He sat in his oxblood chair in his wood-panelled office, looking out onto the Corviston skyline beyond him.

He wanted nothing but to leave. Only sheer willpower and the thought of his clients forced him to stay in the office. And, of course, another thing he had to deal with.

He had felt burned out previously. It had taken years to recover to a point where he did not feel like he was willing every fibre of his soul to balance the various facets of his life like he was on a tightrope. 

Sometimes he had found it hard to even continue. He had on multiple occasions seriously considered divesting his companies and simply retiring. He would have enough to live comfortably for the rest of his life, after all. 

He had never told anyone about this, not even his closest family. At times he had been on the verge of breaking down and confiding in someone, but that had not come to pass. He not to think about what would have happened to him if he had in a moment of temporary weakness, told his brother about what was going on inside his mind. He would have probably tried to manipulate his family into handing the reins over to him, and that would have been the end of everything. 

But that was all a thing of the past now. Now the energy he felt welling up inside him felt boundless. He felt invincible, in a way he hadn't really felt since his teens. He felt almost better than that. 

He had felt that fire inside him last night when he had been patrolling his pack borders with his sentries, looking for the rogues that had been giving them so much trouble over the last few weeks. Rogues in the northern packs had long settled into slums on the flatlands, but those in the southern packs still roamed the land itinerant. One of the rogues had injured its leg and was lagging behind. He had torn it apart. The smell of the blood, the smell of fear, the smell of the forest, the tearing of flesh and bone and sinew, the blurred senses of the night were all fresh in his mind. He was aware that CEOs rarely had recollections like that one, and the thought amused him. 

He was doing it all again tonight. A year ago he would have required a week to recover from something that strenuous. Now he felt, almost, that it wasn't challenging enough for him. He wanted more. He thought of the plans, the ones nobody but him knew about. The southern packs were always sidelined. Looked down upon. This would be the revival. They would start with a raid on one of the weaker northern packs, as they had done in the old days. Then they would use the momentum for that, Monagh willing, to set the clock back. 

He stopped. He was thinking too far ahead. Never count your chickens before they hatch, they said. Well, here he was, doing exactly that. He wondered what his father would have thought. 

He retrained his mind on shorter-term goals. Full moon was coming. It was still far away enough that he could relax but he knew from experience it would creep up on him. The anticipation would ratchet up until he would be unbearable. He knew it would be. 

He already could not stop thinking about it. It was even more alluring now that there was something to look forward to. 

As much as he hated it, there was still uncertainty. The anxiety that had been bubbling along inside him unnoticed knotted up inside his gut. Mates had been rejected before. It was very rare but it happened. What if she did? He had barely gotten to know her yet. But she was a republic wolf and he sensed that she had a stubborn streak. 

But it had to happen. He had staked his heart and soul on it. Everything depended on it. All of his plans. She would have to accept him, and he would have to make sure of that. He tried to think if he had read her properly during the few short times they had met. 

A plan was coming together. He would have to get to know her and gain her trust. It would not happen overnight. Trust the process, he told himself. 

He glanced at his computer monitor. The message from his secretary was still there unread. He didn't need to open it. He knew what it said inside.

He selected one of the contacts in his phone's address book and was about to hit the call button when his secretary poked her head through the door. "He's here," she mouthed. 

"Fifteen minutes." He signalled his message to her. "I need to make a phone call."