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He guides me with a light touch on my lower back (which I should object to, but don’t) toward a small terrace off the main ballroom. The night air is a welcome relief from the heat building inside me. The city sprawls below us, a testament to pig engineering and predator displacement.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Percy says, leaning against the stone balustrade. “When my grandfather came here, this was all mud and underbrush.”

“It was a thriving ecosystem,” I counter. “Home to dozens of species.”

“Who now live in climate-controlled comfort with indoor plumbing and broadband internet.” His tusk catches the moonlight as he smirks. “Evolution, Ms. Wolfhart.”

“Forced eviction isn’t evolution.”

He turns to face me fully, and the playfulness fades from his expression. “You really care about this, don’t you? It’s not just political posturing.”

“Of course I care!” My voice rises despite my best efforts. “Wolfstone is the last piece of our heritage that hasn’t been paved over or turned into an ‘exotic wildlife experience’ for prey tourists. It matters.”

Percy studies me with unexpected intensity. “Then propose an alternative.”

I blink. “What?”

“An alternative development plan.” He shrugs those broad shoulders. “If you’re so convinced we’re doing it wrong, show me the right way.”

I narrow my eyes. “Are you serious?”

“Deadly.” He steps closer, and suddenly the terrace feels much smaller. “I’ve read your file, Ruby. Master’s in Environmental Engineering from Meadowland University. Thesis on sustainable urban development. You’re not just an activist with a picket sign—you’ve got actual expertise. So use it.”

I’m momentarily speechless, from his unexpected knowledge of my background and the fact that he called me Ruby instead of Ms. Wolfhart. And the way he said it—like he’s savouring my name.

“I… could draft something,” I say cautiously.

I take the card he offers me, trying to ignore how my fingertips tingle when they brush against his. Must be the adrenaline of confrontation, though something feels off. I’ve been on edge all evening, attributing it to the stress of the mission, the uncomfortable heels, the too-tight suit.

“Have it on my desk Monday morning,” he says, and I’m suddenly aware of how dry my mouth is, how each breath brings his scent more sharply into focus.

That’s when it hits me—the signs I’d been ignoring all evening.

A warmth blooming low in my belly, the heightening of my senses, a sudden hyper-awareness of Percy’s scent—sandalwood and ink and male.

No. Not now. Not here.

My heat cycle, arriving four days early and with spectacularly bad timing.

Biology doesn't care about your politics, your pride, or your five-year plan.

Percy’s nostrils flare, and his pupils dilate.

He knows.

“Are you alright, Ruby?” His voice drops an octave, the concern in it seemingly genuine.

“Fine,” I lie, taking a deliberate step back. “Just warm. I should go.”

He follows, closing the distance I tried to create. “Your scent changed.”

“That’s not an appropriate observation,” I say, willing my biology to behave itself.

“Appropriate?” he chuckles, the sound rumbling through me like distant thunder. “We’re past that, I think. You’re in heat.” There is a tenderness and a hint of concern in his voice.

I should slap him. Report him to the event security for harassment. Storm away in righteous indignation.

Instead, I stand frozen, my body betraying me with each passing second.

“This doesn’t change anything about Wolfstone.”

“Of course not.” He has the audacity to look amused. “But it might make our negotiations more… interesting.”

“There will be no ‘negotiations’ of the kind you’re implying,” I say, even as my traitor body leans imperceptibly closer to him.

Percy’s smile is slow and knowing.

“I’m implying nothing. Simply observing that we both might benefit from continued conversation in a more comfortable setting. Our penthouse has an excellent view of the city’s planning model, including Wolfstone. I could show you exactly what we’re proposing.”

It’s the thinnest pretense I’ve ever heard. We both know what he’s really offering. What’s worse, we both know I’m tempted.

“Your brothers—” I begin.

“Are heading out of town after the gala and won’t be back until tomorrow.” His gaze is steady on mine. “Just me, you, and a scale model of disputed territory. Completely professional.”

I almost laugh at the absurdity. “Professional.”

“Unless you’d prefer otherwise.” His voice is silk wrapped around gravel, and my resistance is crumbling by the second.

I should say no.

Every rational part of my brain is screaming to get out of here, to put as much distance between myself and Percy Porkwell as possible.

I hate these males. Hate his brothers. Hate what they’ve done to our community.

But my heat-addled body has other ideas, and the wolf in me—the primal, instinctual part—is already deciding this mighty, powerful male is exactly what I need tonight.

“Show me this model, then,” I hear myself say. “But I’m not agreeing to anything beyond that.”

His smile widens, showing the full, impressive length of those tusks. “Of course not. My car’s waiting downstairs.”

And that’s how I ended up in Percy Porkwell’s penthouse, my professional integrity compromised and my panties following shortly thereafter. From righteous indignation to writhing beneath a pig in record time—surely some kind of rock bottom for wolf kind.

Except now, hiding in his closet while his older brother discusses my ancestral land’s destruction, I realize I’ve found a way to sink even lower.