Soraya Santiago swiveled the chair, mile-long legs crossed, and tipped her chin up. Only a man of preternatural perception would detect her surprise. Her eyebrows knit together before the soon-to-be head of the Santiago hierarchy stood to her gallant five-foot-nine. All signs of wonder vanished, a smile settling on ruby lips. A touch of flush colored her cheeks, hints of pink vying for dominance in the woman's smooth caramel complexion.

  "I suggest you close your mouth, lest you drool. Though, perhaps that is not uncommon for your kind," she said. The lilting accent was obvious, but not overwhelming. It was clear that she hailed from Mexico, but her travels and upbringing helped her blend seamlessly. Soraya had an image to uphold, and she worked tirelessly to fulfill the expectation.

The intelligence gathered about Botwin Botanicals and its lead scientist was sketchy by her standards. A barebones dossier about the scientist was detailed in a folder on the desk. It was not her desk, but the sensation she gained by running her fingertips along the expensive wood sent a delectable shudder down her spine. It did not matter what the information stated; one of their owned wolves was gaining attention in a less favorable way than was acceptable. She didn’t need the scrutiny, not while she was in the middle of making her move against Joaquin.

Malcolm. His name was Malcolm Washburne Book. Responsible for numerous breakthroughs that brought in millions, Joaquin's description of the man promised a twig lost behind oversized spectacles with a coffee stain on his wrinkled shirt, pale and tired due to his work schedule. Someone easily cowed and bearing an attitude due to his perceived intellect.

If the wolf in front of her was indeed Malcolm Book, he disappointed her assumptions greatly. Before Cobra had him on his knees, he was nearly as tall, and his shoulders just as broad. He looked more like a leading man from the Golden Age of Cinema than he did a scientist. The suit he wore was immaculate, and she bet the triangle of pink in the pocket was just as wrinkle-free. Soraya had never pictured a scientist with such a distinct jawline dusted with dark hairs of growth. Or that hard look in his eyes. Especially not a scientist and doctor who fiddled with microscopes and pushed paper.

The way his eyes traveled across her body sent an unexpected shudder down her spine. Arousal permeated, nipples stiffened and wetness gathered between her thighs. He was quite pleasing in appearance, and the way he averted his gaze was delicious. Like the perfect cold treat on a summer’s day. Her imagination ran rampant with what he might look like underneath, something she wouldn't have to wonder for long.

She slid the collar from the desk on her way past, fingers drifting along the cool metal in her hand. The mechanism clicked when it opened. Soraya's pleasure with him continued to climb as she neared him The staccato click of her heels punctuated her steps, her free hand trailing across the line of his shoulder and spine; it was firm muscle, and not soft padded fabric.

Soraya wore black lace. The high neck wrapped around the swan curve of her throat, swaddling her arms in tight sleeves and hugging her torso, all the while devoid of fabric across the pillows of her cleavage. The dress itself was nearly sheer, and she hadn't bothered to wear anything underneath. Let the subjugated find a touch of thrill in their horrid existence. She found her charity merciful. And she just had to see if that was all him under that suit. 

The woman who stopped in front of him stood regal, smelling of amber and musk with a hint of cedarwood. This close to a wolf, her pulse heightened. The depths of her pupils dilated, and she brought her lip beneath her teeth for a brief tug. She leaned over, offering a generous view to highlight his day. The collar clicked softly, a bare whisper as it encircled his neck. 

“You forgot your jewelry this morning, so I brought you a new one,” she said. The murmur sent the warmth of her words across his ear. It was a delight to watch the tiny hairs tighten on his neck. 

Cobra moved the pen away, and the guards stepped back but didn't fully relax. The wolf was too dangerous, even with the remote Soraya held in her hand. The new collar, thin gold hardware interwoven with sterling, was an upgrade. While it would never overwhelm his regenerative abilities, the constant burn would remind the male exactly who owned him. She'd added a sensor; the tool would come off only at her whim via a fingerprint on her left hand. The company name, E.S. Co., scrawled along the inside.

"Tell me why you think you are so special to walk around without your collar?” she asked. The tone of authority was unmistakable. With a lift of her hand, she gave him leave to stand, which he did, slowly.

The cunning behind his eyes was overt, the beast trying to think. Soraya caught herself, remembering that he was a genius. For a wolf. Despite the metal around his neck, he seemed arrogant. And formidable, even while he’d been on his knees. There was just something about that sheen of green that evoked the very feeling, the epitome, of danger. The hints of blue were molten. It seemed the colors fought for dominance depending on his mood, more green than blue. It was a phenomenon she'd seen in many of the beasts, but never had it been so fascinating to watch.

“I-I work around sensitive equipment, and it's b-bothersome,” he said, the words barely more than a mutter. The man's stutter did not match the largeness of his presence. She could see his beast rising, and Soraya knew well the danger of such a creature. Her family kept werewolves as security measures and laborers, and they proved quite useful for such tedium. Most lacked intelligence but made up for it with brawn and endurance. She enjoyed rewarding them while collared; she'd developed a setting to allow a glimmer of their more passionate half. The bruises left behind in their dalliances lingered in lurid reminders of the experience. 

“It is bothersome?"

Soraya crossed one arm over her ribs, and waved the security out with the other. Cobra shut the door, recognizing a breaking session at its start.

Her hand snapped out in a Leopard’s Blow, jabbing him in the sensitive dip in his throat. Wolf or not, that strike hurt, forcing the breath from the lungs and briefly closing the throat. When he curled inward, she grabbed him by the hair and shoved downward. Soraya was not a waif, and her time with Joaquin taught her the value of inertia and momentum. She clenched as tightly as she could, the voluptuous woman towering above a supernatural creature expected to obey or to suffer. 

"Let me make something clear, Doctor Book. My cousin is lenient with you because you are useful. You are only useful to me if you make profit and keep my doors open. I am most interested in the products you do not advertise, and... in what might be beneath the clothing you wear. You will wear your collar, and I will stop getting reports of the insolent, arrogant slave who thinks he is above everyone else. Now,” she released him and stepped back, “Disrobe and let me see you. And should you attack me, I will render you unconscious for the next year."

Fury radiated from him, falling in waves as he pushed himself up. Her gaze roamed over him, watching with rapt attention. Every muscle flexed and shifted as Malcolm shrugged from the jacket with practiced ease. Broad shoulders filled his dress shirt, and her attention meandered over the promising swell of his chest. The way he pulled at the knot of his tie flexed his forearms under the crisp sleeves. She couldn’t stop the rushing fantasies of his grip holding her aloft, sweat-soaked bodies wrapped in an intimate embrace. The lush landscape of his mouth was a hard line, contempt in his eyes as he looked down at her. The hand that held the remote settled against her chin, lips parting with delight as he did not diminish the more clothing he removed. He was, by far, one of the most superior specimens of lukoi she'd ever examined, and the idea of having him pleasure her made a muscle clench low in her abdomen in anticipation.