Third Person's POV ... That evening, the two she-wolves dressed to kill-every detail sharpened with Pack-born confidence-and took the most extravagant vehicle in their fleet out into the night. Guided by the coordinates sent to her phone, Aysel pulled up outside one of the city's most renowned high-end bars, a haunt popular among wandering Alphas and affluent rogue wolves. The moment their heels clicked onto the pavement, the effect was instantaneous. Two stunning eastern-born she-wolves. A luxury car. An aura too controlled, too disciplined-clearly high-born. Several large, broad-shouldered foreign males-wolves with golden hair and blue eyes-instinctively angled toward them, drawn like moths to flame. Unfortunately for them, the beauties' expressions remained cold, disinterested in Western flirtations. Only when their eyes swept past a few Eastern-looking faces did the frost ease slightly. A chorus of silent disappointment rippled through the onlookers. Still, the wolves who frequented this place had manners; none were foolish enough to hound a she-wolf who clearly smelled of power and Pack lineage. Aysel and Skylar slid into a booth positioned with its back to the entrance-a strategic choice any wolf would understand. They sat for a time, listening to the bar's live band, letting the noise, the scents, the swirling dominance currents settle around them. When Aysel's phone buzzed, she lifted her gaze and gave Skylar a subtle signal. Skylar raised a hand. "We'll take a private room." ... Dariusz had been plagued by misfortune lately. Celestine had inexplicably cut off all contact back home, and the Taylors family had been driven out of the capital by Luna Evelyn's decree, leaving him with no information and no financial support. Worse, the wealthy patroness he had finally managed to charm abroad had abruptly discarded him before he could secure the benefits he sought. In truth, with his looks and cunning, he could easily have sought legitimate work in these foreign wolf territories. And he did maintain a respectable occupation-purely as a façade to lure higher-value prey. After tasting the sweetness of effortless wealth, normal wages were beneath the notice of a wolf like him. He remained in that job only for appearances, to better fish among the elite. And the fishing networks of opportunistic males were deep. In this country he had made plenty of acquaintances-wolves, humans, rogues from all walks of life. He had just awakened on a hotel bed, brooding over his declining bank balance and fretting over where to hunt for prey tonight, when a notification dinged from one of his private groups. "Eastshore Bar. Two absolute goddess-level beauties just arrived. Judging by their clothes, they're old-money heiress types. They don't seem to like Western males. You eastern wolves better move." Several Eastern members were tagged. Dariusz's name was among them. "Any photos?" "No. Cameras aren't allowed inside. And if you piss off a wealthy she-wolf, you're dead." "Booth XX. Good luck." After a few quick exchanges, Dariusz's eyes lit up. He leapt from the bed, threw on his most expensive outfit, adjusted his hair, sprayed himself with cologne, and rushed out. He wanted to groom himself more, but time was prey. Two rare, young, wealthy eastern she-wolves-if someone else reached them first, he'd never forgive himself. When he walked into the bar and locked onto the booth number mentioned, he saw only two silhouettes-sleek, elegant-being escorted into a private room by obsequious staff. They were indeed stunning. Even from behind, their posture alone revealed beauty, status, and fierce wolf-borne pride. The bags they held were worth more than most wolves earned in a year-some even a decade. Instantly, Dariusz sobered.His senses sharpened. His instincts hummed. Switching to a private room was perfect. Anyone arriving after him would find nothing but an empty booth. Tonight, he would feast alone. Foreign land or not, the scent of same-blooded wolves was a rare, precious bond-one he could exploit easily. Watching from afar as the two women walked away, he waited until the service wolves left. Then he smoothed his collar, adjusted his hair again, and fixed on his most practiced, charming smile. He twisted the doorknob and strode inside as if he belonged there. "Alston, sorry-I'm late," he announced breathlessly. And walked straight into the trap Aysel had set for him.