The sun was dipping behind the trees, painting the forest in gold and amber. Ore and Tolu walked side by side, the last rays catching the edges of their hair as they made their way back from training.
Tolu slowed behind her, a teasing grin spreading across his face.
Tolu (grinning): "So… about earlier — the whole mating thing. You sure you weren't curious?"
Ore (turning sharply): "Tolu!"
She punched him in the arm, her cheeks flushing red. He laughed, dodging her second swing easily.
Tolu: "You're proving my point, you know."
Ore: "I'll prove something else if you keep talking."
But mid-sentence, her expression shifted.
Her nostrils flared — a strange scent, faint but sharp, cutting through the forest air.
Tolu: "You smell that?"
Ore (low voice): "Wolves… but not ours."
Before either could react, shadows moved between the trees. Four men stepped out, their presence wrong — their eyes cold, their posture too steady.
Ore's instincts kicked in. She dropped into a crouch, her pulse quickening.
Ore: "Tolu, behind me."
Guard 1 (mocking): "How sweet."
The tallest of the men — broad, with scars running down his arm — tilted his head. Then his eyes flared yellow, glowing with inhuman light.
In an instant, he vanished from where he stood.
A blur — then the heavy sound of impact.
Ore gasped as a powerful hand struck the side of her neck. Darkness crept up her vision before she could even snarl.
Tolu barely had time to turn before another blow caught him across the temple.
Guard 2: "Got 'em."
Guard 3 (grunting): "What about the boy?"
The leader glanced at Tolu's limp form and shrugged.
Leader: "Just take him with us."
One of the lackeys hoisted Tolu over his shoulder.
Leader (coldly): "Move. The mistress is waiting."
The forest fell silent again as their footsteps faded into the trees, leaving nothing but a few scuff marks on the dirt path — the only sign of what had just happened.
---
Scene 2 — The Captives
The black SUV rolled through the mansion gates, headlights cutting across the courtyard like white knives. The air was heavy — the kind of silence that only came before bad things.
Inside, Ore and Tolu hung limply between two of the men, wrists bound behind their backs. The stench of wolfsbane filled the air — sharp, bitter, and poisonous to their kind.
They were dragged into a dimly lit room deep in the mansion. The walls were lined with stone, and the metallic scent of blood lingered faintly in the air.
Leader (gruffly): "Chain them."
The lackeys obeyed. The heavy iron chains rattled as they looped around Ore's wrists, locking her against a metal pillar. Tolu was secured beside her, still unconscious, his skin pale from the wolfsbane already coursing through his veins.
Leader (checking his watch): "That should keep them quiet till morning."
He turned and left, boots thudding on the cold floor.
Moments later, he entered the main hall, where Alamu sat behind a dark oak table, flipping through a folder.
Leader: "We got them, sir. The girl and another — probably her packmate."
Alamu nodded, not looking up.
Alamu: "Good. Tell Ajamu."
Within minutes, the news reached the Ajamu mansion. The double doors of Ronke's chamber opened, and Ajamu stepped in, his tone low but satisfied.
Ajamu: "It's done. They've been secured in the torture room."
Ronke's lips curved into a thin smile.
Ronke: "Show me."
They walked into the surveillance room — screens flickering with grainy footage from security cameras. On one of them, two figures could be seen chained to pillars, their heads hanging low under the dim light.
Ronke leaned closer, her eyes narrowing.
Ronke: "Who's that beside her?"
Ajamu (shrugging): "They said they found them together. My guess — Bode must have turned him. Probably to protect her."
For a long moment, Ronke just stared at the screen — silent, calculating. Then she straightened, voice calm but cutting:
Ronke: "Send the picture to Bode. Let's see what his pride is worth."
Ajamu smiled faintly and signaled a guard. The guard nodded and left to deliver the message.
The camera light blinked — once — over Ore and Tolu's still forms.
The trap had been set.
---
The city lights blurred past the car windows as Bode Ajibade leaned back in the leather seat of his black SUV, scrolling lazily through his phone. The day had been long — meetings, signatures, and fake smiles — but finally, he was heading home.
Then his phone buzzed.
Unknown Number.
One image.
He opened it without thinking — and froze.
There, on his screen, were Ore and Tolu, chained and bruised. The metallic glint of wolfsbane restraints was unmistakable.
For a full heartbeat, silence filled the car.
Then, his eyes flashed red — bright and dangerous — reflecting in the tinted window like burning coals.
The air in the car grew heavy. Even the hum of the engine seemed to bow under the weight of his fury.
His driver glanced at him through the rear-view mirror. "Sir? Is… everything—"
Bode: "We're not going home."
The driver blinked, confused. "Sir?"
Bode (calm but cold) commanded "Go to the club. And call everyone."
The driver's grip tightened on the steering wheel. He knew what "everyone" meant — the pack. Every loyal wolf Bode kept hidden in the city.
Driver (carefully): "All of them, sir?"
Bode (his voice low, rumbling): "Yes. Every. Single. One."
The driver nodded quickly. "Understood."
He turned the wheel sharply, tires screeching against the asphalt. The SUV swerved, heading not toward the penthouse district — but downtown, where the neon lights bled red over the streets.
Bode's reflection in the window looked nothing like a businessman now — his jaw clenched, his breathing heavy.
Bode mutters"You've made the wrong enemy this time."
As the SUV sped through the city, his phone screen dimmed — the image of Ore and Tolu still glowing faintly, like a match before the fire.
---
The SUV stopped in front of a tall, dark building pulsing faintly with bass.
A glowing sign above the doors read simply: "The Den."
Bode stepped out first, his sharp suit still on, though the calm that usually accompanied it was gone.
The air around him hummed with suppressed power — the kind that made even humans look away without knowing why.
His driver followed, silent as always.
At the door, a large man in black opened it immediately, bowing his head.
"Welcome, Sir."
Bode gave no reply, only a curt nod as he strode inside.
The hallway stretched long and narrow, lined with dim red lights that flickered with each step he took.
Music boomed faintly beyond — a heartbeat of sound.
Then the hallway widened — opening into a massive underground club, half industrial, half lair.
The moment Bode stepped in, the music stopped.
Every head turned.
Dozens, then hundreds of eyes glowed faintly gold, silver, and crimson under the lights.
Men and women in casual clothes, suits, leather jackets — all wolves in disguise — stood from their tables.
They bowed, fists over hearts, a low rumble of respect echoing through the room.
Bode looked across them all, his gaze cold, unwavering.
Then he spoke, his voice carrying through the silence — low, but sharp enough to cut air.
The words hit like thunder.
"We're at war."