Chapter 5: The Hunt Begins
The morning light filtered through the blinds in pale gold stripes, casting the office in a soft, deceptively peaceful glow.
Elias arrived at his desk at seven forty-five, fifteen minutes early, clutching a paper cup of coffee like a lifeline. His sleep had been fractured, his dreams filled with shadowy faces and whispered threats that evaporated the moment he opened his eyes. He'd told himself it was just anxiety, just the lingering residue of yesterday's confrontation, just his overactive imagination spinning shadows into monsters.
Then his phone buzzed.
He glanced at the screen, expecting a calendar notification or a message from the facilities team about the broken printer on the third floor. Instead, he found a text from an unknown number.
I know what you are.
His blood went cold.
Elias stared at the words, his thumb hovering over the screen. The number was unfamiliar—a string of digits that could belong to anyone. He told himself it was a mistake, a wrong number, a prank from someone who'd gotten the wrong contact.
But the words felt pointed. Deliberate. Aimed directly at the secret he'd spent years guarding.
He locked his phone and shoved it into his pocket, forcing himself to breathe. It was nothing. Just a random text from a random stranger. He had more important things to focus on.
His phone buzzed again.
I saw you with him. You think you're safe now?
The coffee in his stomach curdled.
Elias's hands trembled as he unlocked the phone, scrolling to the second message. The same unknown number. The same cold, precise wording. He glanced around the office, but the bullpen was still mostly empty—just a few early risers hunched over their monitors, oblivious to the quiet panic building in his chest.
He typed a response, his fingers moving before he could stop them.
Who is this?
Three dots appeared immediately. Then:
Someone who knows your secret. Someone who knows what you're hiding. You can't keep it hidden forever.
Elias's heart hammered against his ribs. He deleted the messages, then deleted them again from his recent calls, as if erasing them from his phone would somehow erase them from reality.
His phone buzzed a third time.
I'm watching you.
The coffee cup slipped from his fingers, splashing across his desk in a brown wave. He swore under his breath, grabbing a handful of napkins and blotting at the mess, his hands shaking too hard to be effective.
"Everything alright?"
Elias's head snapped up.
Damian stood in the doorway of his office, one hand braced against the frame, his tie loosened just enough to suggest he'd been working for hours already. His gaze swept over the spilled coffee, the napkins, the tremor in Elias's hands, and his expression sharpened with quiet concern.
"You're early," Elias said, his voice coming out too bright, too brittle. "I thought you weren't coming in until nine."
"I couldn't sleep." Damian crossed the room, his footsteps muffled by the thick carpet. "What happened?"
"Nothing. Just clumsy." Elias crumpled the napkins and tossed them into the trash can. "Spilled my coffee. No big deal."
Damian's eyes narrowed. He didn't believe him—Elias could see it in the way his gaze lingered, the way he studied Elias's face like he was reading a balance sheet. But he didn't push. Not yet.
"Come into my office," Damian said. "I'll get you a fresh cup."
"I don't need—"
"Elias."
The way he said his name—soft but insistent, a command wrapped in velvet—made Elias's resistance crumble. He nodded, grabbing his phone and shoving it into his pocket, and followed Damian into the private office.
The door clicked shut behind them.
Damian moved to the espresso machine in the corner, his movements efficient as he prepared two cups. "You've been acting strange since you walked in. Twitchy. Distracted. You didn't even say good morning."
"Sorry. I was just thinking about—"
"Don't lie to me."
The words were gentle, but they cut through Elias's defenses like a blade.
Elias opened his mouth, closed it, and looked away. He could feel the weight of the phone in his pocket, the secret messages burning a hole through the fabric. He wanted to tell Damian everything. He wanted to bury his face in his alpha's chest and let him handle it.
But he couldn't. Not yet. Not when he didn't even understand what he was dealing with.
"It's nothing," he said, hating how weak his voice sounded. "Really. I'm just tired."
Damian turned from the espresso machine, two cups cradled in his hands. He crossed the room and set them on the desk, then reached out and gently cupped Elias's jaw, tilting his face up to meet his gaze.
"You're a terrible liar," Damian murmured. "It's one of the things I love about you."
The word "love" sent a shock through Elias's system. Damian had never said it before—not directly, not in so many words. They'd danced around it, hinted at it, expressed it through actions rather than declarations.
"Damian—"
"Tell me what's wrong." His thumb stroked along Elias's cheekbone. "Please."
The please undid him.
Elias pulled out his phone and handed it over, his hand shaking. "I don't know who sent these. I didn't recognize the number. But they knew. They knew about me."
Damian's expression didn't change as he read the messages. His face remained perfectly still, a mask of calm control. But his eyes—his eyes turned to ice.
"These arrived this morning?"
"Just before I came in."
Damian scrolled through the messages, his jaw tightening with each line. " 'I know what you are.' 'I saw you with him.' 'I'm watching you.' " He looked up. "This is targeted. Someone knows about your scent. Someone knows about us."
"Maybe it's just a prank—"
"No." Damian's voice was flat. "This wasn't a random text. This was deliberate. Someone sent these messages to scare you. To threaten you." His grip on the phone tightened. "To threaten me."
Elias felt his chest constrict. "What am I supposed to do?"
"You're supposed to let me handle it."
Damian set the phone down and picked up his own, dialing a number from memory. He held the phone to his ear, his gaze fixed on Elias as he waited for an answer.
"Raj. I need you to trace a number. Now."
Elias could hear the muffled response on the other end—Raj's voice, tinny and formal.
"I don't care how long it takes. I need to know who sent these messages to my mate."
The word "mate" hung in the air like a promise, like a threat, like a vow.
Damian ended the call and set the phone down, his eyes burning with a fierce, possessive heat. "You're not going anywhere near this. You're not answering any unknown numbers. And you're certainly not going to let this scare you into hiding."
"I'm not hiding—"
"Yes, you are." Damian stepped closer, boxing Elias in against the edge of his desk. "You were ready to delete those messages and pretend they never happened. You were ready to push me away and deal with it alone." His voice dropped, low and rough. "That's not how this works anymore."
Elias's throat tightened. "I didn't want to worry you."
"I'm always going to worry about you. That's the price of loving you."
The words hit Elias like a physical blow—not painful, but staggering in their intensity. He reached out, gripping Damian's suit jacket, pulling him closer.
"You can't protect me from everything."
"Watch me."
Damian's mouth came down on his, hard and demanding.
It wasn't a gentle kiss—not the soft, reverent touches they'd shared before. This was a kiss born of fear and fury and the primal need to claim. Damian's hands fisted in Elias's hair, tilting his head back, dominating the kiss with a raw intensity that made Elias's knees go weak.
When they broke apart, both gasping, Damian's eyes were wild.
"You're mine," he growled. "No one touches you. No one threatens you. No one even looks at you without my permission."
Elias's breath hitched. "Damian—"
"Say it."
"I'm yours."
The words were barely a whisper, but they were enough.
Damian spun him around, pressing him against the edge of the desk. The polished wood was cool against Elias's palms, and he braced himself, his heart hammering with a mix of anticipation and fear.
"This might hurt," Damian murmured, his breath hot against Elias's ear. "But I need you to remember who you belong to."
Elias nodded, his throat too tight for words.
What followed was raw and primal and completely consuming.
Damian was relentless, his movements driven by a desperate need to claim and protect, to brand Elias so thoroughly that no one could ever doubt who he belonged to. He bent Elias over the desk, his hands gripping Elias's hips as he took him with fierce, possessive strokes, each thrust a declaration of war against anyone who dared threaten what was his.
Elias gasped, his fingers clawing at the polished wood, his body arching to meet each thrust. The pleasure was sharp and overwhelming, edged with pain, but beneath it all was something deeper—a sense of safety, of belonging, of being so thoroughly claimed that the rest of the world faded into irrelevance.
When it was over, Damian gathered him into his arms, pressing kisses to his damp forehead, his cheeks, his lips.
"I'm sorry," Damian murmured. "I should have been gentler."
"Don't apologize." Elias's voice was hoarse, but steady. "I needed that. I needed to feel you."
Damian laughed softly, burying his face in Elias's hair. "You're going to be the death of me, you know that?"
"Only if you're lucky."
They stayed tangled together for a long moment, breathing in sync, the world outside the office forgotten. Then Damian pulled back, his expression shifting to something more practical.
"We need to talk about security."
"Damian—"
"Someone is threatening you. That's not something we can ignore." Damian's voice was firm, but his eyes were soft. "I won't let anything happen to you, Elias. Whatever it takes."
Elias nodded slowly. "Okay. I'll trust you."
"That's all I'm asking."
They straightened their clothes, smoothing down the wrinkles and tucking in loose shirt tails, and by the time Damian's phone buzzed with Raj's response, they almost looked professional again.
"Raj traced the number," Damian said, his voice sharpening. "It's a burner phone. Purchased three days ago from a convenience store off Fifth Avenue."
Elias's stomach dropped. "That's not helpful."
"It's helpful in one way." Damian's eyes darkened. "Burner phones are used by people who don't want to be traced. That means whoever sent you those messages is serious. This isn't just a prank."
Elias felt a cold shiver run down his spine. "What do we do now?"
"We wait." Damian's voice was grim. "And we watch. When the next message comes, we'll be ready for it."
The word "when" hung in the air like a bad omen.
Elias's phone buzzed, vibrating against the desk, and they both looked at it. A new notification glowed on the screen.
I saw you let him take you in his office. Did you think I wouldn't be watching?
Elias stared at the message, his blood turning to ice.
The stalker wasn't just close.
They were right outside the door.