Wolf King (Wolves of New York #1)

by Bella Jacobs

I don’t know what’s changed, but his tone is also much mellower than usual as he says, “I’ve been thinking.”

  I sit up straighter, nodding slowly. “Thinking is…good. Usually. Unless you’re over-thinking and that can be bad. Brain running in circles and all that.” I bite my bottom lip, willing myself to stop babbling.

  For some reason chill Maxim makes me even more nervous than asshole Maxim.

  “Yes,” he says, his lips lifting ever so slightly on one side. “But I’ve been doing just the right amount of thinking. About what Diana said this morning, about helping you discover your pack gift.”

  My brows shoot up my forehead. “Really? I thought you wanted to keep me locked up alone until you heartlessly wrenched my baby from my arms and put me out on the street.”

  His eyes narrow, but his voice is still mild, almost friendly as he says, “That’s not off the table, but I’ve decided I’m willing to grant you additional liberties. As long as you promise to abide by my rules.”

  I tip my head to one side. “And those rules are…?”

  “You don’t leave your rooms unchaperoned—Hermione or I will be with you at all times. And you don’t interact with other pack members without permission.”

  “That sounds reasonable.”

  “You sound surprised,” he says.

  “I am,” I say. “Pleasantly so, and I’m happy to abide by the rules. I wouldn’t trust a stranger around the people I love without vetting them first, either. There are a lot of bad wolves in The Parallel. I promise you I’m not one of them, but you’re still smart to be careful.” I hesitate, pressing my fingertips against my mug before I add, “But I’m not sure how I can discover my pack gift without actually being around the pack.”

  “Let me worry about that,” he says. “Just be ready to leave your rooms at seven. I’ll send up something for you to wear.”

  “Okay,” I say, risking a smile. “Thank you. I appreciate that chance to earn your trust. So far, from everything I’ve seen, your pack seems…wonderful.”

  “Thank you.” He lifts a hand, motioning to someone behind me. “Christof will escort you back to your rooms. See you tonight, little wolf.”

  “Tonight,” I echo, my skin prickling all over again.

  I shouldn’t like that diminutive moniker, but when he says it like that, all husky and…hopeful, I can’t help myself.

  I don’t mind the nickname, and I wouldn’t mind being his “little wolf.”

  In fact, I imagine it would be a pretty incredible thing, to be under his protection.

  Or just…under him. Period.

  “Trouble,” I mutter to myself as Maxim walks away, leaving me with the stern-faced Christof.

  Thoughts like that are asking for trouble, but I’m not sure I can help myself.

  My hormones have a mind of their own when it comes to that Alpha, but as long as I keep my body under control, everything will be fine.

  Right?

  Chapter 10

  Maxim

  It’s been years since I’ve been to a pack performance. When I was a kid, I never missed a concert or play, but as Alpha training with Dad got more intense, there wasn’t much time for entertainment.

  And then I took over the grittier side of our pack business at eighteen—overseeing the creation and distribution of street drugs—and play time was a thing of the past. I’ve devoted myself to my area of expertise, pushing for more addictive drugs with less intense side effects, ensuring passionate, repeat customers who manage to live long, healthy lives.

  As long as they don’t overdo it, of course.

  Even our drugs can be dangerous if taken in large enough quantities, but so can milk. Or water.

  I don’t feel an ounce of guilt for what I do, only pride that I’ve managed to increase our bottom line ten-fold and fund things like the modernization of the pack theater, bringing the sound and lighting systems up to snuff with any Broadway space uptown.

  But as I dress in a gray pin-striped suit and a silver tie that will complement the cocktail dress I had sent over for Willow, it’s strange to realize it’s been twelve years since I’ve been to a live performance. Our pack is chock-full of talented-as-hell actors, singers, and musicians. As a musician himself, arts education has always been important to my father. And even though my brother and I emerged without a lick of artistic ability—that all landed in Diana’s genetic code—I’ve always been proud of this side of our people.

  We’re not just clever and capable and tough as fucking nails—we’re artists. We think and feel and create things that make others think and feel, too. This is what really separates us from the thug packs in The Parallel—we believe in fostering curiosity as well as loyalty.

  Our humanity and our wolf.

  But you were awfully quick to remind Willow that we aren’t human last night.

  I narrow my eyes at my reflection.

  Last night wasn’t my finest hour, but the inner voice has a point. Since becoming Alpha in the wake of the attack on my father, I’ve become laser focused on security. But if I let the threats to the pack turn me into a thug, then I’ll be no better than the Neanderthals in The Parallel.

  Tonight isn’t just a chance to get to know Willow.

  It’s a chance to show my pack that their Alpha values art and beauty as much as money and power.

  I’m actually looking forward to the evening.

  And then I open Willow’s front door to find her standing on the other side, waiting for me in a short, sparkling silver gown that clings to her curves and lightly applied make-up that emphasizes her plush mouth, and my anticipation grows teeth. And claws.

  Instantly, my primal side wants to rip the gown off of her and haul her off to the bed in the other room, where I’ll make her berry-stained mouth moan for me.

  But unlike her shit stain of a mate, I have control over my animal side.

  And if I did lose control and drag her in for a kiss, I’m positive she’d return it. I’d bet last month’s profits she’s every bit as interested in getting me out of my clothes as I am in ripping off hers.

  I can see it in her eyes, in the way her gaze skims up and down my body, her lips parting and a soft sound of appreciation slipping out as I offer her my arm.

  “Ready?” I ask, ignoring the thickening behind my fly as her fingers curl around my bicep.

  “I think so,” she says, curiosity animating her features as I lead her down the thickly carpeted hall toward the elevators. “I take it we’re bound for somewhere fancy?”

  “Our theater company’s performance of Fiddler on the Roof, then dinner after at the rooftop bistro.”

  A delighted sound bubbles up in her throat. “Oh my God, that’s my favorite old musical! I used to watch it all the time when I was kid and sing all the songs. Drove my dad crazy. He hates musicals, but Mom, Kelley, and I were addicts.” A shadow passes behind her eyes as she adds in a softer voice, “But you probably knew that. About Kelley.”

  “No, actually, I didn’t,” I say, pressing the down button. “We were too busy getting into trouble for wholesome distractions.”

  She glances up at me from the corner of her eyes.

  “Yes?” I prompt after a moment.

  “This is a very…wholesome activity. And not what I was expecting.”

  “You were thinking we’d what? Snort some Poof and go attack humans in the park?”

  She laughs. “No. I thought maybe sipping bourbon in a dark bar. Or…watching an MMA fight or something. Something dark and broody and Alpha-ish. Definitely not musical theater.”

  “Alphas can appreciate art, too, little wolf,” I say as the elevator dings and the doors glide open.

  “Not the ones I’ve met,” she murmurs as we step inside, her fingers curling a little tighter into my arm. “It’s a nice surprise. Thank you.”

  “It’s also a chance for you to be surrounded by my pack without interacting with them. We’ll have our own private box to the right of the stage.”

&nbs
p; She pushes up on her tiptoes, her shoulders lifting closer to her ears as the car zooms downward. “Wow. That’s…awesome. I’ve never been in a private box before. To be totally honest, I’ve never been to the theater at all. We could never afford it.”

  “Then we’ll make sure your first time is perfect,” I say, the words bringing to mind less pleasant “first times.” I hadn’t meant to bring this up so soon, but I’m sure she expects I’ve watched her recorded statement from this morning by now. “And for what it’s worth, last night should have been perfect for you, too. Pax should be castrated. Slowly, and painfully.”

  She looks up at me again, pain, gratitude, and something else—something hopeful, but maybe a little frightened—mixing in her gaze. “Thank you. That…means a lot.”

  “It shouldn’t. No man—human or wolf—should ever behave that way. Compassion in this situation should be something you can take for granted, not something you’re grateful for.”

  She arches a challenging brow. “Indeed. I’ll remind you of that the next time you’re being a complete Alpha-hole.”

  My lips quirk. “I wouldn’t do that. I don’t enjoy having my words thrown back in my face.”

  “Then don’t give me a reason to throw them.”

  I fight a wider smile, forcing my features back into their serious mask before I say, “You’re awfully mouthy for a Beta.”

  “And you’re awfully gentle for an Alpha. When you want to be,” she says as the car slows to a stop. “That was intended as a compliment, by the way.”

  “So was mine.” I motion toward the doors as they open. “Shall we?”

  “We shall,” she says, a new smile on her face, one that I like even better than her sweet smile.

  It’s a smile that says maybe I’m not a complete Alpha-hole, after all.

  That shouldn’t matter. It usually wouldn’t—only a handful of people’s opinions matter to me and random women I’ve just met aren’t anywhere on that list—but there’s something about this little wolf.

  Something about her strength and sweetness. Something about the way she’s swift to judge, but just as swift to forgive.

  Something that…I like.

  And then we step out of the hallway into the nearly empty lobby of the theater and her face lights up like her every secret wish has been granted, and I like her a little bit more.

  “It’s so beautiful,” she says, her eyes shining as her gaze shifts from the Art Deco-inspired lobby with its elegant statues and gleaming bar to me and back again. “It’s the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen.”

  Before I can respond, the orchestra launches into the overture inside the theater and Willow’s eyes go wide.

  “Oh, we should hurry. I don’t want to miss a second of it,” she says, grinning up at me. “I’m so excited I seriously don’t know what to do with myself.”

  I grant myself the luxury of returning her grin and say, “You tell me what you want to drink. I’ll place our order and Pierre will deliver them to our box when they’re ready. And it’s just the opening music. We still have plenty of time.”

  “Okay,” she whispers, her lips pressing together as she nods. “That sounds great.”

  And it does, damn it.

  Chapter 11

  Willow

  It was just a smile.

  People smile all the time, even Alphas like Maxim Thorn.

  But the voice of logic is no match for the butterflies still fluttering wild wings inside me a good fifteen minutes later. I suffer the effects of Maxim’s smile long after we’re settled in our seats and the overture is drawing to a close.

  He’s a beautiful man no matter what expression is currently animating his features. But Maxim when he smiles…

  God, he’s…an angel.

  Or a devil.

  Surely, if the devil were real and in the business of wooing souls from mortal women, he would send a man like Maxim to do his dirty work.

  I value my soul. A lot. But I would seriously consider mortgaging a teensy-tiny bit of it for the chance to bask in Maxim’s smile for a night. Maybe even more than a teensy-tiny bit.

  The woman who wins that smile for keeps is going to be very lucky indeed. I’m starting to think the rest of the man isn’t all bad, either. He’s been almost…charming this evening.

  Of course, that might just be because he thinks I was brutally attacked last night.

  And I was.

  I wasn’t lying about that part.

  But still…I’m starting to feel guilty, and I’m not sure for what. I absolutely deserve compassion after what I’ve been through—whether Pax succeeded or not. If another woman were in my place, I would emphatically insist as much and encourage her to tell as many lies as it took to get Maxim and his people to show her the mercy she deserves.

  But it’s so much easier to show others mercy.

  Like so many women I know, I’m far harder on myself than I would ever be on a girlfriend.

  Still, the icky feeling is bad enough that I find myself brainstorming ways I might be able to break the news of what really happened to Maxim in a way that wouldn’t end in getting back on his bad side.

  Permanently.

  But then, the curtain rises and Tevye takes the stage for the opening number, and I forget everything outside the world the performers are creating. They are so talented and perfectly cast. In minutes, I’m swept away in the magic. I loved every second I spent watching movie musicals with my mom and sister as a kid, but this is so much better.

  The energy flowing from the stage, the shared laughter and waves of emotion that pass through the audience, the way Maxim discreetly presses his linen handkerchief into my hand when the Russians rush in and ruin the wedding at the end of Act I, and I can’t help tearing up—it’s all so much more intense than anything you get from a screen.

  By the time the lights come up for intermission, I’m a wreck, but in the best way.

  “So good,” I tell Maxim, sniffing and smiling and doing my best to wipe my eyes without smearing my mascara. “I can’t believe how good. It’s a completely different experience than the movie. And the actors are amazing. They’re all North Star pack members?”

  “The actor playing Tevye is from the Orlando Crescent pack, but yes, the others are all ours,” Maxim says, studying my face with an almost mystified expression.

  I sniff again, doing my best to put myself back together. “What? Am I ridiculous?”

  He shakes his head slowly. “No. Not at all. Just…”

  I press my lips together, then prompt, “Just?”

  “Defenseless,” he murmurs. “Everything you think and feel shows on your face.”

  I swallow, guilt and a whisper of fear swirling in my chest as I hope at least a few things are staying under wraps.

  “Not everything,” I say, fighting the urge to spill my guts. Confession isn’t always good for the soul and it certainly won’t help me stay alive. At least not until I can figure out a way to do it without destroying the good will Maxim and I are building. “And I’m not defenseless, just transparent. But I think that’s a good thing. People shouldn’t be ashamed of their feelings, and it’s hard enough to form a connection with another person as it is. If you hide what you’re really feeling…” I shrug. “Well, that makes it a lot harder to find your folks.”

  His eyes narrow. “Your folks.”

  “The people who see the world the way you see it, who like you for you. You know,” I say, allowing a teasing note to creep into my voice, “like the way you feel with the other gorgeous, grumpy, super bossy Alphas. At home, and in good company.”

  His lips slide into another smile, smaller than the one before, but even sexier. It’s somewhere between a smirk and a grin and it makes my heart beat faster even before he extends his arm along the back of my chair and leans in to whisper inches from my face, “Flattery will get you nowhere, little wolf.”

  I stand my ground, refusing to shift backward when his lips move even closer to mine.
“Who said that was flattery? I actually prefer modestly attractive, good-tempered, team players.”

  “Is that right?” he asks, a smile in his voice, though I can’t see it.

  He’s too close.

  So close I can smell the hint of smoky bourbon on his breath, and it makes me ache for a taste. But I don’t want to sip from his glass, I want to brush my lips against his, swirl my tongue through his warm mouth, discover if Maxim Thorn is as good at kissing as he is at everything else.

  I have a feeling he would be, a feeling he would ruin me for all other men, all other mouths.

  “So those are your ‘folk,’ then?” he continues, his breath warm and delicious on my lips. “The cheery team players?”

  I shake my head the tiniest bit, afraid to move too much for fear of breaking the spell. “No. I’m not cheery all the time. And I can be a tad too…independent for most team projects. I’m sure if you ask the head of my old lab, he’d say independent is just another word for difficult.” I swallow, letting my tongue slip out to dampen my lips as I add, “I’m not sure I’ve found my folks yet. But I think, when I find them, they’ll be kind and curious. Creative and compassionate and…fearless. Or pretty close to it.”

  “Are you fearless, Willow?” he murmurs.

  “No,” I confess. “But I want to be. And…”

  I’m about to say, “I want to kiss you.” I’m about to lean in and do it—make the first move with not just an Alpha, but the leader of one of the most powerful packs in the world.

  In other words, I’m about to take my life in my hands. After something like that Maxim would have a choice between rejecting me forcefully enough to put me in my Beta place or approving forcefully enough to establish dominance. Either one would be very bad for my future here.

  But before I can make a potentially devastating mistake, a loud booming sound fills the theater, shaking the walls and sending shouts of dismay rippling through the crowd below.

  Maxim and I both jerk our heads toward the stage in time to see the orchestra pit explode, sending wood and pieces of instruments flying into the air.