The Billionaire Wolf's Claim

Chapter 1

* * *

He didn’t manage talent. He created legends—then reminded the world who’d built them.

Through Stavros Entertainment, he controlled the hottest supernatural stars on the planet.

Sirens with platinum records, vampires who sold out arenas, shifters who broke bones in underground fight clubs just to keep their beasts fed.

If you were supernatural and wanted fame, fortune, or survival in a cutthroat world?

You worked with Stavros.

Period. End of discussion. Drop the mic.

Aeolus didn’t mingle with the performers. He left the coddling, hand-holding, and talent-wrangling to his exec team. They called him when contracts needed enforcing, or when someone needed… disappearing.

He didn’t babysit stars.

He protected investments.

And no investment had ever returned more buzz, more dollars, more obsession—than Candy Laurent.

She wasn’t just some shimmering siren with a voice that could melt stone and strip inhibitions. She was a living phenomenon. A Tony Award-winning enchantress whose performances didn’t just move audiences—they shattered them. Her magic was in her voice, yes, but her presence? It lingered like a hex.

Even Aeolus—who had never seen her in person—knew her power. He’d never shaken her hand. Never had the “welcome-to-the-empire” lunch. She wasn’t a fighter, wasn’t a risk. She was a dream asset. And her team adored her.

“She’s a sweetheart,” his PR director had once said, sipping a martini with murder in her eyes. “So if anything ever happens to her, I’m torching Broadway.”

Which was why, when his phone buzzed at 12:17 a.m., lighting up with Reed - Candy’s Manager, Aeolus was already on edge.

He picked up on the first ring.

Voice like steel drawn across stone. “Talk.”

The voice on the other end was a stammering mess. “Sir—uh—Candy’s being stalked.”

Aeolus went still.

No twitch. No breath. Just frozen silence that could’ve dropped the temperature of the entire penthouse.

His pulse didn’t even kick up.

But in his mind?

He was already sharpening claws.

“Explain,” he said. One word. Razor-sharp.

“A vampire. He’s been… leaving gifts. Showing up outside her penthouse. Slipping backstage at the theater.” Reed’s breath came in panicked gulps. “We’ve increased security, but he keeps getting through. We didn’t want to escalate it until—tonight. We think he’s going to show.”

Aeolus’s fingers curled tighter around his whiskey glass. His grip was lethal. Unforgiving.

“A vampire.” His voice dropped into something ancient and brutal.

He imagined the leech’s scent—blood and rot. The arrogance it took to stalk someone under his banner.

“And you’re just telling me this now?” Aeolus asked, deathly calm.

“We thought we could manage it,” Reed said quickly. “But she’s on stage right now. He’s backstage. I—”

Crack.

The whiskey glass shattered in his hand. Shards glittered like blood-soaked crystal. Liquid spilled over his knuckles. He didn’t even glance at the mess.

Candy Laurent.

The sweet, untouchable siren.

His siren now.

Not just because she was under contract. Because someone had chosen to hunt her. Which made her his responsibility. And Aeolus never let a threat go unanswered.

This wasn’t about entertainment anymore.

It was about territory.

Dominance.

Retribution.

“I’m on my way,” he said flatly, and ended the call.

He stood, brushing the glass from his palm like it offended him for breaking before he could throw it. Blood dotted his skin. Didn’t matter. He welcomed the sting—it reminded him someone had fucked up.

His brothers, lounging across the lavish room like apex predators waiting for prey, stirred.

Atlas leaned against the marble bar, eyes unreadable.

Ares sat on the edge of the billiard table, all quiet violence.

Adonis was already watching him like a wolf scenting the shift in wind. His power was the kind that made rooms tense and alpha wolves submit.

“You’re leaving,” Adonis said, his voice flat, but brimming with the kind of tension that meant he’d follow if Aeolus said one word.

Aeolus pulled on his coat, shrugging it over his broad shoulders. “One of our clients is being stalked. A vampire. I’m going to correct that.”

Atlas gave a low whistle. “Let me guess. Candy Laurent.”

Aeolus didn’t answer, but the tick in his jaw said everything.

Adonis rose to his full height. The room darkened with the sheer pressure of his presence.

“And you’re going alone?”

Aeolus smirked. That wicked, lazy grin that promised violence served cold.

“You think I can’t handle one bloodsucking fanboy?” he drawled. “Please. It’s adorable that he thinks backstage passes equal immunity.”

Adonis’s eyes flared gold. “She’s been watched for weeks, Ae. This thing’s already slipped past security. That doesn’t sound like an obsessed fan. That sounds like a setup. You sure this isn’t bigger?”

Aeolus rolled his shoulders. “Then I’ll make a bigger mess.”

Atlas raised a brow, dry as ever. “You know Candy’s not one of your backroom fighters, right? She’s a Broadway goddess. The press will explode.”

“I’ll make sure there’s nothing left for them to report,” Aeolus said with a wolfish grin. “No body. No evidence. No comment.”

Adonis stepped closer, voice low and thick with alpha command. “Make an example of him.”

Aeolus’s smirk dropped.

His eyes turned to ice. “I intend to.”

He stalked past them, boots heavy against marble, his beast rising like a storm behind his ribs.

One thing was certain:

Someone was about to learn what happened when you laid hands on a woman protected by Aeolus Stavros.

You didn’t just die.

You were erased.

* * *

Candy Laurent had performed in front of thousands.

She had bewitched audiences from the West End to Tokyo. She’d earned standing ovations so loud they rattled the chandeliers, accepted awards with blood-red lipstick and a signature wink, and been hailed as the siren who could break hearts and bend wills with a single note.

But tonight?

Tonight, something was wrong.

The moment she stepped into the spotlight at the center of Broadway’s most coveted stage—draped in crimson silk, her voice gliding through the rafters like a spell—her skin prickled.

The audience was still. Breathless. Drunk on the sound of her voice, as they always were. Every note shimmered with layered magic—powerful, seductive, meant to enchant both human and supernatural alike. And it worked.

But the hair on the back of her neck refused to lie flat.

Something stalked the shadows.

Something vile.

She forced herself through the final verse, pouring her magic into every syllable, weaving protection between melody and harmony. A crescendo built. Her hands stretched wide as the final note broke free of her lips.

And then—

Blackness.

Every light in the theater died. Stage, house, backstage—snuffed out in a heartbeat.

A collective gasp swept the crowd like a ripple of panic. She could feel them shifting in their seats, whispering. But Candy didn’t move.

Because she wasn’t alone.

Footsteps rang out.

Slow. Heavy. Confident.

Moving across the stage, toward her.

She didn’t need to see him to know.

Vampire.

The scent hit her like a slap—damp soil, old blood, rotting roses.

Her lip curled. It was him. The stalker.

The one who had slipped past security and wards for weeks.

The bastard who left her gifts dipped in blood and notes scented with her own perfume.

The one her manager said “probably just wanted an autograph.”

She’d warned them. She’d warned everyone. And now it was too late.

A voice emerged from the dark—low and slithering, with all the arrogance of the damned.

“Ah, my songbird. Did you think you could ignore me forever?”

Candy’s heart pounded, but her rage burned hotter than her fear.

“You’ve made a mistake,” she said calmly, fingers flicking at her sides. Magic answered her call instantly, swirling up her arms in golden sparks. “A fatal one.”

Golden light flared around her, cloaking the stage in a soft shimmer. The audience wouldn’t see it—her magic filtered out the illusion—but onstage, the truth was unveiled.

And there he stood.

Tall. Pale. Drenched in designer black and malice. His fangs gleamed, his expression smug.

“Walk away,” Candy warned, her voice steel and silk.

The vampire chuckled darkly. “Oh, sweet thing. I’ve come to collect you.”

Wrong answer.

He lunged.

Fangs bared. A blur of unnatural speed.

But Candy was faster.

She spun, her arms sweeping in a wide arc as magic pulsed from her fingertips. Her voice rose—low and sharp this time, like the beginning of a war chant—and light exploded outward.

A wave of raw energy blasted into the vampire, sending him skidding across the stage, boots screaming against wood. But he caught himself, crouched low, and snarled.

Too strong.

Too fast.

And then—pain.

Searing. Blinding. Agony.

Candy gasped, staggering back. Her fingers flew to her side. Wetness soaked through her dress. Her knees hit the floor with a crack that echoed in the dark.

She looked down—silver.

A bullet. Lodged deep, burning like holy fire.

Spelled.

Son of a bitch.

He hadn’t just come to terrorize her—he’d come to kill her.

Her magic sputtered, waning. Her breath came shallow. Her limbs refused to obey her commands. Panic clawed at the edge of her control.

No.

Not like this.

But then—

The atmosphere changed.

The temperature dropped, thickened, twisted with something other.

A presence stormed into the space.

It didn’t walk.

It arrived.

Like a storm breaking through glass.

Candy’s head swayed, vision swimming. She forced her chin up, blood in her mouth, teeth clenched.

And saw him.

Aeolus Stavros.

She didn’t need an introduction.

Her magic knew him.

So did her soul.

A golden glow lit his eyes—burning with promise, with fury, with claiming. His frame was massive, shoulders broad as sin, his presence more beast than man. He stepped onto the stage like it belonged to him. Like the world did.

He moved toward her with measured menace, each stride a threat.

And the vampire noticed.

“What the hell are you?” the bloodsucker hissed, backing away.

Aeolus didn’t answer.

Didn’t need to.