THE WEREWOLF BILLIONAIRE WICKED STRANGER

Serena James was not supposed to be on the third floor.

Her room was on the first floor, Room 30-the cheapest room in Crestwood Royal Manor. It had a flickering ceiling light, a narrow bed, and a window that looked directly onto the parking lot.

But after the day she'd had, Serena barely cared where she was.

Her head was spinning, partly from the wine and partly from the shock she still hadn't been able to process.

Mark was gone.

Her fiancé of three years had emptied their joint account, taken most of his belongings, and left her with one final piece of information that had hurt more than anything else.

He had chosen her cousin.

Serena tightened her grip on the handle of her suitcase and squinted at the number on the door in front of her.

"Room 30," she muttered.

The hallway seemed unusually quiet. The carpet was thick beneath her shoes, and the dim golden lights made everything look slightly blurred.

She lifted her key card and pressed it against the lock.

Beep.

The light turned green.

Serena frowned.

"That was easy."

Her room downstairs had required three attempts every time she used the key.

She pushed the door open.

Then she stopped.

Something was wrong.

Very wrong.

Room 30 was small and plain. This room was enormous.

Floor-to-ceiling windows stretched across the far wall, offering a breathtaking view of at night. A large bed stood in the center, surrounded by expensive furniture. A marble floor reflected the soft lights from the ceiling, and a private bar occupied one corner of the room.

Serena stared.

"This isn't my room."

She looked back at the door. 300

Not 30.

"Oh, no."

She turned to leave.

Then she noticed the man standing near the windows.

He was on the phone.

Serena froze.

He wore only a pair of black trousers, leaving his broad shoulders and muscular chest exposed. His dark hair was slightly disheveled, as though he'd been running his hands through it.

He didn't seem to notice her at first.

"No," he said into the phone. His voice was deep and controlled. "Move the meeting to tomorrow."

A pause.

"I don't care what the Pack Elders think. If they want to speak to me, they can wait."

Serena's eyes widened.

Pack Elders?

What kind of company had she accidentally walked into?

The man turned slightly.

"And make sure the documents are delivered before-"

His gaze landed on her.

He stopped speaking.

Serena stopped breathing.

For several seconds, neither of them moved.

Then her suitcase slipped from her hand and landed on the floor.

The sound finally broke the silence.

The man's expression hardened.

"Who are you?"

Serena swallowed.

"I'm sorry."

"That's not an answer."

"I think I've made a mistake."

He slowly lowered the phone from his ear.

"You think?"

Serena pointed weakly toward the door.

"I was looking for Room 30."

His eyes narrowed.

"You're in Room 300."

"I noticed that."

He stared at her.

Serena forced herself to keep talking.

"The numbers looked similar, and I'm a little... distracted tonight."

"A little?"

She frowned.

"Do you always interrogate strangers who walk into your room by accident?"

"No."

His answer came immediately.

"Only the ones who somehow manage to get into a room nobody is supposed to enter."

Serena looked at the key card in her hand.

"I don't understand. The door opened."

"So I noticed."

He ended the call and slipped his phone into his pocket.

Serena took a step backward.

"I'm leaving."

She bent to grab her suitcase.

Before she could lift it, he was standing in front of her.

She hadn't heard him move.

Serena looked up.

He was much taller than she'd realized.

"Wait."

"I really need to go."

"You do."

His gaze moved over her face.

"You've been crying."

Serena stiffened.

"That isn't your business."

"No."

His voice softened slightly.

"But you're standing in my room at midnight with a suitcase, red eyes, and a key card that shouldn't have opened this door. I'd like to know why."

She looked away.

"It's been a bad day."

"That much is obvious."

Something about his calmness irritated her.

Maybe it was because she had spent the entire evening trying not to cry, and now a complete stranger had noticed in less than a minute.

"My fiancé left me," she said.

The man's expression changed.

Serena continued before she could stop herself.

"He took the money from our joint account and left me for my cousin."

Silence filled the room.

The man's jaw tightened.

"Your cousin?"

"Yes."

"That was his choice?"

Serena gave a humorless laugh.

"Apparently."

"And he left you with nothing?"

"Pretty much."

The stranger looked at her suitcase.

"You came here alone?"

"Yes."

"Why this hotel?"

"Because they didn't require a credit card deposit."

His eyes narrowed.

"You paid cash?"

"Is there a problem with that?"

"No."

He studied her for another moment.

"What's your name?"

Serena hesitated.

"Why?"

"Because I asked."

She almost laughed.

"That's not a good enough reason."

For the first time, something resembling amusement touched his face.

"Fair enough."

He stepped back.

"My name is Brandon."

"Just Brandon?"

"Brandon Crestwood."

Serena stared at him.

Her eyes moved toward the name printed on the hotel brochure sitting on the table.

Crestwood Royal Manor.

Then back to him.

"You own this place."

"One of several properties."

Of course.

She closed her eyes briefly.

"Great."

"What?"

"Nothing."

"You're disappointed?"

"I'm embarrassed."

"Why?"

"Because I accidentally walked into the owner's penthouse."

"You didn't just walk in."

He looked at the key card.

"You were given access."

"I didn't ask for it."

"I know."

Something about the way he said it made Serena look at him again.

His eyes were unusual.

Amber.

Not brown. Not hazel.

Amber.

For one strange second, she thought she saw something flicker inside them.

Gold.

She blinked.

The color was normal again.

"You should go back downstairs," Brandon said.

"I was planning to."

He stepped aside.

Serena reached for her suitcase.

Then Brandon suddenly inhaled.

His expression changed.

He stared at her as though he'd just noticed something he hadn't seen before.

"What?"

He didn't answer.

Instead, he took one slow step toward her.

Serena's fingers tightened around the suitcase handle.

"What is it?"

"You smell different."

She frowned.

"Different from what?"

He seemed to struggle with the question.

"Rain."

"What?"

"You smell like rain."

Serena stared at him.

"I think the wine is affecting you too."

He ignored the comment.

"Have we met before?"

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"Very sure."

His gaze remained fixed on her.

Then he whispered, almost to himself, "That's impossible."

Serena became uncomfortable.

"Look, Brandon, I don't know what you're talking about. I just want to go back to my room."

He nodded slowly.

"You should."

She picked up her suitcase.

Then he caught her wrist.

Serena looked down at his hand.

"Let go."

He immediately released her.

"Sorry."

His expression had changed again.

He looked genuinely surprised by his own action.

Serena rubbed her wrist.

"What is going on with you?"

"I don't know."

At least he sounded honest.

She took another step toward the door.

Then he said, "Wait."

She turned.

"Why?"

"I need to ask you something."

"What?"

His gaze moved to her face.

"Do you feel anything strange?"

Serena almost laughed.

"Besides the humiliation of being dumped, losing my money, getting drunk, and walking into a billionaire's bedroom? No."

Brandon's lips twitched.

"Billionaire?"

"You own this hotel."

"That doesn't make me a billionaire."

Serena looked at him.

"Are you seriously going to argue about that?"

"No."

He almost smiled.

For a moment, the tension between them eased.

Then a low sound came from somewhere deep inside him.

A growl.

Serena's smile disappeared.

She stared at him.

"Did you just... growl?"

Brandon's expression became serious.

"No."

"You definitely did."

"You should leave."

"I agree."

She turned toward the door again.

A sharp pain suddenly shot through her foot.

Serena gasped.

The glass on the floor.

She had forgotten about it.

A thin piece had cut her ankle.

Blood began to trickle down her skin.

Brandon's entire body went still.

His eyes dropped to the wound.

Then he moved.

Too fast.

One moment he was several feet away. The next, he was kneeling in front of her.

Serena stared down at him.

"How did you-"

He grabbed her ankle carefully.

"Don't move."

His voice had changed.

It was deeper.

Rougher.

"Brandon?"

He wasn't listening.

His eyes were fixed on the blood.

The amber had disappeared.

Gold filled his irises.

Serena's heart began pounding.

"What is wrong with your eyes?"

He looked up.

For the first time, she saw something in his expression that frightened her.

Not anger.

Fear.

"Who hurt you?"

She blinked.

"The glass."

"Not that."

His fingers tightened slightly around her ankle.

"Who broke your heart?"

Serena's throat tightened.

"What?"

"Your fiancé."

She stared at him.

"How do you know?"

"I can smell it."

She pulled her foot away.

"That doesn't make any sense."

"No," he said quietly. "It doesn't."

He stood.

Before Serena could react, he slipped one arm beneath her knees and the other around her back.

She gasped.

"What are you doing?"

"Your foot is bleeding."

"I can walk."

"I know."

"Then put me down."

"No."

Serena pushed against his chest.

"Brandon!"

He carried her toward the bed as though she weighed nothing.

"This is kidnapping."

"No."

"Then what is it?"

"An argument you'll lose."

Despite herself, Serena stared at him.

"You're unbelievable."

"I've been called worse."

He lowered her onto the edge of the bed.

Serena immediately pulled her injured foot onto the mattress.

Brandon crouched in front of her.

His expression had become almost frighteningly serious.

"You need to be careful."

"I'm beginning to think you're the one I should be careful around."

His eyes met hers.

"You're right."

The answer surprised her.

Before she could respond, a knock sounded at the door.

Brandon's head snapped toward it.

Serena looked at him.

"Are you expecting someone?"

"No."

Another knock.

Then a man's voice came from outside.

"Mr. Crestwood?"

Brandon's expression hardened.

"Stay here."

Serena stared at him.

"Why?"

He looked toward the door.

"Because whoever is outside shouldn't know you're here."

A chill moved through her.

"What does that mean?"

Brandon didn't answer.

He walked toward the door.

Then he stopped.

He looked back at her.

For a moment, the strange gold returned to his eyes.

"Serena."

"Yes?"

"Whatever happens next, don't open that door."

She nodded slowly.

Brandon reached the door.

The knocking came again, harder this time.

And somewhere beyond the penthouse walls, thunder rolled across the night sky.

Serena stared at Brandon's back.

She had come to Crestwood Royal Manor to escape one betrayal.

She had no idea she had just walked into something far more dangerous.

Because the man standing between her and that door was not simply the owner of the hotel.

And whatever was waiting outside had not come for him alone.

It had come because of her.