Chapter 1

Jamie Wilder woke to a sharp, twisting pain in his lower belly.

Curled beneath the oversized comforter, he couldn't stop his fluffy ears from popping through his hair. A large tail slipped out at his tailbone too, instinctively wrapping around his stomach as if its warmth could ease the cramping.

Cold sweat ran down his pale cheeks, soaking into the pillow and leaving a dark damp patch.

Something was wrong.

Biting his lip, he shakily slipped a hand under his pajama top, and the moment his fingers touched his lower abdomen, his whole body went rigid.

There was something warm there, a firm little swell with a faint pulse, resting quietly inside his soft belly like a carefully hidden seed that had somehow taken root and grown into something impossible to ignore.

"N-No... that's impossible..." Jamie murmured hoarsely. He was pregnant. 'But I'd been taking his meds and hiding every clue to his identity so carefully. How could this still happen?' he thought.

Familiar footsteps sounded in the hall. Jamie bristled all over. He shoved his ears and tail back in at once and wrapped himself in the blanket.

By the time the door opened, he was already wearing the lazy, satisfied smile of a pampered kept lover.

"You're awake?" Brandon Blackwell stood in the doorway, backlit and coldly handsome. His suit was flawless, his tie perfectly straight, and there wasn't a trace of warmth on him.

His gaze swept over Jamie's face above the blanket. "Breakfast's on the table. Eat it yourself."

Then he turned and left. The sound of his dress shoes faded farther and farther away until it disappeared completely.

Little by little, Jamie's smile fell apart. He buried himself deeper in the blanket, and real fear finally showed in those beautiful eyes with pale gold slit pupils.

Three months earlier, Jamie was squatting in a corner of an employment center. The newspaper he'd draped over his head read, [Wildkin Integration Program Hits Another Roadblock, Discrimination Still Severe.]

He stared at the headline for a long moment before flipping the paper over to hide his face.

Finding work was brutal. Jamie had been the top graduate of Wildkin Academy and he mastered every rule of human society and could even flawlessly mimic human accents and mannerisms.

But half Wildkin blood meant he could never get legal identity in human society. He could only take illegal jobs for miserable pay, living in the worst place. Hiding his face in his knees, he flicked his concealed tail in frustration.

He was exhausted. He had been hunting for work for two full months. He applied for jobs ranging from restaurant server and construction laborer to night security guard. Upon seeing him, every interviewer reacted identically: amazement first, then suspicion.

And even the rare people willing to hire him offered terms so harsh they were downright sick.

He only had about a hundred dollars left to his name. Jamie was wondering if he should sleep under an overpass when a black Maybach pulled up in front of him.

The window rolled down slowly, revealing a face so cold it was almost blank. The man in the back seat wore a perfectly tailored black suit, and the sapphire cuff links at his wrists flashed sharply in the sun.

His eyes swept over Jamie's face, paused for two seconds, then moved away.

Jamie thought he was blocking the road and started to move, but the front passenger door suddenly opened instead.

An assistant in a gray uniform stepped out, handed him a business card, and said, "Mr. Wilder, Mr. Blackwell would like to invite you to a meal."

Jamie glanced down at the card. Brandon Blackwell, Chairman of Northstar Holdings.

Northstar Holdings was one of the top five business empires in the country, with interests in real estate, tech, and defense. Brandon himself had topped the Youngest Business Leader list for three years straight. He was famous for being ruthless, decisive, and ice-cold.

Why would a man like that take an interest in someone squatting on the curb?

Jamie looked up through the lowered window and met Brandon's eyes. They were dark and cold, like a lake in deep winter. Yet in that brief glance, Jamie caught something raw and undisguised there: possessiveness.

Almost on instinct, Jamie started doing the math. 'Brandon was filthy rich. If I became this man's, I would at least stop worrying about rent, food, and rainy nights under bridges.

As for dignity...' Jamie let out a silent scoff to himself. 'I had lost that the day my father threw me out.'

"Okay," he said.

The meal was quiet. Neither of them talked much as they sat in a private room at an upscale restaurant. The table was covered with dishes Jamie couldn't name.

Jamie ate with single-minded focus. He hadn't enjoyed a proper meal in three days. The fish and beef before him exuded an irresistible allure, and he felt as though he could devour an entire cow.

Halfway through the meal, Brandon suddenly said, "You have a scent on you."

Jamie's chopsticks stilled.