The Congress Hall of the Transcorp Hilton had been transformed into a gilded cage for the supernatural elite.
Crystal chandeliers dripped light onto a sea of masked faces. A string quartet played a haunting, slowed-down rendition of Fela Kuti's Water No Get Enemy, the irony of which was lost on most of the guests.
Selene Voss stood on the loft, a flute of "champagne" in her hand. She wore a gown of grey silk that clung to her frame like liquid mercury, the back plunging dangerously low to reveal the alabaster expanse of her spine. A silver filigree mask covered the upper half of her face, hiding everything but her piercing, icy eyes.
"You look like a queen surveying her subjects," Elara murmured, stepping up beside her. "Or an executioner waiting for the guillotine to drop."
"Why choose?" Selene took a sip. The drink was enriched with plasma, but it tasted bitter tonight. "Has the Council arrived?"
"The Elders are in the VIP lounge. They're asking about the disturbance at the construction site. And the sudden fluctuating stock prices of Kane Security."
Selene felt a twinge in her chest—a phantom sensation, considering her heart didn't beat. . Locked on her.
"Oh dear," Elara whispered. "Security?"
"Stand down," Selene ordered, setting her glass on the railing. Her pulse was thumping—a rare, anxious rhythm. "He's not here to fight. Not in front of the Council."
"He looks like he's here to burn the building down."
Selene descended the grand staircase. She didn't run; she glided, every step calculated to project absolute control. She met him in the center of the dance floor, just as the quartet segued into a waltz.
They stood two feet apart, the tension between them heavy enough to crack the marble floor.
"You have some nerve showing your face here," Selene said, her voice low and composed. "You're not on the guest list, Lucas."
"And you're not on my Christmas list," he retorted, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through the soles of her feet. "Unfreeze the accounts, Selene."
"This is a party, Mr. Kane. Not a board meeting."
"You cut the funding to the clinic," he snarled, stepping closer. The heat coming off him was intoxicating, a furnace against her eternal chill. "We have elders on dialysis. We have pups who need vaccines. You want to hurt me? Fine. Come at me. But you don't touch my family."
Selene faltered. The clinic? She hadn't looked at the line items. She had just told Elara to freeze everything. A flicker of guilt, sharp and foreign, pricked at her.
"Collateral damage," she said, though her voice lacked its usual steel. "Consequences of war."
"War is soldier against soldier," Lucas hissed. "This is cowardice."
People were staring. The whispers were starting. The Vampire Queen and the Wolf King.
Selene couldn't let him cause a scene. She couldn't let them see her weakness.
"Dance with me," she commanded.
Lucas blinked, thrown off balance. "What?"
"Everyone is watching," she murmured, stepping into his space. She placed a cold hand on his shoulder. "If we argue, the Council will intervene. They'll sanction us both for breaking the Truce on neutral ground. If we dance... it's just a conversation."
Lucas looked around. He saw the Council Elders watching from the balcony, their ancient eyes narrowing. He realized she was right.
With a jaw clenched tight enough to snap steel, Lucas grabbed her waist.
His hand was scalding.
The contact sent a shockwave through Selene's body. It wasn't pain; it was a rush of sensation so intense it made her breath hitch. She felt the calluses on his palm through the silk of her dress.
He pulled her in tight—too tight for a polite waltz.
"Follow my lead," he growled.
"I don't follow anyone," she countered.
They moved. It wasn't a dance; it was a duel set to music. They swept across the floor, their movements sharp, precise, and predatory. To the observers, it was a display of power—the two most dangerous creatures in Abuja swirling in perfect synchronization.
To Selene, it was a battle for dominance.
"You smell like blood," Lucas whispered, his face inches from hers as he spun her. "Not the fake stuff. Real blood."
"I am a vampire, Lucas. It's an occupational hazard."
"You smell like my blood," he corrected. "From the gala... from the office. It's under your skin. You're obsessed with me."
"You flatter yourself," Selene scoffed, though her grip on his shoulder tightened. "I'm trying to survive you."
"Unfreeze the accounts," he said again, dipping her. The move was aggressive, his arm supporting her weight effortlessly. For a second, she was completely at his mercy, staring up at his furious, beautiful face.
"Apologize," she demanded, breathless. "For the sabotage. For the threat."
He pulled her back up, his chest colliding with hers. "I will never apologize for protecting my home."
"Then I will never apologize for protecting my investment."
They stopped. The music had ended, but neither let go.
Lucas's hand was still on her waist, his thumb tracing the curve of her spine. Selene's hand was on his chest, right over his heart. She could feel it hammering against his ribs—a frantic, powerful rhythm. Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum.
It was the most alive thing she had ever touched.
She looked up at his lips. They were full, grimaced in anger, but distracting. She wondered, with a sudden, insane curiosity, if he tasted as hot as he felt.
Lucas's eyes dropped to her mouth. The gold in his irises swirled, darkening. His nostrils flared, taking in her scent—jasmine, ancient dust, and something sweeter. Desire?
"You are a monster," he whispered. But the venom was gone, replaced by a confused, desperate hunger.
"So are you," she breathed back.
For a heartbeat, the room disappeared. There was only the heat, the cold, and the magnetic pull of two disasters about to collide.
Then, a scream shattered the glass.
It came from the entrance. The music screeched to a halt. The crowd gasped and scattered as the heavy double doors were blasted off their hinges.
Wood splinters rained down on the marble.
Selene and Lucas broke apart instantly, snapping into combat stances back-to-back without even thinking.
"Rogues?" Selene asked, her voice sharp.
"Worse," Lucas growled, sniffing the air. The smell of sulfur and rotting meat flooded the ballroom. "Hybrids."
Three figures stepped through the smoke at the entrance. They looked wrong—limbs too long, eyes completely black, moving with the twitchy speed of a vampire but carrying the muscle mass of a wolf.
The leader of the trio, a creature with scars crisscrossing a hairless scalp, smiled. His teeth were a double row of serrated needles.
"Good evening, Abuja," the creature rasped. "We're looking for the artifact. And we hear the two people who know where it is are dancing together."
Lucas glanced at Selene over his shoulder. "You didn't happen to invite these guys, did you?"
"No," Selene said, her hands curling into claws as her own power surged, dropping the temperature in the room by ten degrees. "But I intend to show them the door."
Lucas cracked his neck, a feral grin returning to his face. "Finally. Something I can hit."