Claimed by Four Alphas

1. Chapter 1 - Dahlia

" W hat do you mean my funding has been cut? That's not possible. I just got the grant renewed last month!" I press my phone harder against my ear and pace the length of my cramped lab while Dr. Matteo fumbles through excuses at the other end.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Baldwin. We have some budget constraints, and this came directly from the board. There's nothing I can do."

"Bullshit." The word flies out before I can stop it. "This is about my research, isn't it? Someone's scared I'm getting too close. My lab was just broken into, and now this is it."

His silence tells me everything.

"Eighty percent, Matteo. You’re cutting off eighty percent of my funding. The twenty left won’t even be enough to run basic equipment, let alone continue the virus trials."

"Perhaps you should consider... alternative funding sources."

The way he says it makes my skin crawl.

"Like Blackthorn Biotech?" I ask.

He doesn't respond.

"You know what? Forget it. I'll handle this myself."

I hang up and slam my phone onto the lab bench, making my beakers rattle. My research assistant Emily jumps, nearly dropping a petri dish.

"Bad news?" She asks.

"The worst kind." I grab my blazer off the back of my chair. "I'll be back in a few hours. Don't touch the centrifuge samples."

I'm out the door before she can respond. I know exactly who's behind this. The same man who's been circling my research like a shark for months, waiting for me to bleed in the water.

Evan fucking Blackthorn.

Forty minutes later, I'm storming through the gleaming glass doors of Blackthorn Biotech's headquarters, a sixty-story monument to corporate greed disguised as scientific innovation. The receptionist, a perfectly dressed blonde with alarmed eyes, starts to rise from her seat.

"Ma'am, you need an appointment to…"

I blow past her toward the private elevator I know leads to the executive floor. Security starts moving in my direction, but I've already pressed the button. The elevator doors slide shut just as security reaches them. I jab the button for the top floor, as my heart hammers against my ribs.

Evan's assistant, Oliver, I think his name is, nearly falls out of his chair when I burst through the double doors of the executive suite.

"Dr. Baldwin! Mr. Blackthorn is not ready to receive any guests…"

"Yes, he is." I push past him and throw open Evan's office door so hard it bangs against the wall.

Evan sits behind his ridiculous glass desk, phone to his ear, looking like he's posing for a "Billionaires Monthly" cover shoot. His eyes widen slightly at my entrance before his expression settles into an infuriating smirk.

"I'll call you back," he says smoothly onto the phone before setting it down. "Dr. Baldwin. What an unexpected pleasure."

"Cut the crap, Mr. Blackthorn." I slam my hands on his desk, leaning forward. "Did you get my funding cut?"

He leans back in his chair, studying me with those icy blue eyes. Focus Dahlia. You hate this man.

"You know, most people make appointments."

"Most people did not have their life's work sabotaged by a pompous jerk."

He laughs a deep, genuine, and utterly infuriating sound. "You're still the same Dahlia. How I have missed you."

"Answer the question damn question. Did you do this?"

He stands, and I hate that I must tilt my head up to maintain eye contact. He's too tall, too broad-shouldered, too everything.

"As much as I'd love to take credit for having that kind of influence over university funding decisions, and as much as I want you working for me, I don't typically resort to blackmail."

"Liar."

"Think about it, Dahlia." He walks around the desk and leans against it just inches from where I stand. "If I wanted to sabotage you, why would I cut your funding by eighty percent? Why not all of it?"

I cross my arms. "Well, I don't know how your brain works. Maybe you want to back me into a corner and make me desperate enough to come to you."

"And yet here you are." His smile widens. "Though I suspect it's more out of rage than desperation."

"Fix it." I jab a finger at his chest, ignoring the solid wall of muscle I encounter. "Call whoever you called to cut my funding and fix it."

"I didn't cut your funding. But I'm certainly not going to pretend I'm not pleased by this development." He shifts closer, and I catch a hint of his woodsy and expensive scent that makes my nose tingle. "You need money to continue your research. I have money. Lots of it."

"I'm not interested in your help."

"No?" He raises an eyebrow. "How exactly do you plan to find a cure for the Crimson Plague without proper funding? Bake sales? Crowdfunding?"

I freeze. "How do you know what I'm researching?"

"I make it my business to know what my brilliant scientist is working on. Especially when it involves a virus that's decimating the shifter population."

"My lab shut down that research track."

"Yes, they did." He nods, his expression darkening. "That's very shortsighted of them. I wouldn't."

Something in his tone makes me step back. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that if you worked for me, you'd have unlimited funding, state-of-the-art equipment, and complete freedom to pursue your research on the Crimson Plague. No university ethics committees will breathe down your neck. And most certainly you won't have your budget cut. Ever."

"And all I have to do is sell my soul."

He chuckles. "You're so dramatic. I'm offering you a job, not asking for your soul."

"It feels like the same thing when it comes to you."

"You hurt me." He places a hand over his heart in mock hurt. "But as it happens, you don't actually have a choice anymore."

My stomach drops. "What are you talking about?"

Evan walks back behind his desk, pulls open a drawer, and extracts a folder, then slides it across to me. "As of this morning, Blackthorn Biotech has acquired exclusive rights to all research conducted in Dr. Matteo's lab… including yours."

I snatch up the folder and flip it open. Matteo's signature is on the transfer agreement, and my hands start to shake. That son of a fucking bitch

"You can't do this. My research is independent…"

"It was conducted using university resources, under university supervision. The contract is quite clear." He taps the paper. "You work for me now, Dr. Baldwin."

"You are a cunning snake." The words come out as a hiss.

"I did what was necessary." His voice hardens. "The Crimson Plague is spreading, and you're closer to understanding it than anyone. I wasn't about to let some university bean counters shut you down because they're afraid of what you might discover."

I slam the folder shut. "What exactly do you want from me?"

"The same thing you want. A cure."

"Why? You're not even a shifter." But even as I say it, something clicks into place. "Are you?"

He doesn't answer immediately, and in that hesitation, I see the truth.

"Holy shit." I step closer, studying him with new eyes. "You are a shifter."

"Half," he admits, his jaw tight. "On my mother's side."

The revelation stuns me into silence. Evan Blackthorn, billionaire, notorious playboy, corporate shark, is half shifter. It explains so much, his aggressive business tactics, his territorial behavior, his magnetic presence that always made me feel slightly off-balance.

"Does anyone know?"

"A select few. And now you." He steps closer, into my personal space. "Consider it a show of good faith."

I should step back. I should maintain a professional distance. But something keeps me rooted to the spot as he looms over me, and his scent starts wrapping around me like a physical thing. And it makes me want to jump his bones and let him have his way with me.

"I still hate you," I whisper, but the heat behind the words has faded.

"I know." His voice drops an octave, sending an involuntary shiver down my spine. "But you'll work with me anyway, because deep down, you know I'm right. The cure matters more than your pride."

He's so close now, I can feel the heat radiating off his body. My eyes drift to his mouth without my permission, and his lips curve into a knowing smile that should infuriate me but instead makes my pulse skip.

"What are you doing?" I ask, my voice embarrassingly breathy.

"Testing a theory." He leans in, his breath warm against my cheek. "Do you know your pupils dilate when I get close. Your pulse quickens, and you smell sweet. So sweet, I want to devour you."

"That's… that's just basic human physiology. It's a fight or flight response."

"Is that what this is?" His hand comes up to brush a curl behind my ear, and I can't stop the small sound that escapes me.

His eyes darken at the sound, and then he closes the distance between us until his lips capture mine in a kiss. I should push him away. I should slap him. I should do anything but what I do is grab his shirt and pull him closer.

He makes a low, approving sound in the back of his throat that vibrates through me. His hands find my waist and pull me against him as the kiss deepens. I tug at his hair, harder than necessary, a small act of defiance even as I open to him.

He lifts me suddenly, gripping my thighs as he sits me on the edge of his desk. I wrap my legs around his waist instinctively, drawing him between them.

"I've wanted to do this since the first time you stormed into my office and called me a 'corporate parasite,'" he murmurs against my skin.

"Shut up," I gasp, tugging his hair to bring his mouth back to mine.

He grinds his hips against me, the hard length of him pressing exactly where I need it, and I moan into his mouth. One of his hands slides up my ribs to cup my breast, and his thumb brushes over the peak through my blouse and bra.

"Fuck," I breathe as he pinches lightly, sending a jolt of pleasure-pain straight to my core.

He makes a growling sound that's decidedly inhuman, and his eyes flash wild. He pushes my blouse up, and descends his mouth to my breast, sucking through the thin fabric of my bra.

"Oh god," I moan, arching my back to press myself more firmly against his mouth. I tangle my fingers in his hair, holding him to my breast.

He brings his hand up to cup my other breast and flicks his thumb over the nipple before he pinches it between his fingers. The combination of sensations makes me cry out, a sound that's half pleasure and half desperation.

"Please," I whimper, rocking my hips against him.

A sharp knock cuts through the haze of desire.

"Mr. Blackthorn?" Oliver calls through the door. "Your two o'clock is here, and your car is waiting to take you to the airport."

Evan pulls back, and he has a murderous expression on his face. "Goddammit," he mutters, then raises his voice. "I'll be right out."

Reality crashes back like a bucket of ice water. I push against his chest and scramble off the desk, tugging my clothes back into place. My face burns with embarrassment and lingering arousal.

What did I just do? Why did I do it? It seemed like I had no control over my body.

"This didn't happen," I say, smoothing my hair with shaking hands.

Evan looks completely unruffled except for the darkened eyes and the slight redness where my lipstick has transferred to his mouth.

He wipes it away with his thumb, watching me with an intensity that makes me want to squirm.

I cross my legs together. I am wet. Dripping in fact but it was just a kiss. A kiss.

"We should meet again soon," he says, "To finalize the details of your research transfer. I'll have contracts drawn up."

"Fine." I grab my purse, desperate to escape before I do something stupid.

"One more thing." He catches my wrist as I turn to leave. "I'm assigning you a security detail."

I pull my arm free. "I don't need a babysitter."

"This isn't up for debate… Someone ransacked your lab last week. And there was also a break-in at your apartment before that."

I freeze. "How do you know about those incidents?"

"I make it my business to know." His jaw tightens. "The Crimson Plague didn't just come out of the blue, Dahlia. There are powerful people who started this, and they don't want a cure found."

"Why?"

"That's a longer conversation." He glances at his watch. "Until then, you'll accept my protection."

"Or what?"

"You'll probably have a bullet in your head by next week." His tone makes it clear this isn't an idle threat.

"Your choice."