Chapter Four: The Devil's Den

Sophie’s POV

The psychological evaluation report mocked me from my laptop screen, cursor blinking at the end of "Subject demonstrates severe antisocial tendencies with—"

With what? I'd been staring at that sentence for an hour, Marcus Stone's words echoing in my head: "We both know that's not the last time we'll see each other, little wolf." That text message kept flashing through my mind, making my hands tremble slightly. I should probably tell Professor Wilson... but something held me back. Instinct warned me that would only complicate things further.

"Fuck this," I muttered, slamming my laptop shut. My tiny apartment felt suffocating, every shadow seeming to hide those predatory eyes that had seen straight through me.

The door burst open, making me jump. "Girl, you look like shit," Lisa announced, barging in with her usual lack of subtlety. My roommate took one look at me curled up in sweats and frowned. "Okay, spill. What happened at that prison evaluation?"

"Nothing," I lied, pulling my knees to my chest. "Just a routine assessment."

"Bullshit. You've been jumping at shadows since you got back." Lisa flopped onto my bed, making me bounce. "Come on, Sophie. Was the guy, like, totally creepy?"

I laughed, the sound edged with hysteria. Creepy didn't begin to cover it. "He was... intense."

"Nope, we're not doing this whole brooding thing." Lisa jumped up, grabbing my arm. "Get dressed. We're going out."

"I have to finish this report—"

"The report can wait. You need to get out of your head." She was already rummaging through my closet. "There's this new club that just opened downtown, Devil's Den. Super exclusive, but I know someone who can get us in."

An hour later, I barely recognized myself in the mirror. Lisa had worked her magic, transforming me from stressed-out psychology student to someone who could actually belong in an elite club. The black dress she'd convinced me to buy months ago but I'd never dared to wear hugged every curve, its hem riding dangerously high on my thighs. She'd done something mysterious with makeup that made my eyes look huge and smoky, my lips glossy and full. My usually unruly brown hair fell in soft waves past my shoulders, and the heels she'd forced me into made my legs look miles long.

"Holy shit," Lisa said, standing back to admire her work. "If I wasn't straight, I'd totally do you."

I rolled my eyes but couldn't help smiling at my reflection. For once, I didn't look like the weird wolf who couldn't smell - I looked dangerous, desirable. Someone who could command attention instead of shrinking from it.

"Come on, goddess," Lisa grabbed my arm, practically dragging me toward the gleaming entrance of Devil's Den. The club was clearly high-end, all sleek architecture and expensive cars pulling up to the valet.

Inside, the club was a study in calculated excess. Crystal chandeliers dripped from the ceiling, their light catching on mirrored walls and chrome fixtures. The dance floor pulsed with bodies, but the real action seemed to be happening in the elevated VIP sections.

"I'll get us drinks!" Lisa shouted over the music, already moving toward the bar. I watched her disappear into the crowd, that uneasy feeling growing stronger.

I made my way to an empty spot at the bar, trying to get my bearings. A guy in an expensive suit immediately slid into the space next to me. Despite looking every bit the successful businessman, something in his smile made my skin crawl. The club's duty manager, based on how the staff deferred to him.

"All alone tonight, beautiful?" His smile was practiced, hungry. "Let me buy you a drink."

"No, thanks." I started to turn away, but his hand shot out, gripping my neck.

"Let go." I tried to pull away, but his fingers dug in harder.

"That wasn't really a request, sweetheart." His fingers tightened threateningly. "When I offer a lady a drink, she drinks it. Unless she wants something more... unpleasant to happen."

The glass appeared in front of me, liquid swirling with an odd iridescence. "Drink up, sweetheart. Boss's orders."

My heart slammed against my ribs as I realized how thoroughly I'd walked into a trap. Lisa was nowhere in sight, and the other patrons seemed deliberately focused elsewhere. With trembling fingers, I reached for the glass. Just as my fingertips were about to touch the cold surface—

CLICK.

The distinct sound of a gun being cocked cut through the music. The manager went rigid as black metal pressed hard against his temple.

"I suggest you reconsider your approach to customer service," a familiar voice said, cold as ice.

The manager released me like I'd burned him, real fear flooding his face as he stared down the barrel of the gun. Without another word, he fled into the crowd.

Strong arms wrapped around my waist from behind, and that dangerous voice, now turned seductive, whispered in my ear: "Remember what I said? We will meet again soon."