CHAPTER 118:What It Means to Provoke a Wolf
ADAM
The elevator chimed a sterile, polished sound that barely echoed over the pounding silence in my chest. The doors peeled open like a curtain revealing an old stage, and the scent hit me. Sterile air, laced with steel, ink, and faint musk werewolf. It clung to the building like history, like something that refused to be washed away.
I stepped out, boots hitting the marble with the deliberate weight of someone not to be questioned. The lobby stretched ahead, pristine and clinical, but tension rippled beneath its surface the moment I moved.
They felt me before they saw me.
The wolves.
Suited. Civilized. Pretending.
Their spines stiffened. Eyes flicked toward me then dropped. A collective intake of breath, the barest nods, like reeds bowing to wind. They didn’t speak. Didn’t need to. The blood in their veins whispered who I was.
Not human. Not tame. Not welcome.
I didn’t return the gesture. I didn’t slow my pace. Power doesn’t ask for acknowledgment it assumes it.
The path to James’s office opened ahead, polished floors reflecting overhead lights and my mood alike cold, precise. The secretary young, jumpy rose from her seat like a puppet on strings, fumbling with the doorknob as I approached. She didn’t meet my gaze. Smart girl.
The door clicked open.
James was already standing. He tugged at his tie like it might shield him, straightening his posture with the brittle pride of someone who knew he’d already lost control of the room.
“My prince,” he said, the words landing like stones in a still pond. A respectful bow followed, slight but immediate. His surprise crackled in the air.
I said nothing at first. I stepped inside, the door shutting behind me with a soft finality. Then, slowly, I turned my eyes on him.
His throat worked on a swallow.
“This is… unexpected,” he said, voice thinning at the edges.
I let the silence stretch a beat longer than necessary.
Good. Let him feel the weight of it.
I sank into the chair opposite his desk, my movements measured. Controlled. Every breath was heavy with purpose.
“What do I owe this visit, my prince?” James asked, rising stiffly from behind his desk. His voice was steady, but his hand trembled slightly as it moved to straighten the edge of a file that didn’t need fixing.
I didn’t answer right away. Just leaned back into the leather seat across from him, crossing my arms. The silence between us stretched thin, taut like a wire before the snap.
“Tell me about Vallaire & Co.,” I said at last, letting the words settle like ash.
James blinked. Once. Twice. Like he wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly.
“I thought you weren’t interested in human affairs,” he said slowly. “That was always your rule.”
I gave him a smile that didn’t reach my eyes. “I wasn’t. I only meant to spend fifty years here, slip through time, then vanish like smoke like I was never part of this world.” My gaze dropped for a second, my thoughts snagging on the curve of a smile, the scent of cinnamon and rain. I exhaled. “But fate doesn’t care for plans. There’s a girl. Emmanuelle.”
James cocked his head.
“She’s… a storm wrapped in skin. Beautiful. Terrible. Every time I walk away, I find the wind shifts and pushes me right back to her.” I looked up, my voice low. “She’s cursed, maybe. Or maybe I’m the one who’s cursed by her.”
He raised an eyebrow, skepticism flickering across his face. “You care for her?”
I leaned forward, resting my forearms on my knees. “I care enough to burn whatever’s threatening her.”
The words hung between us like smoke after a gunshot. James opened his mouth, the hint of a smirk tugging at one corner but it vanished when our eyes locked. Mine didn’t blink. Didn’t soften.
He coughed and shifted his weight. “Right. Vallaire & Co. It was originally owned by Joseph Vallaire. Kept to himself. Old money, deeper secrets. He had one daughter Emmanuelle. She was supposed to inherit everything. But Joseph died. Quietly. Suspiciously.”
I felt the tension coil in my shoulders. “Murder?”
James lifted a hand, palm tilted. “That’s what I suspect. Marcus her father.stepped in almost immediately. Took over. Since then, the company’s changed.”
“How changed?”
He hesitated. “Rotten. Like something festering beneath polished floors. I placed a contact inside six months ago.”
I reached for the glass of water on his desk. It was untouched. Crystal-clear. My fingers curled around it as I swirled the liquid slowly, watching the ripples spiral like unraveling threads. “And?”
His throat bobbed. “My contact Daniel managed to access a sublevel lab. He found a werewolf. One of ours. Strapped down to a table like an animal in a butcher’s prep room. Veins fed by tubes. Monitors ticking. They were extracting blood. Tissue. DNA. And running tests.”
The water stilled. My grip on the glass tightened until hairline cracks webbed through it, soft and invisible but growing.
“Why?” My voice was a whisper dragged across knives.
James leaned back, running a hand through his hair. “Marcus is trying to make werewolves. From humans. Controlled hybrids. He wants to sell them. Use them. Weaponize them.”
Silence. No wind. No breath. Even the shadows in the corners of the room seemed to freeze.
I stood. Slowly. The temperature dropped, the air thick with something electric. The lights above us flickered once, twice then steadied. My hands clenched at my sides, trembling with restrained force.
“I told myself I wouldn’t get involved with human politics,” I said, voice low and sharp. “That I’d keep my head down, serve my time, and disappear.”
James didn’t move. He knew enough to stay still when a predator was deciding what to tear apart first.
“But this?” I said. “This is desecration. They’re carving up my people like lab rats. Turning blood into currency. That ends now.”
He nodded quickly. “Daniel’s still inside. Embedded. Gathering more.”
“Keep him there,” I said. “And tell him to start sending everything floor plans, personnel files, experiment logs. I want names. I want doors. I want blueprints drawn in blood.”
James flinched.
I turned, but not before my lips pulled back into something sharp and dangerous. Not quite a smile.
“Marcus thinks he’s playing god,” I said. “He’s about to learn what it means to provoke a wolf.”