My Alpha's Heartless Contract Wife

Anya POV

The ice in my glass clinked against the silence of the hotel room, a lonely sound that matched the hollow ache in my chest. Being a wolfless human in the Blackwood Pack meant living your life as a ghost. You were seen, but never truly acknowledged. You took up space, but you held no weight. I was twenty-four years old, long past the age of awakening, yet my inner wolf remained stubbornly dormant—a phantom beast that refused to haunt me, leaving me entirely human in a world of monsters.

While the rest of the Pack executives were downstairs in the grand ballroom, celebrating the end of the annual corporate retreat with open bars and uninhibited, wolfish posturing, I was up here. Hiding. I was officially a Restorationist and Archival Specialist for the Conglomerate, but tonight, I was just a girl drowning her sorrows in the minibar's overpriced, mediocre vodka.

I needed a distraction. I needed to feel like I existed, even if just for a moment.

Squinting at my phone screen, I cursed myself for taking my contacts out already. The names in my contact list were fuzzy gray lines. I scrolled until I thought I saw Camryn, my best friend and the only person who didn't look at me with pity.

My thumbs tapped clumsily against the glass.

I need a distraction. Send me something hot.

I hit send and fell back onto the plush pillows, giggling at my own boldness. The phone buzzed almost instantly.

A single question mark. I rolled my eyes. Camryn was playing coy. Emboldened by the vodka coursing through my veins, I typed back, my fingers flying faster than my brain could process.

Don't play dumb! Either send me a hot warrior, or be one. I'm in room 1501. 😉

I tossed the phone onto the nightstand. There. A joke. A desperate cry for attention masked as humor.

Minutes later, a heavy knock echoed through the room.

"Room service?" I wondered aloud, stumbling off the bed. Or maybe Camryn had actually come to drag me out.

I swung the door open, a sloppy grin plastered on my face. "Did you bring the—"

The words died in my throat.

Standing in the doorway was not a waiter. It was not Camryn.

It was Alpha Declan Blackwood.

He loomed over me, a titan of muscle and shadow, blocking out the hallway light. He was wearing nothing but a black silk robe that hung loosely around his frame, exposing the hard, tanned expanse of his chest and the sharp lines of his collarbones. His hair was wet, dark droplets falling onto his forehead, as if he had just stepped out of the shower.

But it was his scent that hit me first—a tidal wave of rain-soaked earth, pine, and the electric charge of a brewing storm. It was the scent of power. It wrapped around my throat, choking me, making my knees tremble.

"Alpha?" I squeaked, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped