The ink was barely dry, but the victory already tasted like ash.
Selene Voss didn't look at the contract. She looked past it, through the floor-to-ceiling glass of her penthouse office that turned Abuja into a sprawling circuit board of gold and amber lights. From up here, forty stories above the Central Business District, the chaos of the Nigerian capital looked organized. Quiet. Manageable.
"The deed is transferred, Ma'am," Elara said, her voice soft, barely registering above the hum of the air conditioning. She slid the heavy folder across the obsidian desk. "The Kuje woodlands are officially yours. Construction on the resort breaks ground in forty-eight hours."
Selene swirled the contents of her crystal tumbler. It looked like a rich Pinot Noir, but the viscosity was all wrong. It was synthetic—O-negative, enriched with iron, devoid of life.
"And the locals?" Selene asked, her back still to the room. "Any noise?"
"Some protests," Elara admitted, adjusting her glasses. "But the displacement checks cleared this morning. Money tends to silence moral outrage eventually."
Selene finally turned. At 247 years old, she had stopped aging at twenty-five, frozen in a state of predatory perfection. Her skin was the color of porcelain, a stark contrast to the sharp, dark bob that framed her face. She took a sip of the synthetic blood, grimacing slightly at the metallic aftertaste. It never carried the warmth of the real thing, but civilization required compromises.
"It's not moral outrage, Elara," Selene said, placing the glass down with a sharp clink. "It's nostalgia. Humans cling to dirt because it's the only thing that lasts longer than they do. We're doing them a favor. Progress is the only immortality they'll ever know."
"Speaking of noise," Elara hesitated, glancing at the tablet in her hand. "Security sensors in the lobby just spiked. Someone bypassed the biometrics."
Selene raised an eyebrow. Her penthouse wasn't just a home; it was a fortress. Retinal scanners, motion detectors, and a private security detail that consisted of three ghouls who didn't take bribes. "A glitch?"
"No." Elara's face went pale. "Heart rates. The guards are unconscious. All three of them."
The elevator doors at the far end of the expansive office chimed. A cheerful, mundane sound that felt violently out of place.
Selene didn't flinch. She simply leaned back against her desk, crossing her arms. "You can leave, Elara."
"But—"
"Go. Use the service exit."
Elara didn't argue. She vanished into the shadows of the hallway just as the heavy steel doors of the main elevator slid open.
The man who stepped out didn't look like a corporate rival. He looked like a natural disaster squeezed into a suit.
He was massive, broad-shouldered and looming, with dark skin that seemed to absorb the dim light of the room. He wore a charcoal suit that was straining at the seams, the fabric fighting a losing battle against the muscle beneath. But it was the energy radiating off him that hit Selene first. It was hot, animalistic, and smelled distinctly of wet earth, and fury.
Wolf.
Selene's upper lip curled instinctively, her canines aching to descend. She suppressed the urge.
"You need an appointment," she said, her voice ice-cold.
The man walked forward, ignoring the luxury of the room, his heavy boots sinking into the plush carpet. He stopped ten feet from her, close enough for her to feel the heat radiating from his body. His eyes were dark, but in the low light, they flecked with agitated gold.
"And you need to learn how to read a 'No Trespassing' sign, Leech," he growled. His voice was a deep baritone that vibrated in her chest.
Selene smirked. "Leech. How retro. I prefer 'investment banker,' Mr...?"
"Kane. Lucas Kane."
The name landed with weight. Selene knew it, of course. The Alpha of the River Pack. The man who controlled the private security sector in West Africa. The man whose ancestral lands she had just bought for three billion Naira.
"Mr. Kane," she drawled, picking up the contract she had just signed. She waved it lazily. "If you're here to negotiate, you're late. The ink is dry. The land is mine."
Lucas took a step closer, invading her personal space. The air between them crackled. Most men, even vampires, withered under Selene's gaze. It was a byproduct of being two centuries old; you learned how to look at things until they broke.
Lucas didn't break. He leaned in, placing two large hands on her desk, leaning over her.
"That land isn't dirt, Selene," he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "It's a burial ground. It's where my pack has run for three hundred years. You think a signature on a piece of paper changes that?"
"I think the deed of ownership says exactly that," Selene countered, not backing down an inch. She looked up at him, refusing to be intimidated by his size. "I bought the title fair and square. If your pack wanted to keep it, you should have outbid me. Welcome to capitalism, Lucas. It bites harder than you do."
Lucas laughed, a harsh, barking sound void of humor. "You think money is power? You sit up here in your glass tower, drinking fake blood and playing SimCity with people's lives. You have no idea what you've just started."
"Are you threatening me?"
"I'm educating you." Lucas pushed off the desk, pacing a tight circle, his agitation palpable. "You send bulldozers into the Kuje woods, you won't find dirt. You'll find wolves. And my people don't do lawsuits. We do teeth."
Selene felt a flicker of something she hadn't felt in decades. Adrenaline? Fear? No... excitement.
He was raw. Unrefined. Chaos wrapped in expensive tailoring. And he smelled... maddeningly good. Underneath the scent of rain and aggression, there was a rich, iron-heavy pulse thumping in his neck.
She pushed the thought away.
"You're trespassing, Lucas," she said, walking around the desk to stand toe-to-toe with him. She was tall, especially in heels, but she still had to crane her neck slightly. "And you assaulted my staff. I could have the Council sanction you before sunrise."
"Try it," he challenged, his eyes locking onto hers. The gold flecks were swirling now. "But cancel the construction. Or I'll tear this tower down brick by brick."
"I don't respond well to ultimatums."
"And I don't respond well to thieves."
They stood there, caught in the impasse. The vampire and the wolf. Ancient enemies, natural opposites. The silence stretched, thick with tension that felt dangerously like attraction.
Selene broke it first. She stepped back, smoothing her blazer, reassembling her mask of indifference.
"I'm hungry," she lied. She wasn't, but she wanted to throw him off balance. "And I have a reservation at The Zuma Grill in twenty minutes. Since you're so passionate about your dirt, why don't you join me? We can discuss the terms of your... surrender."
Lucas narrowed his eyes. He looked like he wanted to rip her throat out. But he also looked confused. "You're asking me to dinner? After I just broke into your office?"
"I admire competence, Lucas. Even when it's misdirected." She walked past him toward the elevator, trailing a scent of jasmine and cold steel. She pressed the button and looked back over her shoulder, her silhouette framed by the city lights.
"Well?" she asked, her lips curving into a dangerous smile. "Are you coming, Wolf? Or are you just going to bark at the moon all night?"
Lucas stared at her, his jaw clenching. He hated her. He hated what she was, what she stood for, and the cool arrogance that dripped from her every word.
But as the elevator chimed, he didn't leave. He turned, buttoned his straining jacket, and walked toward her.
"I'm not paying," he grunted.
Selene's smile widened. "I own the restaurant, darling. Nobody pays."