Blaidd
The double espresso did nothing to energise me. I pulled out my phone and played her video again.
There had to be a clue. That was what I told myself as I watched her climb the steps to the stage. I’d already catalogued every curve of her body a hundred times over.
I felt Fenrir’s tension coil tighter as she accepted the award and punched it into the air.
“Thank you—truly. This is… overwhelming.
When I started Her Glow, it was from my kitchen table, with borrowed equipment, stubborn hope, and a family who believed in me long before anyone else did.
This award doesn’t belong to me alone—it belongs to every late night, every failed batch, every person who told me it mattered that our communities had products made for us, not as an afterthought.
To my team—thank you for your relentless work, your integrity, and your refusal to cut corners. To my family—thank you for keeping me grounded, for reminding me who I am when things move too fast, and for never letting me forget where I come from.
Her Glow was built on respect. For science. For nature. For heritage. And for the people who trust us every day.
This recognition means more than I can say. Thank you for seeing us.”
I closed my eyes.
Her Glow.
Even with my vision shut off, I could see her.
Bright. Happy. Grateful.
Disgusting.
I should have stayed. Should have shown her the true face of horror. We should have made her submit—like the rest.
The car slowed.
I opened my eyes.
Parliament Square.
My appointment with Liam Brannigan. He wasn’t aware of it yet, but that hardly mattered. His schedule was conveniently empty for the next thirty-five minutes.
By the end of it, he would make me the richest man in England.
I straightened my tie as the car door opened.
Her voice echoed in my head as I walked.
Soft. Feminine.
It didn’t rise to dominate, didn’t strain to be heard—and that was the problem. It carried without effort.
I hated that.
I hated the power beneath the guise.
She should have sounded smaller.
Fifteen minutes later, I left—wiping the vile man’s blood from my fist.
I watched her video again.
?
?
?
There wasn’t a single blemish on her record. I checked everything—from nursery to the present day. No intimate videos. No photos. No scandals. Nothing.
“What can kill us?” I asked.
Nothing that I’m aware of, Fenrir replied calmly. Your life expectancy will not be human. You do not fall ill. Ageing slowed nine years ago. If anyone attacks us, I will kill them.
“And if she’s a monster?” I asked, just as a notification from her phone lit up my screen.
Darius Fletcher.
He was messaging her.
Congratulations on winning your award. Do you want to catch up sometime?
I shoved my chair back, yanked open the drawer, and pulled out my burner phone.
If you don’t leave Lielit alone, fragments of your skull and brain matter will be smeared all over your shitty little Porsche. Because I will cave your fucking head into it.
Kill him, Fenrir hissed.
The bastard messaged her again. And again.
I sent more.
The fury licked through my gut, my fingers flying across the keypad.
What did I tell you?
Do it again. I fucking dare you.
He messaged her again.
“Tonight,” Fenrir urged. “We have his address.”
I slammed my fist into the desk and typed.
You’re dead.
I watched him forward screenshots of my messages to her—and froze.
Then she called him. The call didn’t connect.
I started typing again.
If you don’t stop messaging Lielit, I’m coming to see you at 12A Trinity Walk, NW10. You will beg for death by the time I’m done with you.
I waited.
She tried calling him again.
The good little bitch didn’t answer.
His next message was to her—but it said he was blocking her number.
Whether she was a monster or not no longer mattered.
On one thing, Fenrir and I were in complete agreement—no other male would ever be allowed near her.
?
?
?
We had a woman following her, keeping me updated on her movements. Her phone was no longer accessible—for now.
I want her, Fenrir said, unwavering.
My coffee sprayed from my mouth, splattering across the file on my desk. I stared at the dark droplets blooming over the paper before yanking tissues from the drawer and blotting at the mess.
No, I said flatly. There is something wrong with her. She is all fucking wrong.
I want her kneeling on her hands and knees at our feet, he purred maliciously.
The image was agreeable to me, but I didn't like it. She was dangerous, and this was precisely why. She was changing me—us.
We have nothing on her, I snapped at him.
He enjoyed what I did to women—reducing them to vessels, objects to be used and discarded—but he’d never shown interest beyond that.
Why? I pressed.
Fenrir was silent for a beat.
Power. She feels like an enemy. A threat. I want to see her yield to me. Her scent…
He paused, choosing his words with care.
…it’s the only one that doesn’t repel us.
The accuracy of his words hit home.
I could pull strings and make her company bleed. None of it legal. Or I could threaten her family. Those were the only pressure points that might make her bend.
A knock sounded at the door.
“Come in,” I snapped.
“You said you wanted these as soon as they arrived,” she said, hesitating just long enough to irritate me.
Her Glow products.
“Put them on my desk.”
I stared at the two plain brown boxes as she left.
One by one, I opened every bottle, every jar, every bar of soap. I inhaled deeply—again and again.
Some of the products echoed her, but none of them smelled like her.
Fenrir was right. Her scent was the anomaly.