark chuckle that sent an annoying, traitorous shiver down my spine.
“Just an observation. Now, if you’re done throwing a tantrum because you can’t get your sunburn, step aside. Some of us have an actual empire to run.”
He bypassed me entirely, his broad shoulder brushing mine with enough force to test my balance, and slid a heavy, unbranded black card onto the counter.
“I’ll take the flight to Billings. And whatever private lounge access you have left that hasn’t been frozen over.”
“Hold your horses, Alpha Dog,” I snapped, pivoting back to the counter and shoving my own platinum Vanguard & Roth corporate card directly over his. “Brenda, I asked for that ticket first. Put it on my firm’s account. I am traveling on critical corporate business.”
Brenda looked between the two of us. She looked at my manicured, trembling-with-rage hand, then up at the sheer mass of the man towering over me. Wisely, she chose to look back at her monitor.
“There’s only one seat left in first class,” Brenda announced, her voice entirely flat. “The other is premium economy next to the lavatory.”
“I’ll take first,” we said in perfect, venomous unison.
I snapped my head around to glare up at him.
“I am a delicate human woman who just worked an eighty-hour week to legally dismantle your ego. I deserve the legroom. My back hurts from carrying the entire legal weight of this territory.”
Vaelen leaned one heavy hand on the counter, effectively bracketing me against the Formica. The temperature around us spiked another five degrees.
“And I weigh two hundred and fifty pounds, counselor. If you put me next to the lavatory, I will spend the entire flight making your life a living hell. Take the back of the plane. You’re used to dealing with the sh—”
“Finish that sentence, Mr. Vaelen, and I will audit your pack’s offshore holdings until your great-grandchildren are paying taxes on their shedding coats.”
His eyes flared. A sudden, predatory flash of gold that usually sent alpha males running for the hills.
I didn’t blink. I’d spent three days staring down a literal wolf pack in a boardroom. A tall man with a superiority complex wasn’t going to break my stride.
