Rival Bid

The auction room pulses with barely contained avarice, a symphony of designer cologne and calculated desperation. I move through this marble cathedral of commerce like a hunter reading the wind, cataloging scents, marking exits, assessing threats. The Eclipse Towers might as well have my name etched into its foundation; my wolf has already claimed it in the primal language of territory and need.

My platinum cufflinks catch the light as I adjust them, a small territorial marker among these sheep masquerading as predators. The irony isn’t lost on me that in a room full of humans playing at dominance, I’m the actual apex predator wearing the most civilized mask.

Sotheby’s Commercial Division understands theater. These glass walls frame Seattle’s skyline like a trophy case, while polished steel and cold marble create the illusion of neutrality. But I know better. This room breathes conflict where fortunes are won and lost on the subtle flex of a wrist, the calculated pause before a bid.

My territory sense prickles as I cross the threshold. Someone’s attempted to mask their scent here, layering artificial notes over something more primal. Interesting. Irrelevant, but interesting.

“Mr. Collins.” The auctioneer’s deference carries the weight of recognition. His pulse quickens not from fear, but from the instinctive awareness that I’m dangerous in ways his human mind can’t quite categorize.

I claim my preferred position with deliberate precision. Third row, left side. Clear sightlines to all bidders and exits. The positioning broadcasts confidence without arrogance, a lesson learned from years of corporate warfare where perception often matters more than reality.

This place should already carry our scent, my wolf intrudes, his voice a constant counterpoint to my human calculations. These mortals play with territories they’ll never understand.

I silence him with practiced control, though his restlessness bleeds through my composure. Business first. The primal satisfaction of claim and conquest can wait.

The Eclipse Towers represents more than fifteen million in projected revenue. More crucially, it borders three existing Collins Development properties, completing a territorial block that would make my ancestors howl with approval. The Syndicate’s forced liquidation has created opportunities for those with capital and cunning, opportunities I’ve positioned myself to seize.

My phone vibrates against my ribs. Leah’s text appears: “Robert from Devilwood Pack just arrived. Back corner.”

I don’t turn. Don’t acknowledge. A subtle inhale confirms her intelligence: sandalwood and mountain air, the signature of Sullivan’s territory. His tech empire might dominate Silicon Valley, but commercial real estate remains my hunting ground.

“Quite the turnout for distressed property.” The voice slides across my awareness like oil on water. Jackson Wheeler, a human who inherited wealth but none of the instincts to keep it. I’ve smelled his indiscretions on him at three separate charity functions.

“Distressed is perspective,” I reply, each word precisely weighted. “The Eclipse Towers has excellent bones.”

Wheeler’s laugh grates against my enhanced hearing. “Good bones won’t offset remediation costs. The place is practically condemned.”

Let him think it’s a money pit. Humans can’t see what I see: the convergence points threaded through the foundation like golden veins, the ley lines pulsing beneath the parking structure, the remnants of Syndicate experiments that my pack can cleanse and repurpose. After their exposure, properties like this became toxic to conventional buyers but invaluable to those who understand supernatural real estate.

The auctioneer’s microphone crackles to life, drawing attention like a conductor raising his baton. Crystal glasses sing their final notes as servers make last rounds with champagne I decline. I need my senses diamond sharp.

“Ladies and gentlemen, bidding begins momentarily for Lot 34 the commercial property at 1120 Western Avenue, formerly the Eclipse Towers.”

Claim it. Mark it. Make it ours.

Soon, I promise my wolf. Soon.

The presentation unfolds with architectural renderings, market analyses, zoning minutiae. Human concerns for human bidders. I already know every shadow and corner of this property from my team’s reconnaissance. The HEI technology hidden in sub-basement levels. The spelled mortar designed to dampen pack bonds. The exact cost of supernatural remediation once ownership transfers.

Eight million appears on screen at sixty percent of market value. A steal, complications included.

Then the doors open.

Not a grand entrance, but precise. Measured. Just enough force to draw every eye without appearing desperate for attention. The scent reaches me before I turn: jasmine and steel wrapped in deliberate chemical camouflage that can’t quite mask the truth underneath.

No pack markers. No submission signals. Pure, controlled power walking on stiletto heels.

Davina Kincaid.

The recognition hits my wolf like a physical blow, his assessment slamming into my consciousness with enough force to make my fingers tighten on the armrest.

Female Alpha. Rival. Potential mate.

Fuck.

She moves through the crowd like water finding its level. Charcoal suit tailored with surgical precision, blood-red silk that matches her lipstick, heels that bring her nearly to my eye level. Her dark hair catches the light, that distinctive platinum streak a genetic marker I recognize from bloodlines older than this city.

Human eyes see a striking businesswoman. I see a predator entering territory I’ve already claimed in my mind.

The auctioneer falters slightly before recovering his professional rhythm. “As stated, bidding opens at eight million dollars.”

Davina selects a seat five rows ahead, directly in my line of sight. Deliberate positioning. Our eyes meet for one electric moment before she dismisses me with calculated indifference. The slight sends my wolf bristling beneath my skin.

She challenges us. Here. On territory we’ve already taken.

The bidding begins like a careful dance. I raise my paddle for the opening volley, establishing dominance early. Wheeler and a Hanover Trust representative make incremental moves. Amateur hour. Nine million flows from my lips without hesitation.

Sullivan enters at nine point five. Predictable, but manageable. Ten million is my counter.

Throughout this financial foreplay, Davina watches. Observes. Calculates. Her paddle remains motionless, but her presence saturates the room like smoke from some exotic fire. Each bid increase leaves her heartbeat steady while others accelerate. The chemical mask can’t completely hide the subtle shifts in her scent. She’s enjoying this theater, watching alphas circle each other in civilized combat.

“Thirteen million.” My voice carries absolute certainty.

Sullivan hesitates. His tech empire provides deep pockets, but this isn’t his expertise. Real estate requires different instincts than digital innovation. The pause telegraphs his uncertainty.

“Thirteen million going once...”

I allow myself a small smile. The Eclipse Towers and its supernatural secrets will belong to Collins Development within heartbeats. Another acquisition. Another territory secured.

“Thirteen million going twice...”

“Fifteen million.”

The voice cuts through the room like tempered steel, feminine but commanding, without a tremor of uncertainty. Davina’s paddle rises with deliberate slowness. She doesn’t look at me. Doesn’t need to. She knows exactly what she’s done.

Stunned silence blankets the assembly. The bid jump violates every unspoken protocol of these proceedings. This isn’t strategy. It’s declaration of war.

Kill her. Take her. Claim her. My wolf’s contradictory demands surge through my bloodstream, heating my skin despite the room’s careful climate control. My canines press against my tongue, a physical manifestation of rage I haven’t experienced in public since claiming Alpha status.

“Fifteen million from Ms. Kincaid,” the auctioneer confirms, unable to mask his surprise. “Do I hear fifteen point five?”

I have the liquidity. Collins Development could counter without strain. But Davina’s move transcends finance. It’s psychological warfare. She’s signaling depths I hadn’t anticipated, willingness to overpay specifically to deny me.

“Fifteen point five.” My voice remains steady despite the volcanic fury building behind my sternum.

She doesn’t hesitate. “Sixteen.”

Finally, she turns to meet my gaze directly. Her amber eyes flash gold for one microsecond, a deliberate display only I could catch. The corner of her mouth twitches almost imperceptibly.

She’s enjoying this.

The thought burns through me, equal parts rage and something far more dangerous.

“Sixteen million from Ms. Kincaid. Mr. Collins?”

The room dissolves. There’s only Davina and me, locked in primal assessment disguised as business transaction. My body responds before my mind processes. Blood rushing, muscles tensing, adrenaline flooding every nerve ending. The human part calculates ROI and leverage ratios. The wolf part wants to vault across these chairs and pin her to the marble until she bares her throat.

Or until I bare mine.

The thought crashes into me with physical force. My wolf has never, not once in fifteen years of Alpha status, considered submission to another wolf.

She is worthy. She is our equal. She could be our mate.

“Mr. Collins?” the auctioneer prompts.

I force myself to break eye contact. “Sixteen point five.”

Her scent shifts instantly. Sharper, more metallic. Excitement. Challenge. She’s drawing me out, testing my limits.

“Seventeen million.”

The murmurs crescendo. This has transcended normal commerce. Everyone senses it, even the humans who can’t understand what they’re witnessing. Territorial dispute between Alphas, playing out through proxy warfare of capital.

I could go higher. Should go higher. The strategic value justifies twenty million without strain.

But this isn’t about the building anymore. It’s about dominance. About establishing who controls this interaction. If I continue bidding, I’m playing her game by her rules.

“Seventeen million from Ms. Kincaid. Mr. Collins, do I hear seventeen point five?”

I lean back with deliberate casualness. “She can have it.”

Audible gasps ripple through the assembly. No one expected Collins Development to withdraw from this property. Least of all Davina, whose momentary eye-widening betrays surprise before practiced indifference reasserts itself.

“Seventeen million going once... twice... sold to Ms. Kincaid for seventeen million dollars.”

The gavel’s finality echoes through my bones. I maintain composure, nod respectfully to the auctioneer, and rise. Around me, conversations explode as spectators dissect the unexpected conclusion.

Her victory scent spikes with clean, predatory satisfaction. But underneath lurks something else. Curiosity. Confusion at my withdrawal.

Perfect. Let her wonder. Let her think she’s won something today.

I stride toward the exit with controlled movements, tracking Davina in my peripheral vision. Her heels click across marble, moving on a trajectory that will intersect mine at the doorway.

She comes to us. She wishes to engage.

I adjust my path, ensuring our meeting appears coincidental. Professional courtesy demands acknowledgment. Primal instinct demands confrontation.

We reach the threshold simultaneously. Close enough that our scents mingle despite her chemical camouflage. Close enough to hear the subtle acceleration of her heartbeat.

“Mr. Collins.” Smooth. Controlled. With an edge of something dangerous.

“Ms. Kincaid. Congratulations on your acquisition.” The words taste like ash.

Her eyes flash gold again, deliberate provocation. “I hope there are no hard feelings. Business is business, after all.”

“Of course.” I maintain professional mask while my wolf claws at my ribs. “Although I wonder if you’ve fully evaluated the property’s... special considerations.”

Her smile tightens fractionally, the first crack in her perfect facade. “I assure you, I’m well aware of what I’ve purchased. Including its proximity to your other holdings.”

The implication crackles between us. She didn’t just buy a building. She bought strategic position in territory I’ve been systematically acquiring.

“Then you’ve considered remediation costs for the sub-basement. Syndicate properties often have... lingering effects.” I let the statement hang, watching for reaction.

Nothing. Not even a flicker. Either she knows about the HEI technology, or she’s the finest poker player I’ve encountered.

“Nothing I can’t handle.” Her gaze drops momentarily to my throat before returning to my eyes, an assessment no human would recognize but that sends electricity down my spine. “I look forward to being neighbors, Mr. Collins.”

Take her now. Against the wall. Show her who’s Alpha. My wolf’s demands flood my system with inappropriate heat. Images flash: her back against marble, those calculating eyes glazed with want, her blood-red lipstick smeared across both our mouths.

I clamp down with brutal efficiency. “I’m sure our paths will cross again soon.”

“Count on it.” She holds my gaze three heartbeats longer than necessary, then turns and walks away with every step a deliberate display of confidence.

I watch her retreat, unable to look away despite fury still pumping through my veins. My wolf refuses to retreat to the deeper parts of my consciousness where he usually resides during business hours.

She will be ours, he insists. One way or another.

For once, I don’t silence him. Because beneath rage and territorial possessiveness, a more disturbing truth emerges: part of me, the human businessman part, not just the primal wolf, is intrigued. Davina Kincaid just paid seventeen million for a property worth fifteen million at most, specifically to challenge me on my territory.

I’ve never encountered another Alpha who plays the game like I do. Especially not one who makes my wolf consider impossible things like partnership rather than domination.

As I exit into Seattle’s crisp afternoon air, my phone vibrates. Security, no doubt wanting to know how we’re responding to this territorial incursion.

I let it ring. I need to think. To strategize. To understand why my response to Davina Kincaid feels so fundamentally different from any rival I’ve ever faced.

One certainty crystallizes in the space between one heartbeat and the next. This isn’t over. Not by a long shot.