He wants blood

Selina’s POV

It started with the flowers. Three white calla lilies. Sitting quietly in a crystal vase on my office table.

There was no note, no delivery receipt, and no receptionist confirming anything had arrived.

They were just there.

I stared at them like they were something alive, something waiting to bloom and bite. Clean. Elegant. Precise. The kind of gesture designed to make you question your own memory. Had you ordered them and forgotten? Had someone slipped past your security and made a fool of you?

Or worse… was it a message?

My stomach twisted as I stepped closer, heels silent against the Italian marble floors. I didn’t need to touch them to know they were real.

I’d smelled this exact arrangement before.

Five fucking years ago. In his bedroom. Before everything burned.

“Vera,” I said, tapping the button on the intercom. “Did you authorize any deliveries this morning?”

Her voice came through calm and composed, as always. “No, Miss Carter. You specifically requested no contact today. No press. No internal visitors. No packages.”

“Security sweep the office?”

“Twice. This morning. Once before you arrived, once an hour ago.”

“And?”

“Clean.” I froze. “You’re saying something got in?”

I stared at the lilies, their soft white curves glowing softly beneath the sunlight cutting through the floor-to-ceiling windows. A memory flashed—my fingers in his hair, his mouth on my skin, that vase on his nightstand filled with the same flowers.

“No,” I lied. “Just checking.”

I ended the call before she could press. No need to raise the alarm. I didn’t touch the flowers. I left them there. Let them sit like the quiet threat they were.

I made it through the morning pretending to work. My team brought updates on hostile takeover negotiations, client calls, and press response drafts. I nodded, signed, and approved.

But my mind kept drifting back to the calla lilies. Back to the way Lucas used to run his fingers along the edge of my jaw while murmuring that I looked like something dangerous wearing a silk dress.

“Beautiful. Fucking deadly. Just like the flowers,” he’d said once, voice rough, eyes dark.

I’d laughed at the time. Called him poetic for a wolf. Now, I wasn’t laughing.

He was reaching again. This was how he hunted—slowly. Quietly and calculated. He didn’t come at you with fangs. He came with silence and patience, circling until you thought you were safe.

Then he’d strike. The next lapse came at 11:24 a.m. It was small and barely noticeable.

The private elevator to my penthouse office activated—on its own.

The access panel blinked green. The doors opened. Then closed. No one exited. No one entered. No card swipe registered in the security log.

“Mechanical glitch,” the head of security told me when I called it in.

Bullshit.

This building was designed by the most paranoid shifters money could buy. Magic-enforced entry systems. Dual-authentication doors. Spell-protected data cores. There were no glitches here.

Only ghosts. And Lucas wasn’t a man—he was a haunting. And he wanted me to know it.

By early afternoon, I pulled Vera aside in the executive lounge and gave the order.

“Activate the relocation protocol.”

She blinked once. “You’re sure?”

“No. I’m not. But Damon’s safety doesn’t get the benefit of certainty.”

She didn’t ask anything else. That’s what I loved about Vera. Efficient. Brutal when necessary. Loyal without being emotional.

“Prepare the secondary safehouse. Full rotation. Emergency exit only. Give no names. Don’t notify the driver until I’m in the car. Copy?”

She nodded, tapping it into her secured tablet. “Yes, ma’am. Everything will be in place by sunset.”

I leaned against the wall as she left. Took a slow breath.

I didn’t feel fear.

I felt… pressure.

Like gravity was shifting around me. Pulling things out of orbit. Tilting the floor beneath my heels.

I didn’t let myself sink into that feeling for long.

But it was there. And it was growing.

I arrived at Damon’s school thirty minutes earlier than usual.

No warning. No scheduled pickup. No car tracker.

I walked straight in, heels clicking, eyes cold, the familiar weaponized calm cloaking my every move.

His teacher’s assistant spotted me in the hall. “Oh! Miss Carter, hello. We weren’t expecting—”

“I’m aware.” I gave her a tight smile. “Just here to pick him up early.”

“Of course.” She didn’t question it. That was somehow smart.

Damon came barreling into the hallway a moment later, backpack bouncing, face bright with that same spark I’d always loved and feared.

“Mom!” he shouted. “You’re early!”

“I missed you.” I crouched down and caught him in a hug, breathing in the scent of sunshine and cinnamon snacks and childhood.

I needed this moment. Needed the grounding. I needed the reminder that this—he—was the only reason I kept standing.

“Is everything okay?” his teacher asked behind me, concerned.

“Everything’s perfect,” I said.

But it wasn’t. And I could tell Damon knew. Because when I stood, his hand stayed in mine. Tighter than usual.

I took him straight to the penthouse. Shut off the news. Disconnected the landline. Ordered the staff out.

We ate dinner on the rooftop terrace, under a dying orange sky, his legs swinging off the seat while he told me about some kid named Mason who tried to eat a glue stick.

I smiled. Laughed at the right moments. Pretended to be present.

But the whole time, my eyes scanned the perimeter.

Every skyline, every shadow. and every flicker of movement across the street.

Nothing. No signs. No obvious tails.

But the feeling was still there.

The hum beneath my skin.

The sense of being watched.

It hit after midnight.

I woke up with my heart racing.

Not from a dream.

From instinct.

I sat up, breath held, scanning the bedroom. Everything looked untouched. I moved to Damon’s room, still silent, still careful.

He was asleep. Curled into his blankets, one hand tucked under his cheek.

But the window…It was unlocked.

I never left it unlocked.

And neither did the staff.

I closed it quietly, locking it again, and drew the curtains.

My fingers were steady, but my blood wasn’t.

This wasn’t a coincidence; this was pressure.

He wasn’t attacking. He was reminding me I was vulnerable.

That no matter how powerful I became, he could still find a way in.

And that if I didn’t stop him, he might take everything.

By morning, I had four emergency protocols running simultaneously, all off-grid. Vera didn’t question it. Neither did Gage, my private enforcer.

But I saw the look in their eyes. They knew who was behind this. And they knew it wasn’t just about business anymore. It was personal. It had always been personal.

Because Lucas Blackwood didn’t just want revenge.

He wanted blood.

He wanted his blood.

And no matter how much I told myself I was prepared…

I wasn’t sure how much longer I could hold the walls.