LUNA Madison

"One billion."

The auction hall went graveyard silent. Madison didn't look back at the rows of stunned Alphas. She kept her eyes on the digital board where the Cain Pack’s ancestral hunting grounds—Lot 402—flashed in glowing red numbers. Beside her, Victoria Cain’s face looked like it had been dipped in bleach. Gregory Cain was vibrating, his hands clutching the velvet armrests so hard the seams groaned.

"One billion and one dollar," a voice rumbled from the back.

The sound didn't just carry; it bit. It was a heavy, gravelly baritone that made the hair on Madison's neck stand like needles. Ethan Harper. The Cursed Alpha. He sat in the shadows of the VIP booth, his golden eyes tracking her movements like a hawk watching a field mouse. Every wolf in the room was hunched over, their instincts forcing them to submit to the raw, suffocating pressure of his aura.

Madison didn't bow. She didn't even blink.

"Two billion," she snapped, her voice cutting through his dominance like a silver blade. "And don't waste my time with single digits, Mr. Harper."

A collective gasp hissed through the room. Austin Reynolds, sitting three rows back, stood up and then sat back down, his mouth hanging open. "What the fuck? Where did she get that kind of cash?"

The hammer fell. Three times. The deed to the Cain's land was hers.

Madison stood up, her silk heels clicking against the marble as she headed for the VIP lounge. She needed a drink and a breather from the thick scent of posturing males. She reached the bar, but before her fingers could touch the glass, a shadow swallowed her.

Ethan Harper was there. He didn't walk; he just appeared. He was a wall of black wool and muscle, smelling of ozone and crushed cedar. He stepped into her space, forcing her back against the mahogany bar until she felt the edge bite into her spine.

"You’ve got balls, little wolf," Ethan growled. He leaned down, his face inches from hers. His breath was hot, masculine, and dangerous. He inhaled deeply near her ear, his jaw tightening. "But you smell like the moon. Not a pack wolf. Not a stray. Why do you have the scent of a celestial event?"

Madison shoved his chest. It was like pushing a mountain. "Move. Your personal space issues aren't my problem, Harper. And my scent? That’s for me to know and for you to lose sleep over."

"You outbid me for an artifact earlier too," he said, his hand snaking out to trap her by the waist. His grip was a vice, fingers digging into the soft flesh above her hip. "Nobody outbids the Harper Group. Nobody survives the arrogance you're displaying."

"Then I'll be the first," Madison spat. She grabbed his tie, yanking his head down. "I’m not some omega you can scare into a corner. I own the ground you’re standing on now. Literally."

Ethan didn't snarl. He didn't snap her neck. Instead, a dark, twisted grin pulled at his lips. The golden fire in his eyes flared, the pupils blown wide. He wasn't looking at an enemy. He was looking at a miracle. The bond hit him like a freight train, a silent, invisible tether snapping into place between his ribcage and hers.

Mate.

Madison felt the pull too—a sudden, violent heat in her lower belly that made her thighs ache. She hated it. She shoved him again, this time with a burst of her Celestial strength that actually made him stumble back a half-inch.

"Stay the hell away from me," she warned, her voice trembling with a cocktail of rage and sudden, unwanted arousal. She turned and stormed out of the lounge, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird.

Ethan watched her go, his fingers twitching where they had touched her skin. He could still feel the electricity of her.

"Sir?" his assistant whispered, stepping out of the shadows. "Do we intercept the deed transfer? We can crush her in court."

"No," Ethan said, his voice a low, dangerous purr. "We protect her. From everything. Even from herself. And if the Cains breathe in her direction? Burn them."

Across town, in the decaying Silver Moon packhouse, Gregory Cain sat in his office. He was nursing a glass of cheap bourbon, trying to figure out how to pay the interest on their loans.

A courier knocked. He didn't wait for an answer. He slid a thick, gold-embossed envelope under the door and vanished.

Gregory tore it open. His hands shook so violently the paper rattled. It wasn't a bank statement. It was an Eviction Notice.

"LEAVE BY DAWN. THE LAND HAS A NEW QUEEN."

Gregory roared, throwing the glass against the wall. The bourbon stained the wallpaper like old blood.