Lucy's POV

  “Yes, Tiff, yeah! Bounce on it, you hard rider! Don’t you fucking stop…”

  I jolt awake, gasping for air. That damn dream. Again!

  The day Jim cheated on me didn’t just break my heart, it burned itself into my brain. His voice and her loud moans. Their bodies tangled on my couch, in my house.

  I was supposed to be out of town, delivering a painting to a client who had personally requested my presence, but what I didn't know was that Jim had orchestrated the whole thing as a deceitful plan to bring Tiff to my house, and if it weren't for my best friend who had seen him walk into my apartment with that girl, I wouldn't have known; I was supposed to travel fifty miles to deliver that painting.

  “Fuck it!” 

  Now, almost every night, my mind plays that day on repeat like some twisted porno I never asked to watch. I can’t escape it.

  *****

  I stare at the half-finished painting in front of me, my mind a complete blank. My gaze drifts between the brush, the paints, and the canvas, where only the faint outline of a man's lip remains. My eyes blink back and forth, but inspiration refuses to strike. Six months have passed, and I'm still stuck. The art gallery is waiting, my clients are waiting, and I'm supposed to deliver a steamy romantic painting; my specialty, my bread and butter. I've been doing this since I was seven, this is what I'm known for.

  People say I paint lust like it's poetry.

  I don’t just paint, I provoke. My art doesn’t hang quietly on white gallery walls. It pulses. It breathes. It is tempting. Those who look at my work don’t just see it. They feel it, deep in their bones, in their throats, between their thighs. I paint the kind of pieces that make you ache for a body beside you. 

  But now my paintbrush feels heavy without the spark Jim killed. He took my artistic muse with him. 

  “That fucking piece of shit!” I stab the air with my finger like it's his face. He’s out there living his best life, having hot sex, doing romantic shit. Meanwhile, I’m stuck in my room, stuck in my head. I haven’t so much as felt any erotic desire, let alone be with a man so how can I imagine it and then deliver it to my dry gallery?

  I sigh. “I'm going to do this! I'm going to paint something today, no matter what!” I try to pick up my brush again but voices outside my room pull me away. I stop and listen.

  “It's my new neighbor.” I gasp, dashing to the door on tiptoes, my eyes pressed to the peephole. Harry, the luggage porter is standing beside a massively built man, I strain to see what he looks like, he's incredibly tall. The hoodie swallows his face, leaving me with more questions than answers.

  I wish he isn't turning away from me. I wanna know if he's cute. Handsome. Hot or everything.

  “You're very welcome to the estate, I hope you enjoy your stay.” Harry says, shaking the man's hand. “If you need anything at all, do not hesitate to reach out to me.”

  “Thank you, Harry,” the words come in a rich, deep tone. Mr. Next Door digs into his pocket, pulls out some cash and hands it over to Harry. 

  “Oh…” Harry chuckles happily. “Thank you very much sir, you're very generous.” 

  Hmm. Mr. Next Door is a sweet guy. I can't wait to meet him. Well, I hope he isn't a shithead like the other guy who was kicked out of the building.

  I sigh and return to my mini studio, “Come on Lucy, you have to do something! Why the fuck does your mind keep going completely blank when you're in front of the canvas?” Shit, I guess today is going to be like every other day. I'm doomed, for sure.

  “I guess I'll just go to my art gallery then. Sit my ass down and do absolutely nothing!” 

  *****

  I'm gazing out the window, daydreaming about inspiration for my half-baked painting when a ruggedly handsome man walks in, his sharp facial features and massive frame is impossible to overlook. 

  I gasp softly. That’s my new neighbor. I recognize him instantly, the same black hoodie he wore earlier, brooding aura and all.

  “Is anyone going to attend to me?” he growls, his deep voice slicing through the silence. His gaze sweeps the gallery, sharp and impatient, like he's used to people jumping to serve him.

  Three of my assistants rush toward him, giggling like schoolgirls spotting a top celebrity. Well, to be fair, good-looking men like my neighbor don't usually stroll into the gallery.

  "I’d like to see the artist," he says curtly, brushing past them like they’re invisible.

  I step forward quickly. "Hello, I’m Lucy Lane—"

  "Okay," he cuts in, not even sparing me a glance. He completely ignores my outstretched hand, like shaking it would be beneath him.

  I suppress a groan. Please don’t be a shithead. Why does the universe keep sending me shitheads as neighbors?

  I gently withdraw my hand and trail after him as he scans the gallery. His expression says it all, he’s not impressed.

  Oh, hold on. Is this man seriously trying to say my erotically gorgeous paintings don’t intrigue him? The same ones that get praised left, right, and center? No way.

  “Where’s your best piece of art?” he asks, still not looking at me.

  I grit my teeth. So nothing’s good enough for Mr. Broody?

  “This is all I have,” I say with a tight smile. “What exactly are you looking for?”

  “I don’t think you have it,” he says, eyes still scanning, like he's searching for meaning in a cereal box.

  “Well,” I offer, trying to keep it cool, “if you tell me what you’re after, maybe I can make it work, or refer you to some of my friends.”

  He groans. “No thanks.” And just like that, he starts heading for the exit.

  “Hey—um, we’re neighbors, I think. I live next door.”

  “Okay,” he says, not even slowing down. 

  What the actual fuck? Who does this man think he is? Carrying himself like some big guy, he's just a certified shithead and I'll make sure he understands I don't give a shit who he thinks he is.

Chapter 2

Rhett's POV

 I grab a pillow and clamp it over my ears, desperate to drown out the shrill noise drifting through the air.

 “This woman has got to be kidding me!”

 Maybe I should just suffocate myself under this pillow.

 Anything would be better than being subjected to my neighbor’s violin playing, which, by the way, sounds like an assault on my eardrums.

 This woman just ruined my childhood. I'll never enjoy the memory of my mother playing the violin again.

 It used to be my peace, my happy place. Now I’m not even sure I’ll ever pick up a violin again.

 It’s been two hours. Two.

 There’s no way I’m sleeping tonight. I pace the room like a madman, barely restraining myself from storming out, banging on her door, and yelling,

 “Shut the fuck up and put that damn violin in a box!”

 But no. I don’t want her to think I even know she exists. She’s tutoring someone? Fine. I won’t say a word. I’ll show her crazy.

 I hook up my sound system, scroll to the loudest playlist I can find, and blast it at full volume.

 Not just to annoy her; although, yes, definitely to annoy her, but because I'd rather listen to club beats at 2 a.m. than suffer through her murdering Beethoven one string at a time. This isn’t exactly me, I know. But I’m in the human world, pretending to be one of them. It’s only fair that I act like one.

 “My annoying neighbor is the last thing I need in my miserable life right now.”

 “Is she?” My wolf, Khair, smirks. “I love her scent.”

 I pinch my eyebrows “You love her what? Khair, she's human.”

 “I can't explain it, but there's something about her scent. It's sweet and…”

 “That's not what we’re here for,” I sharply cut him off. “My mission is to find the beast who murdered my parents. That’s why I’m in the human world, not to hook up with human girls. And besides, I can’t risk getting involved with one.” 

 “So you care about her?” Khair teases.

 “Oh, shut up, Khair.” I roll my eyes. “I met her yesterday. I don’t even know what she looks like.”

 “I do. She’s pretty, and judging from her art, she's got a dirty mind.”

 “Doesn't impress me,” I hiss.

 “But you liked her scent. It stirred your skin.”

 “She’s human!” I snap. 

 “Stop fighting it, Rhett.”

 “No. What you should do is keep your eyes off human girls. Forbidden territory. I want nothing to do with her.”

 “So we’re just going to keep starving because of your ego?”

 “This is not ego. Humans are forbidden. I don’t even like them. The last one didn’t satisfy me, and for the last time, Khair, I’m not here to lust after girls.”

 “We can have some fun while hunting our guy. I want this artist. Get her into your bed.”

 “Absolutely not!”

 The sudden bang bang bang on the door yanks me out of the argument in my head. I quickly lower the music and rush over.

 Whoever it is sounds like they’re ready to break the door down.

 “Dude, what the hell?!” My neighbor barks the moment I open the door. “Why the fuck are you blasting music at this hour? Are you crazy?”

 “What’s crazy,” I shoot back, “is that thing you were playing that snatched my sleep.”

 She narrows her eyes. “So your solution is to shake the whole building with your speaker? You’re not the only one who lives here, bro.”

 “And you should’ve remembered that before trying to kill my eardrums with that violin murder session.”

 She groans and clenches her fists at her sides.

 She’s mad, properly pissed off. And damn… She looks kinda cute like that. “If you play that music again,” she snaps, “I will call management.” Then she spins around and storms off, hips swaying in those little bum shorts she’s got on. Cute ass. I notice. Of course I notice.

 I sigh and jump on my bed.

 “Come on, Rhett. She's hot. You can't deny that.”

 “Shut up!” I brush Khair off, the last thing I need right now is that annoying woman. 

 *****

 I wake up with a pounding headache… And of course, my usual early morning rage.

 The headache is all thanks to my neighbor's awful violin playing. The rage has been simmering ever since my parents were murdered and my pack torn apart. The bastard who did it didn’t just destroy us; he cursed us. That curse has left us weak, divided and bleeding.

 It’s been over fifteen years, and the fire still hasn’t gone out. We’ve been searching for a cure, a loophole, anything, but nothing works. And if we don’t break this damn curse soon, I’ll lose my wolf. My pack will too. We’ll be reduced to humans, we’ll be vulnerable, helpless, prey. When enemies come and they will, we won't survive. The wolf kingdom will either cast us out... or wipe us out.

 My lineage cannot end with me. My generation cannot fade into nothing. I'm dying everyday, this curse is eating me up and I'm helpless but I'll find a way.

 Which is why I’ve been here all these years, playing hockey, building a name and staying in the spotlight. 

 The Moon Goddess had whispered that I’d find my answers here, that something special in this place would lead me to the one who destroyed my pack… and maybe even to her, my fated mate, the one who holds my redemption.

 That’s why I pushed for the transfer. I pressured my management until they sold me to a new club. And now, here I am. Right where fate wants me. Even if it means dealing with an annoying human neighbor who plays the violin like she’s strangling it.

 I breeze through my routine, throw on my gym clothes, and grab my duffel bag. The gym is one of the places I go to release my anger.

 And just as I step out, I hear that same familiar sound. My neighbor is humming that same awful violin piece from yesterday. She’s even bad at humming it. 

 I try to ignore her but nearly bump into her. “Oh, sorry,” I mutter quickly.

 “You would’ve been sorry if you actually hit me,” she snaps, her glare sharp enough to slice through bone.

 “Excuse me?” I blink, but she’s already turning away, hips swaying in those tight gym leggings. She looks hot; thick and curvy, really hard to not notice. Fine, I admit it. But damn, she's so annoying. I cannot stand her.

 And now, judging by her matching workout set, she’s heading to the same gym.

 Of course she is.

 Inside the elevator, she leans back against the wall, arms crossed like she’s shielding herself from me.

 She groans softly, like my presence alone offends her.

 The only good thing about this woman being my neighbor is the fact that she doesn't know I'm Rhett Lawson; she probably doesn't care about hockey and I'm really glad.

 She suddenly presses another button. Changing floors. Why is my crazy neighbor changing her mind?

 “You're not going to the gym anymore?” I ask.

 Not that I care. Really.

 She glares at me. “How is that your business?”

 “Miss, you were the one who got in first and pressed the button for the gym floor.”

 “Bro, mind your fucking business! You're so annoying!” she snaps, chin lifted like she’s ready for a full-on courtroom battle.

 I say nothing, but I want to snap back.

 I don't know how a total stranger has this kind of effect on me. I don’t act like this, especially not with people I don't know.

 I’m supposed to stay low-key, and avoid drama. So instead of making this worse, in case she pulls out her phone and records some “meltdown in elevator” moment and posts it on social media, I shut my mouth.

 When the elevator dings on the gym floor, I step out in silence. But I can feel her eyes on me, burning into my back like she’s not done yet. But I have no time for her.