"Gideon's smile was sharper than his teeth."
The Wicke estate loomed before me like a monument to power and old money, its Gothic silhouette cutting against the darkening sky. Tall iron gates swung open without a sound, the metal glinting beneath wrought-iron lanterns that cast dancing shadows across the entrance. The craftsmanship was exquisite-each bar twisted into elegant spirals, topped with spearheads that gleamed like fangs.
Beyond the gates, the drive stretched long and winding through manicured grounds that spoke of generations of wealth. Black marble statues lined the path like silent sentinels-wolves caught mid-howl, their stone eyes seeming to track our movement through the carriage windows. Each sculpture was a masterpiece of artistry and intimidation, designed to remind visitors exactly whose territory they were entering.
The mansion itself rose at the end of the path like something from a fever dream. Three stories of pale stone and dark timber, sprawling wings extending in both directions, every window glowing golden with torchlight. Ivy crept up the walls in carefully controlled patterns, and gargoyles perched on the corners of the roof, their faces twisted into permanent snarls.
My wolf bristled the moment I stepped from the carriage, hackles rising at the oppressive weight of dominance that saturated the very air. This wasn't just wealth-it was power made manifest, generations of Alpha blood soaked into the stones themselves. The scent hit me like a physical blow: pine and leather, old money and older threats, all layered beneath something darker that made my skin crawl.
Caleb fell in at my side without a word, his posture shifting subtly into a protective stance. His usually relaxed demeanor had vanished the moment we'd passed through those gates, replaced by the coiled tension of a Beta ready to defend his Alpha. He hadn't spoken much during the carriage ride, but his silence had communicated volumes. We were walking into enemy territory, and we both knew it.
The estate's front doors were massive things of carved oak bound with iron, standing open in a gesture of false welcome. Warm light spilled from within, along with the soft sound of classical music and the murmur of distant voices. Even the hospitality felt calculated, designed to lull visitors into a false sense of security.
And there, at the top of the marble steps, he was waiting for us.
Gideon Wicke.
He cut an impressive figure in his tailored black suit, every line fitted to perfection. His dark hair was slicked back with expensive pomade, not a strand out of place, and his shoes gleamed like mirrors. Everything about his appearance screamed wealth and breeding, from the platinum cufflinks at his wrists to the family signet ring on his right hand.
But it was his smile that made my wolf want to bare her teeth in response.
"Elara." My name rolled off his tongue like honey laced with poison, smooth and sweet and dangerous. "You honor me by accepting my invitation."
His golden-brown eyes were warm on the surface but cold underneath, like sunlight on winter water. They swept over me with barely concealed hunger before flickering to Caleb with sharp amusement.
"And you brought a chaperone. How... sensible of you."
Caleb's jaw tightened, but he held his tongue. The insult was mild by pack standards, but the dismissive tone made it clear exactly how little Gideon thought of Beta wolves in general.
I met his gaze without flinching, letting him see the steel in my spine. "You invited me. I came. Let's not pretend this is about hospitality."
His chuckle was low and rich, like aged whiskey poured over ice. "Still so direct. I've always admired that about you." He stepped aside with an elaborate flourish, gesturing toward the open doors. "Please, come in. At least allow me the pleasure of playing the gracious host."
The interior of the estate was no less overwhelming than its exterior. Crystal chandeliers hung from coffered ceilings like frozen waterfalls, casting fractured rainbows across polished marble floors. The walls were lined with oil paintings in gilded frames-portraits of stern-faced ancestors, battle scenes frozen in time, and more wolves, always wolves, painted with crown jewels and royal regalia.
Servants moved through the halls like ghosts, their heads bowed respectfully, their footsteps muffled on thick Persian rugs. They were all wolves, I realized, their submissive postures speaking to the rigid hierarchy that governed this place. None of them met our eyes as we passed.
We were led through a maze of corridors lined with priceless artifacts-ancient weapons displayed behind glass, sculptures that belonged in museums, books bound in leather so fine it probably cost more than most people's houses. Every piece carefully chosen to demonstrate the depth of the Wicke family's power and influence.
The dining hall we eventually entered could have hosted a small army. A table stretched nearly the length of the room, its surface gleaming mahogany draped with midnight-blue velvet. Crystal stemware caught the light from more chandeliers, and the air was heavy with the scent of expensive flowers arranged in silver vases.
But only one place setting waited at the near end of the table-fine china rimmed in gold, crystal goblets that sparkled like diamonds, silverware that probably cost more than my family had ever owned. The message was subtle but clear: I was the honored guest, whether I wanted to be or not.
Gideon moved to a sidebar where bottles of wine stood in neat rows, their labels proclaiming vintages older than I was. He selected one with casual expertise, pouring rich red liquid into two glasses with the practiced ease of someone accustomed to playing host.
"For courage," he said, offering me one of the glasses with that same sharp smile.
I didn't take it. The last thing I needed was to dull my senses in his territory.
His grin widened, completely unfazed by the rejection. "Or for celebration, then. That works too." He lifted his own glass, swirling the crimson liquid lazily while his eyes never left mine.
Caleb shifted beside me, his attention sweeping the room in constant assessment. I could feel his tension like a physical presence, coiled and ready to spring at the first sign of real danger.
"Why am I here, Gideon?" I kept my voice flat, businesslike, refusing to play whatever game he had in mind.
"To talk, of course." He gestured broadly with his free hand as if the answer were obvious. "To show you what life could be like if you made... different choices." His gaze lingered on me with uncomfortable intensity, heavy with implications I didn't want to examine too closely. "Darius doesn't deserve you, Elara. Surely you must see that by now."
The words slid into my ears like venom, each syllable calculated to wound. My wolf bristled instantly, claws scraping at the edges of my control as rage bubbled up from somewhere deep and primal. His voice dripped with false sincerity, but underneath the charm lay something much darker-hunger sharpened by humiliation, desire twisted into something possessive and dangerous.
I forced my chin higher, meeting his stare with all the defiance I could muster. "What you think I deserve doesn't matter to me."
He set his goblet down with deliberate care, the soft clink of crystal against wood unnaturally loud in the vast room. Then he stepped closer, invading my personal space with the calculated precision of a predator testing boundaries.
His smile curved wider, transforming from merely sharp to something that belonged on a hunting cat sizing up its prey. "Oh, but it matters more than you know, my dear." His voice dropped to barely above a whisper, intimate and threatening all at once. "You've already proven you're not weak. But strength alone isn't enough in our world. You need the right connections, the proper alliances."
He leaned closer still, close enough that I could smell his expensive cologne mixing with something wilder underneath-the musk of an Alpha wolf confident in his own territory. "With me at your side, I could make you Alpha queen."