The asphalt gave way to red earth.
The smooth hum of the G-Wagon's tires on asphalt was replaced by the crunch of gravel and the occasional sickening thud of a pothole that even the German suspension couldn't swallow. They were deep in the bush now, miles past the outskirts of Abuja. The city lights were just a hazy orange bruise on the horizon behind them.
Inside the cabin, the only light came from the dashboard and the green glow of the navigation screen.
Selene held her arm. The silver burn was angry. It wasn't bleeding anymore, but the flesh around the jagged cut was gray and bubbling slightly. It felt like holding a lit cigarette against her skin, a constant, high-pitched scream of nerves that refused to die down.
"Stop touching it," Lucas said. He didn't look away from the road, his hands white-knuckled on the wheel. "You're making it worse."
"It's silver, Lucas. It doesn't get better. It rots." Selene leaned her head back against the headrest, closing her eyes. "If I don't treat it soon, I'll lose the arm."
Lucas glanced at her. The dashboard lights cast deep shadows across his face, making him look more beast than man. He grunted, downshifted, and swung the heavy SUV around a sharp bend flanked by towering palm trees.
"We're five minutes out. Hold on."
"I thought wolves lived in caves," she muttered, the pain making her snappish. "Or do you have a treehouse?"
"Funny. Keep talking like that, and I'll leave you outside the perimeter fence."
They slowed down. Ahead, the dense wall of jungle seemed impenetrable, but as the headlights swept across the foliage, heavy steel gates materialized out of the darkness. They were twelve feet high, topped with razor wire, and flanked by two watchtowers that looked more military than tribal.
Lucas flashed his headlights—three shorts, one long.
The gates groaned and began to roll back.
"Welcome to the compound," Lucas said.
They rolled through. The space inside was massive. It wasn't a village, and it wasn't a camp. It was a self-sustaining town carved out of the forest. There were solar arrays, a water tower, rows of modern bungalows raised on stilts, and a central training ground.
And there were wolves.
Dozens of them. Not shifted, but in human form. Men and women stopped what they were doing—fixing cars, talking on porches, sparring—and turned toward the SUV.
As Lucas parked in front of a large, central building made of stone and timber, the pack began to close in.
Selene felt it instantly. The psychic pressure of a hundred predators focusing on a single prey. It made the hair on her arms stand up. It made her fangs ache to drop.
"Stay in the car," Lucas ordered, killing the engine.
"I am not a dog, Lucas. I don't 'stay'."
"Selene, look at them."
She looked. The people surrounding the car weren't curious. They were hostile. Eyes flashed gold and amber in the dark. A low, collective growl seemed to hum through the air. They could smell her. To them, she smelled like death. Like the enemy.
Lucas opened his door and stepped out.
The silence was absolute.
"Alpha," a voice called out. It was Marcus, pushing through the crowd. He looked relieved, then confused as he saw the passenger. He sniffed the air, and his expression curdled. "Lucas... tell me you didn't."
Lucas slammed the door shut, standing between the pack and the car. "We were compromised. The Gala was hit. Hybrids."
Murmurs rippled through the crowd. Hybrids? Impossible.
"She's hurt," Lucas continued, his voice projecting clearly without shouting. "And she is my guest."
"She's a leech!" a young man shouted from the back. "She's the one starving us!"
The crowd surged forward a step. The anger was palpable, a physical wave of heat.
Lucas didn't move. He didn't shout. He simply let his own aura flare. It was a dark, suffocating weight that dropped over the clearing, silencing the crickets, silencing the wind. It was the absolute authority of the Alpha.
"She is under my protection," Lucas said, his voice dropping an octave, vibrating in the chests of everyone present. "Anyone who touches her answers to me. Is that understood?"
The young man who had shouted lowered his gaze. "Yes, Alpha."
"Clear the square," Lucas commanded. "Go to your homes. Lock your doors. Double the perimeter guard. If anything that isn't a wolf crosses the line, kill it."
Slowly, reluctantly, the pack dispersed. They cast hateful glares at the tinted windows of the SUV, but they obeyed.
Lucas turned back and opened the passenger door.
Selene stepped out. Her legs felt like lead. The humidity here was intense, smelling of wet earth and wild things.
"Charming welcoming committee," she noted, trying to keep her voice steady.
"They're protecting their own. You can't blame them." Lucas looked at her arm again. The gray rot was spreading. "Come on. The clinic is this way."
He reached out to steady her, his hand hovering near her waist.
"I can walk," she said, stepping away. But as soon as her weight shifted, the world tilted. The silver poison was working fast, destabilizing her equilibrium. She stumbled.
Lucas caught her. One arm went around her waist, the other under her knees, and he scooped her up against his chest like she weighed nothing.
"Put me down!" she hissed, though she lacked the strength to fight him.
"Shut up, Selene." He started walking toward the stone building, his stride long and purposeful. "You're light. You need to eat more."
"I eat people, Lucas."
"Yeah, well, try a salad sometime."
He carried her into the main house, kicking the door shut behind them. The noise of the jungle cut off instantly, replaced by the cool hum of air conditioning and the smell of antiseptic.
He bypassed the living area and went straight to a room that looked like a field trauma center. Stainless steel tables, cabinets full of gauze, and the sharp scent of rubbing alcohol.
He set her down on an exam table. The metal was cold against her legs through the torn slit of her dress.
Lucas rummaged through a cabinet, pulling out a glass jar filled with a thick, green paste that smelled of herbs and raw magic.
"What is that?" Selene asked, eyeing it suspiciously.
"Old pack remedy. Aloe, crushed moonflower, and a few other things you don't want to know about. It draws out toxins."
"I am not a wolf. Your biology is different."
"Poison is poison." He grabbed a pair of shears. "I need to cut the sleeve."
Selene looked at her ruined designer gown. "Do you know how much this cost?"
"Less than your arm, I'm guessing."
He didn't wait for permission. Snip. The silk fell away, exposing the angry, bubbling wound.
Lucas's expression tightened. He dipped his fingers into the green paste. "This is going to hurt."
"I don't feel pain like you do."
"Trust me," he said, meeting her eyes. "You're going to feel this."
He smeared the paste directly into the open wound.
Selene screamed.
It wasn't a dignified sound. It was a raw, guttural cry that was ripped from her throat. It felt like he had poured liquid nitrogen and lava into her veins at the same time. Her back arched off the table, her fangs descending fully, her eyes turning entirely black.
She grabbed his wrist, her nails digging into his skin, drawing blood.
Lucas didn't pull away. He held her arm steady, his grip like iron, enduring her claws in his own flesh.
"Breathe," he ordered, his voice right next to her ear. "Breathe through it."
The pain peaked, white-hot and blinding, and then... it began to recede. The burning itch of the silver faded, replaced by a dull, throbbing numbness.
Selene collapsed back onto the table, panting. Her vision cleared. Her eyes returned to their icy blue.
She looked at Lucas's wrist. She had gouged him deep. Four crescent moon cuts were welling with dark red blood.
The scent hit her like a hammer.
He was an Alpha. His blood was potent. It smelled of power, of life, of everything she had lost two hundred years ago. Her stomach cramped violently. She hadn't fed since the synthetic stuff in her office, and that was hours ago. The healing process was draining her reserves.
Lucas saw her nostrils flare. He saw her eyes lock onto his bleeding wrist.
He didn't hide it. He held his arm there, inches from her face.
"You need it," he said softly. It wasn't a question.
Selene looked up at him, horrified. "I don't feed from... I don't feed from the source. Not without consent. And never from a wolf."
"You're healing. You're weak." Lucas's voice was rough. "If you don't feed, the silver will just start eating you again once the poultice wears off. You need energy to metabolize it."
"Why?" she whispered. "Why would you offer? I'm the enemy."
Lucas looked at the wound on her arm, then at the cuts on his wrist.
"Because the enemy of my enemy is my friend," he said. "And because we're not done with those Hybrids yet. I need you at full strength."
He moved his wrist closer to her mouth. The heat of his skin brushed her lips.
"Take it, Selene."
It was a command, but it was also an invitation.
Selene hesitated for a fraction of a second. Then, her instincts took over. She grasped his hand, her cold fingers wrapping around his hot forearm, and she sank her teeth into his wrist.
Lucas hissed, his head tipping back, his body going rigid.
It wasn't like the synthetic bags. It was electric. It tasted of iron and oak and fire. It flooded her system, knitting her cells back together, flushing out the silver toxin.
She drank. Deeply.
And for the first time in centuries, Selene Voss felt warm.