The elevator ride down took forty-five seconds. It felt like forty-five years.
The space was designed for comfort, brushed steel, mirrored walls, soft ambient music, but Lucas Kane sucked all the air out of it. He stood with his back to the corner, arms crossed, radiating a heat that made the small enclosure feel like a sauna.
Selene stood near the doors, watching his reflection in the polished metal. He wasn't looking at her. He was watching the floor numbers tick down, his jaw working silently. He smelled overwhelming in the confined space—a mix of expensive cedarwood cologne fighting a losing battle against the natural, musky scent of alpha wolf. It was a scent that should have triggered her flight response. Instead, it made the dormant blood in her veins hum with irritation. Or was it curiosity?
"You're staring," Lucas said. He didn't look up.
"I'm observing," Selene corrected, adjusting her cuffs. "There's a difference. You're vibrating, Mr. Kane. If you shift in my elevator, the repair bill will be deducted from your pack's monthly stipend."
Lucas scoffed, finally meeting her eyes in the reflection. "I have control. Unlike your kind, I don't need to drain a village every time I get moody."
"A village? Please. I have a subscription service."
The doors slid open, sparing them further conversation.
The Zuma Grill was buzzing. It was the kind of place where Abuja's elite came to be seen—politicians, oil magnates, and the occasional Nollywood star. But when Selene Voss walked in, the room didn't just quiet down; it froze.
The hostess, a young human woman with braids, went pale as she approached the podium. "M-Miss Voss. We weren't expecting you."
"Clearly," Selene said, her voice smooth as silk. "My usual table. And bring the '96 Vintage. The special stock."
"Right away, Ma'am."
As they walked through the dining room, Selene felt the weight of a hundred eyes. Beside her, Lucas moved with the predatory grace of a jungle cat, his heavy boots making zero sound on the marble floor. He was scanning the room—exits, threats, sightlines. Always the soldier.
They were seated at a secluded booth in the back, shadowed by heavy velvet curtains. The privacy was an illusion, but a necessary one.
"Sit," Selene commanded, sliding into the leather booth.
Lucas hesitated, then slid in opposite her. The table was small. His knees brushed against hers. He recoiled instantly, as if he'd touched a live wire. Selene didn't flinch, though the brief contact sent a jolt of static through her cold skin.
"Let's cut the foreplay," Lucas said, leaning forward. His hands, large and scarred, rested on the white tablecloth. "You didn't bring me here for dinner."
"I brought you here to civilize you," Selene said. The waiter arrived, trembling slightly as he poured a dark, thick red liquid into Selene's glass from a decanter. He turned to Lucas.
"And for the gentleman?"
"Water," Lucas grunted. "And a steak. Rare. Just... show it the fire. Don't cook it."
The waiter scurried away.
Selene swirled her glass, watching the viscosity of the blood-wine.
"Civilization, Lucas, is about compromise. I have a permit for the Kuje land. I have investors. I have a vision for a tech hub that will employ thousands of Nigerians.
You have... what? Sentimental attachment to some trees?"
"It's not about the trees," Lucas said, his voice dropping to that low rumble again. "It's about what's buried beneath them. That land is a seal. You start digging foundations, you're going to wake things up that even you can't kill."
Selene took a slow sip.
"Superstition. The Wolf packs have always been overly dramatic about 'ancient evils.' Last century it was a curse; the century before that, it was a demon. Usually, it's just a gas leak."
"You think this is a joke?" Lucas's eyes flashed gold. "My great-grandfather died binding a Rogue Hybrid on that hill. His bones are part of the soil. You pave over that, you insult his sacrifice. And you break the Binding."
Selene paused. A Hybrid? That was... unexpected. The history books said Hybrids—abominations born of both lines—had been wiped out in the Purge of 1804. If Lucas was telling the truth, the land wasn't just dirt; it was a prison.
But showing weakness was not in her business plan.
"Bones turn to dust, Lucas," she said coldly. "And seals can be moved. If you're worried about security, I'll hire your pack as consultants. I'll pay you double your current rate to guard the construction site."
Lucas stared at her, incredulous. "You're trying to buy me? With money earned from the land you stole?"
"I'm offering you a seat at the table. It's better than being on the menu."
The waiter returned, placing a massive, barely-seared T-bone steak in front of Lucas. The smell of raw meat and blood filled the booth.
Selene watched his nostrils flare. She saw the pupil dilation. For a second, the civilized man vanished, replaced by the beast. It was fascinating. And terrified her part of the brain she thought had died years ago.
"Eat," she said softly. "You look famished."
Lucas picked up the knife. He didn't cut the meat. He gripped the handle so hard the wood creaked.
"I'm not your pet, Selene. And I'm not your employee."
He stood up abruptly. The table shook. The other diners turned to look, sensing the violence radiating off him.
"You have forty-eight hours to cancel the project," Lucas said, his voice carrying across the silent restaurant. "If you break ground on Monday, don't blame me for what happens to your machines. Or your workers."
Selene remained seated, looking up at him with bored detachment. "Is that a declaration of war, Wolf?"
Lucas leaned down, his face inches from hers. She could smell the rare steak on his breath, mixed with his own intense heat.
"No," he whispered, a cruel smirk touching his lips. "War is organized. What I'm going to bring down on you is chaos."
He grabbed the linen napkin, wiped his hands, and dropped it onto her pristine plate.
"Thanks for the water."
He turned and stormed out, the heavy thud of his boots the only sound in the room.
Selene sat alone in the booth. She looked at the empty chair, then at the napkin on her plate. Her heart—that stubborn, dead organ—was beating a little faster than usual.
She took a sip of her drink, trying to wash away the taste of ozone and agitation he'd left behind.
"Chaos," she murmured to herself, a small, sharp smile cutting across her face. "Finally. I was getting bored."
She pulled her phone from her blazer pocket and dialed Elara.
"Double the security at the construction site," she ordered.
"And get me a file on the Kane family lineage. specifically the year 1904. I want to know what they buried in that hill."
Selene hung up and looked out the window at the Abuja night. The wolf wanted a fight.
She was going to give him a war.