Vincent Wolf didn't believe in coincidence. He believed in hard facts and cold truths.
Reality was never as kind as fairy tales. If it were, he wouldn't have had to bury his father in an unmarked grave. Or watch his mother leave in a yellow cab, never looking back at the two boys she'd abandoned. Never have to shelter Ryan from the truth of things. So when the Hoodman Heiress showed up perched at his bar, right after their meeting, he knew something was afoot.
Had Elenor sent her? Was she here to renegotiate? And who's the brunette? A friend? A cohort?
When he'd questioned her, listening for the lie between heartbeats, she'd seemed just as surprised to see him here. Yet Vincent still scented the sour note of deception during their conversation. He just couldn't pinpoint what it meant. The little cocktail dress was an improvement though, his mind wandering to the way the thin fabric hugged every one of her curves. Annoying as she was, she cleaned up nicely.
If Ryan were here, he'd have made some rubbish comment about how it was fate she'd showed up at the same time. Destiny, that he'd been able to pick out her unusual scent amongst the smothering stench of sweat and perfumes. But then again, Ryan was a romantic, too soft-hearted and outspoken, and he was happy he'd left him at the office to finish reviewing an investor proposal so he didn't have to endure the torment of his teasing.
The pulse of dance music thumped in his skull, soothing the frustration coiled in his belly as they descended into the V lounge. A den of debauchery and pleasure for the shifter community. Laid out much like any club, with rows of private booths along the back, where glittering pixie dust powdered tables and noses as shifters lounged back, giving themselves over to the high. It was packed tonight- good for business.
Waitresses bustled back and forth from the bar tucked in the corner, passing shots on the dance floor and bottles to booths. While on the raised stage on the far right, dancers twirled with their legs up around poles to the whistles of the crowd, inviting patrons up to join in the fun. A place where shifters could be themselves whatever form that took without prejudice or restraint.
There was a strict human form code in the club section, though- for safety. He'd made the mistake of allowing animal forms before and it cost him a small fortune in repairs, not to mention the holes in the cushions. So they'd expanded, buying the warehouse behind the bar and tunneling an access to provide a place where shifters could stretch their fur and fangs. It was Roman's idea to start an underground fight ring there that had been gaining popularity over the last year.
A small hand curled around his wrist, causing him to pause at one of the booths where three fox shifters sat in human guise. "Hey handsome! Care to have your threads read?" A small brunette asked, her eyes traveling to his wrist, inspecting what only they, as servants of Aphrodite, could see. "Your love thread has quite the history!" She purred, flashing a pointed-toothed smile.
He pulled out of her grip, trying to control the scowl on his face. Uh matchmakers.
"No, thank you."
"But-"
"I prefer the mystery. But please, enjoy yourselves, ladies." He marched in long strides, putting as much distance between himself and those meddlesome little Vixens as he could, not liking the knowing smile the brunette had flashed him. He almost turned back to ask, but the price of their knowledge was always too high, and tonight, he needed to focus. To come up with a plan. There had to be a way, a cure. A something... Hope. What sort of Pack Leader couldn't even offer that?
"Vincent?" Hector placed a hand on his shoulder, snapping him back to attention. "What's wrong with you today? Your mind seems elsewhere. Did that witch do something earlier?"
"I'm fine." He shrugged Hector's hand off as they passed through the side door into the tunnel.
"Are you sure?" His stern face softened with parental worry. Hector was the closest thing to a father figure after his father's passing. The price of keeping their status as top crime syndicate in the Manhattan area had cost his father's life and his mother's sanity. Hector was the one that helped solidify his place as Alpha of the twelve Lupus clans- eight now- after the gang wars.
It was hard to take the man seriously in an office though, looking like a Barbarian in Armani. He'd asked him several times to trim his shoulder length mane and that thick brown beard, having intimidated potential investors in the past. But the 'wife' apparently liked it, so it stayed as did Hector, out of those meetings. Despite the face fur and stoic nature he was a loyal friend, one Vincent trusted with his life.
"How's the Dead Rabbit doing?" He changed the subject.
"The pub's revenue is lower than last quarter, but still enough that we're turning a profit. The one I'm worried about is Roger's. He hasn't reopened the pizzeria since Grace died and the kids..."
Vincent noticed the worry lines crinkling Hector's eyes, marring his already weathered face. Hector had a soft spot for the orphans, with three little ones of his own and a fourth on the way.
"Is he not attending the meeting tonight?" Jakob interrupted.
"I haven't been able to get a hold of him." Hector replied.
"Send someone down to check on him. We're still several months out from finishing the kids center... Damn city permits." Vincent cracked his knuckles, releasing the tension. Yet another thing to juggle.
They dipped into a side-door off the tunnel just before the warehouse entrance. The roar of cheers grew louder as Vincent climbed the stairs to a private booth above the warehouse, overlooking the fight ring below, where the crowd snarled and howled for their champion.
He held open the door for Hector and Jakob, noticing three leaders had already arrived. At the long table, lined with twelve velvet backed chairs, sat Sam, Emilia, and Miguel, conversing. Jakob made a break for the bar cart in the corner, helping himself to a generous pour of brandy.
A wall of soundproof glass shielded them from the noise of the cage match below, where two black bear shifters barreled into each other, swiping with sharp teeth and large paws.
Soft chandelier lighting bounced off the dark wood-paneled walls, giving a den-like fee. It was a room that served to address more sensitive subjects; where to clean money, run drugs and omit threats. Vincent took a seat at the head of the table under the looming portrait of his Great Grandfather, Reinhard, who'd sailed the Mayflower to New York to claw out his fortune in blood.The right half of his face scarred from brow to chin, in the portrait, but his left blue eye stared out sharply, reminding him of the legacy he had to live up. The role he would never be good enough to fulfill.
"Pour me one too." Vincent nodded to Jakob and loosened his tie, settling in. Including Sam, Emilia and Miguel; Hector, Jakob and himself were here as Clan Heads, and Roger was absent so that only left-
"Hello, Vinny." A tall blonde walked in, hips swaying with all the confidence and purpose a strong, beautiful woman should possess; qualities a leader should possess.
"Val. Glad you could make it." Vincent gave a nod of greeting, her fitted white jumpsuit leaving little to the imagination.
Valerie's cherry lips parted into a glistening smile as she stood behind his chair and placed a hand on his shoulder, giving it a familiar squeeze. "Anything for my fiancé."
"Have a seat Val," he sighed, already feeling a headache forming. He wanted to remind her the engagement was a family promise, as children. One he didn't intend to fulfil, because he was too fucking busy trying to stop wolves from dropping like flies in Manhattan. "Shall we start?" With all member's seated and present there was no need for small talk. "Miguel, how goes the research?" His head turned to the wiry Spaniard, whose almond eyes held drooping bags and his tie askew, matching the odd angle of the cow lick poking from short brown hair.
Miguel looked as tired as Vincent felt, and as the Financial Lawyer for the clan, he'd been pulling all-nighters to find any malpractice, misfiling, something that could grant them an excuse to audit the Hoodman Group- not just Corner Sweets.
Vincent suspected if there was anything to find it would be well hidden. Miguel shook his head, stifling a yawn and Vincent slid him his drink, a tight smile hiding his disappointment.
"Thanks." He took it with a grateful sip.
"Val." Vincent addressed his head of marketing next. "Did the Chairwoman agree to that meeting?" After his stunt today he'd hoped he'd made his point well enough to merit a chat. The whole point of buying that company Corner Sweets had been to get a seat on the board. Get up and close to the reclusive Coven head and hopefully a private meeting where he could be candid with their situation, but she had evaded his invites up until now, instead saddling him with her Granddaughter, for what purpose he wasn't sure yet.
Val tugged at a strand of blonde waves, eyes falling to a scuff on the table. "Sorry, no. I reached out to her secretary this afternoon, but she declined, again."
"Damn, I thought for sure taking the company would have been enough." Miguel ran fingers through his hair, mussing it up till he looked more like a cockatoo.
The dejection across the room was palpable. Vincent's hand's curled to fists under the table, he needed to get a hold of the situation; he was the Alpha, the leader. His brain scrambled for words of encouragement but Elder Jacob was the first to speak.
"Perhaps they're not involved then," he offered between sips of whiskey.
"Really? If anything, her refusal seems more suspicious. If she had nothing to hide wouldn't she want to talk? Negotiate the company back or Vincent out of a seat on the board?" Val asked.
"Perhaps, but with such a large Coven backing them, is this even worth pushing?" Jakob rebutted. His age was a testament to his caution. A wolf doesn't survive in the underworld as long as Jakob had without a healthy dose of fear.
"Yes. It is risky," Vincent spoke, "but I think we're on the right trail." His instincts were never wrong and after today it was telling him to dig further.
"Maybe she doesn't care." Sam piped up, fingers twining on the table with her mate, Emilia's, for support. Her cool gray eyes hid behind thick frames as they darted around the room. She preferred screens to face
The petite blonde was head of software development. Often talking in java script riddles that made his head spin, but she was smart and her mate Emilia, a bio lab analyst at NYC Hospital, had been the first to take the lead in finding a cure and always gave due consideration to their input.
"Why do you say that?" he asked.
"It's a small company. Maybe it's not valuable enough. She's giving you the money bag middle finger." Sam shrugged. It made sense... He felt like a child scheming to get a cookie from the jar only to realize she'd had a whole pantry full.
"Goddess, she's right." Miguel added, "In the grand scheme of the Hoodman Group, the value of that company is like a tax write off. Why didn't I think of that? We should have gone for something bigger." But it was too late, they had already exhausted their free cash flow.
"So what now?" Emilia asked. "I haven't been able to isolate the molecule yet. Maybe it's not a protein? If I just had a better screening process..." She trailed off to a mutter.
"English love." Sam tucked a strand of brown curls behind Emilia's ear.
"I haven't made any progress with a cure." Emilia confessed.
"Great." Val threw her hands up in dramatic fashion. "So we're back to square one. Why are witches so damn stubborn?" She rolled her eyes like every one of them was a problem. Even ones that didn't know they were witches... "You think we could contract the Dream Witch to look into their memories, just to be sure? We could drug em at a party and-"
"Wait-" Vincent thought he might have something.
"You know Nymeria doesn't associate with other witches." Hector piped up, who had been quiet thus far.
"What about a warlock? I hear they contract with devils. I'm sure if we paid enough?"
"Quiet please." Vincent attempted to reign in Val's verbal vomit as she prattled on.
"And witch on witch violence wouldn't violate OSC laws," she added.
"SILENCE!" Vincent snapped, pressure filling the room like a vacuum sucking the air out of their lungs. The wolves choked and gasped, clawing at the wood of the table as they bent under the immense pressure of his command, his Aura. Obedience. A skill passed through his family. An Alpha skill and the main reason he rose to power after his father, against those older or more experienced. It only worked with simple one word commands, but once infused with his Aura it could not be disobeyed by any shifter species beyond another Alpha.
Slowly he released the pressure of his hold. The council took heavy breaths as they righted themselves in their chairs. His teeth clenched. He didn't enjoy exercising force but his instincts-his wolf-would not tolerate disrespect in his domain. He paused a moment more, all eyes on him. Silent. Still.
Good.
"I think I have leverage that will gain the Chairwoman's attention. It seems her granddaughter doesn't know anything about witches or the supernatural world, even though she is one. I believe the Chairwoman has intentionally been sheltering her. We can use that as blackmail."
The salty musk of fear still tinged the room as the council looked to one another with nervous glances, wondering who would be the first to speak.
"You sure she doesn't know anything?" Val was the first to pipe up-surprise.
"Fairly certain. She smells"-wonderful- "like a witch. And when I asked about the Order she seemed to know nothing of true magic, or our kind."
"I could smell the magic on her." Jakob said, backing Vincent.
"Odd. Why wouldn't she know?" Sam cocked her head like she was trying to piece together a string of code.
"Exactly," Vincent pointed to his members, "And therein lies our leverage. Why would the head of the largest Witch Coven in the State pull the wool over her own granddaughter's eyes? We'll use this information to gain a meeting with her."
"Then what? If they really are responsible for releasing this sickness..." Miguel was being a wet blanket to his flame of inspiration. His eyes narrowed and the lawyer's jaw clicked shut.
"As I've said at prior meetings, once we confirm the who and why, we negotiate for an antidote or continue trying to procure one." Vincent stood, leaning his hands on the table, in an effort to end the meeting and go pop a pill for the rager of a headache. "And if that falls through, we do what our clan does best." He grinned, "we hunt."