by Zoe Chant
Nick swallowed, trying to choke down the rush of desire that had washed over him at that image. He needed to focus on his job, not on sexual fantasies. Once Raluca was absolutely safe and no longer needed his protection, he’d have the jerk-off session of the century.
Destiny frowned. “Hey, are you Nick’s client, or are you still unassigned? I’m free.”
“She’s mine,” Nick said immediately. He heard the possessive snarl in his own voice, saw Destiny staring at him like he was a lunatic, and added, “Hal already assigned her to me.”
“Whoa, really?” Destiny laughed. Nick glared; Destiny laughed harder. “Guess he wasn’t kidding about forcing you to get comfortable with high society.”
Nick couldn’t help glancing at Raluca, just as she glanced at him. Both instantly covered their reactions, Nick with a “you got me” eye-roll and Raluca with a haughty stare.
“Hal suggested you, Destiny,” Raluca put in smoothly. “I would have agreed, but a female escort would be unusual at a formal ball. For my purposes, it seemed better to hire a man.”
“Makes sense,” Destiny said. To Nick’s relief, it didn’t seem to occur to his teammate to doubt that explanation. As far as he was concerned, no one ever needed to know exactly why he’d volunteered. “But why do you need protection?”
Raluca briefly summarized her situation and needs. When she was done, Destiny borrowed Nick’s phone and typed in a list of places, helpfully labeling them “haute couture” (whatever that meant; fancy, Nick supposed), “clothes for nightclubs,” “nightclubs,” and “hotel.”
“Let me know when you go clubbing,” Destiny suggested to Raluca. “Or any time you’d like to have a girls’ night out. I know Nick’s your bodyguard, but we can trade for a night. And you said you wanted to see how the other half lives. Sometimes that’s different for men and women. There’s a couple places I could take you with my girlfriends where Nick couldn’t get in the door. At least, not unless he stripped and let us all stuff dollar bills into his jockstrap.”
Hot blood rose to Nick’s face as Raluca let out a chiming laugh. “That sounds charming. I would be delighted to meet your friends, Destiny.”
Before Destiny could say anything more about jockstraps, Nick cleared his throat. “Okay, great. Thanks, Destiny. Raluca, let’s get going. I want to get you set up with everything you need before I take you to your hotel for the night.”
He hustled Raluca out. Though he knew Protection, Inc. was safe, his bodyguard instincts were in full swing the moment he left the locker room, scanning for danger and always keeping himself between her and anything potentially threatening. When they reached the underground parking garage, he halted her to inspect it, sniffing the air for enemies, before he was satisfied that it was safe to lead her to his car. Even so, he walked between her and the other cars, his gaze wary, until he unlocked his Dodge Viper and held the door open for her.
She settled into it, making an odd gesture that puzzled him until he realized that she was reaching to sweep in skirts that she wasn’t actually wearing. Raluca caught his gaze as he slid into the driver’s seat and jerked her hand back, looking embarrassed. “I am not accustomed to trousers.”
“I can tell.” Nick took the sports car from zero to sixty, darting out of the garage and merging into traffic. He drove aggressively, daring the other cars to get out of his way, leaving a trail of angry gestures and honks behind him. This seemed to irritate Raluca; he could practically feel her biting her tongue.
Finally, she said, “I take it you are not concerned about discretion.”
“Nope.” Nick swerved into the left-hand turn lane, forcing some rich asshole in a BMW to stomp on the brakes or collide, then zipped on to the freeway. Traffic was flowing nicely; the Viper skimmed in and out of lanes like the lean, mean driving machine that it was. No one even tried to follow them.
“You want discreet, you get Shane,” Nick said as he left a nice Ferrari eating their dust. “But discreet isn’t the only way to go. Look around: is anyone following us? If they were, they’d have a hell of a time keeping up. And I’d notice.”
He hadn’t expected Raluca to understand, or to admit it if she did. But as he spoke, she turned her head to examine the traffic streaming behind them. “Indeed. They would be most conspicuous.”
“Plus, it’s more fun this way.” Nick stepped on the gas. “You’re a dragon. You like speed, right?”
Raluca gave a tilt of her head, which he read as agreement with reservations. “I enjoy the wind.”
Nick hit a button, lowering her window. “It’s not flying, but...”
The cool air whipped back her silver hair. Raluca smiled. “Close enough.”
He brought the Viper to a fast but smooth stop in front of Girasol, the nearest place on the list Destiny had given him. He’d never heard of it before, but that didn’t surprise him; it was the one labeled ‘haute couture.’ It was in one of the ritziest neighborhoods of Santa Martina. Nick hadn’t been there in years.
He handed his keys over to the valet and fell into step protectively beside Raluca as they approached Girasol, holding up a cautious hand to scan the interior before he let her inside. It held few hiding places beyond the doors; a small number of jaw-droppingly fancy dresses were scattered on mannequins, but most of the place was empty space and white marble.
Every single person, from other customers to the sales clerks to the fucking valet, was better-dressed than Nick was. His shoes clomped on the floor, which was polished to such a brilliant sheen that he actually left scuffs on it. Nick wasn’t a huge guy like Hal, but he felt like a bull in a china shop. Or like a wolf in a designer clothing store.
While Raluca too was underdressed, the salespeople universally looked from her posture to her jewelry and approached her with deep and sincere respect. Nick could see that they weren’t worried that she couldn’t afford their undoubtedly terrifying prices, or that she’d come to browse rather than buy. He’d learned a thing or two in his years as a bodyguard, and one was how to read faces. They’d taken one look at her, and correctly identified her as their customer of the year.
He could also tell that they’d taken one look at him, seen that he didn’t belong, and were trying to figure out his exact relationship to Raluca. Inappropriately dressed bodyguard? Vaguely thuggish distant relative acting as a chaperone? Bad news boyfriend?
Raluca had been right. Nick did look out of place, and he did feel uncomfortable. Not only that, but he was making the salespeople uncomfortable too. They didn’t know how they were supposed to treat him or how much power he had or how much of an asshole he might be, and that probably had them worried that he might complain about them. They were employed at a shop for snobs but they were still working people, like him, and he was making their jobs harder. It was clearly his day to accidentally be a dick.
As opposed to being one on purpose every day, his wolf said helpfully.
Shut the fuck up, Nick snarled back. If I’m a dick, it’s because someone was asking for it.
“Please, have a seat,” said a saleswoman, indicating a set of plush chairs. She addressed Raluca, but gave Nick an uncertain glance, obviously unsure of whether he should be included. “Would you like a latte while we review your needs? Or a cocktail, perhaps?”
So that was how the other half lived. Go clothes shopping, get a free cocktail. No wonder rich people looked so goddamn smug all the time.
“A cocktail, please,” said Raluca. “Refreshing. Cool. Not too sweet.”
Raluca was clearly enjoying herself, in her element for the first time since they’d met. She gracefully settled into the offered chair, then glanced quizzically up at Nick.
“Ignore me,” Nick said to the room at large, trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice. “I’m her bodyguard. I can’t drink or sit on the job.”
Everyone, including Raluca, looked relieved to have that made clear. The salespeople promptly ignored him and focused their laser-like attention on Raluca.
&
nbsp; “I found myself in Santa Martina unexpectedly,” Raluca said. Nick couldn’t help admiring the smoothness with which she both explained her lack of clothing and preemptively squelched any awkward questions about it. “I am in need of at least one outfit for every occasion. Including one couture ball gown.”
“Ah!” The salespeople’s eyes widened with delight. Nick figured they had to be working on commission. Raluca had probably made sure everyone’s rent was getting paid for the next few months, not to mention a couple trips to Disneyland.
He kept a lookout for assassins, of course, but his finely tuned werewolf senses would tip him off long before Raluca would be in any actual danger. So he was free to breathe in the scent of her iced cocktail— vodka, cucumber, mint, and something floral— and watch as she extended a graceful foot to have a selection of shoes placed on it.
Nick had never had any particular thing about feet, but watching the saleswomen put shoes on Raluca was making him reconsider. Her ankles were slim and flexible. The high arch of her foot curved like the doorway to some ancient palace. Her skin was perfect, her soles unmarred by calluses.
Everything about her was perfect — her grace as she stood to walk around in a pair of black stiletto heels, the turn of her head as she inspected a slithery silk dress, even the bob of her throat as she sipped her drink.
Raluca set the glass down on a tray. “I would like to try on some clothes.”
“I have to check the dressing room,” Nick said immediately.
The salespeople looked slightly offended, but Raluca said, “Of course.” To them, she added, “I cannot give details, but you will see why I need him when you help me change.”
She meant the bulletproof vest. But something tugged at Nick’s chest when he heard “I need him” come from her lips, in her chiming tones. It made him wish she meant more than that he was just a human bulletproof vest, an annoying but necessary protection. He wished she meant she’d needed him, Nick, as a person.
As a mate, his wolf growled.
Shut up, Nick snarled.
He checked the dressing room for traps or bugs, gave the saleswoman a quick once-over to make sure she wasn’t carrying anything lethal, and then reluctantly stepped out. The saleswoman pushed in a rack full of dresses and shoes, jackets and skirts, blouses and bras. And then she and Raluca shut the door in his face.
Nick stood outside for a very long time, trying not to think of Raluca naked in there, with nothing separating them but a door.
Ours, growled his wolf. Our dragon princess.
Fucking drop it, Nick silently retorted. She’s not into us. This is just a job.
Ours. His wolf’s snarl was inside his head, but it seemed to reverberate through his entire body. His nerves hummed like the engine of his Dodge Viper.
“Nick?” Raluca opened the door a crack. All he could see of her was a bit of her face and one storm-gray eye.
Nick jumped. “Yeah?”
“I would like a man’s opinion.”
Raluca opened the door a little wider. A saleswoman emerged with a full rack of clothes; another saleswoman rushed inside with a tray of cocktails, then ducked out again without it.
Once the flurry of movement subsided, Nick caught sight of slightly more of Raluca: part of her firm jaw, half a set of luscious lips, a cheekbone that might have been carved from marble, and one arched eyebrow. And that was it. She was standing back from the door, the rest of her obscured by another rack of clothes. He couldn’t even tell if she was wearing any —
A slim ivory hand beckoned him inside. He stepped into the dressing room. Once he was inside, Raluca emerged from behind the rack.
To his disappointment, she was fully dressed. Sort of. She wore a black silk sheath dress, backless and low-cut. Simple, but hella sexy.
Other than that, the room looked much as it had when he’d first checked it: a velvet loveseat the color of red wine, a rack of clothes, a table that now had the bullet-proof vest and Fiona’s black fatigues folded atop it, one wall that was a floor to ceiling mirror, and a tray table that now held an array of cocktails. Nick leaned over to sniff at the drinks.
“What are you doing?” Raluca demanded. She sounded as if she’d caught him jerking off. In church.
“Checking for poison, of course,” Nick replied. “Or drugs. What did you think I was doing?”
“I do not know. It seemed odd, that is all. You did not smell my first drink.”
“Of course I did. You just didn’t notice. You were too busy getting your feet fondled.”
Raluca glared at him. “You mean, ‘trying on shoes.’ You make it sound as if I was committing some obscene act!”
“Same to you,” Nick replied promptly.
“I —” Raluca seemed about to snap at him, then cut herself off with visible effort. “I suppose I did. My apologies.”
Once again, Nick felt adrift. She had accused him, but when he’d accused her back, she’d accepted the blame rather than escalating the argument. He undoubtedly had looked weird. And there was no reason for her to be used to the idea that someone might try to poison her. Forcing her to apologize for something that wasn’t her fault was a dick move.
Again.
“It’s not your fault,” Nick said. “You hired me to protect you, so I’m protecting you. If you already knew all this stuff yourself, you wouldn’t need a bodyguard.”
“No, I still would,” Raluca admitted. “Even if I could scent poison, I cannot fight. I suppose the drinks are safe?”
Nick nodded. “They’re fine. Help yourself.”
Raluca glanced at the tray, then at Nick. “Detecting poison — is that a werewolf ability? Or something anyone can learn?”
“Both, I guess. I have sharp senses, even for a wolf. But they’re not magic or anything. I’m not totally sure the drinks aren’t poisoned.”
Raluca, who had started to reach for the tray, jerked her hand back. “What?!”
Nick shrugged, trying to keep his amusement off his face. Raluca was so easy to tease, he couldn’t resist it. “Some poisons and drugs don’t have scents. I can tell you that no one spiked your drink with cyanide, or anything else with a distinctive smell. Or dragonsbane, of course.”
Raluca gave a lofty shrug. “Even I can recognize the odor of that. But how do you know of it?”
“Lucas told us about it: how it stops dragons from shifting and hurts them if they’re splashed with it. How it’s poisonous if you drink it. He brought some to the office so we could all learn what it smells like. The antidote, too: heartsease. We all carry little vials of it with us, now.”
Raluca had been watching him intently. Her silver eyes narrowed. “You sound angry.”
“I saw Lucas after he’d been poisoned with dragonsbane. He didn’t say much about it — he doesn’t talk about anything he thinks might make him look weak — but he’d obviously been to fucking hell and back.” Then Nick remembered that Raluca had been there when Lucas had been poisoned, in his home country of Brandusa. “But you know that. You were there when it happened.”
Raluca shook her head, sending her hair swinging like a sheet of liquid silver. “No. Oh, I could see that he was ill. And he did say that he’d been forced to swallow dragonsbane. But I thought he meant one drop, not half a bottle. And he said he’d already taken the antidote. I had no idea of how serious it was, or I would not have left him. By the time I found out, he had long since recovered.”
“Yeah, that’s Lucas,” Nick said. “Guess he thought it was unmanly or something to say he’d been poisoned and he might be dying.”
“Lucas is proud,” Raluca replied. “Dragon princes are taught to be so. Even so, I cannot imagine what it must have been like. I have only been touched by dragonsbane once in my life. Even a dragon princess must experience that pain, so if we ever are attacked with it, the shock will not be such that we will be unable to defend ourselves. My uncle Constantine poured a single drop on to my hand, and made me sit with it for an hour before allowing m
e to wash it off and take heartsease. The pain was like nothing I have ever felt, before or since. And to be forced to swallow it —!”
Raluca shivered. Nick moved closer, instinctively protective even against an imagined threat. “Baby, that will never happen to you. Never. That’s what I’m here for, okay? Nothing’s gonna get past me to hurt you.”
“I believe you,” Raluca whispered.
Her tremors subsided, but an angry heat burned within Nick at her story. She was so delicate, so helpless. It had been cruel to hurt her, even if had been meant as life-saving training. Constantine’s motives had probably been mixed at best.
Lucas had told Nick how Constantine had tried to force Raluca and Lucas to marry so he’d have power over them both, and then tried to assassinate Lucas and his mate Journey. Sure, Constantine was in a dungeon in Brandusa now, but it wouldn’t surprise Nick one bit if he was somehow orchestrating the attempts on Raluca’s life from behind the scenes.
Raluca drew in a deep breath, straightening her spine and stepping away from Nick. The moment of vulnerability vanished as if it had never been, leaving nothing behind but the hard princess shell.
“Enough of such unpleasant topics,” Raluca said. “I am certain that they will never come to pass. Nick, I have selected most of my wardrobe in consultation with the saleswomen, but I wished to get a man’s perspective on a few dresses, if you will. Then we will be done here.”
“Sure.” Nick took the opportunity to check Raluca out thoroughly while pretending he was just inspecting her outfit. “The dress is hot. Uh. I mean pretty. I like it.”
Raluca’s eyes rolled so hard, he was surprised they didn’t go bouncing across the room. “This is a slip, Nick. An undergarment. I have not yet put on the dress.”
“Oh.”
Since Nick obviously couldn’t say anything right, he decided to shut the fuck up. He watched in silence as Raluca wriggled into a floor-length dress, then posed for him.
The skirts flowed around her hips and legs like water, floating and rippling in every shade of blue, as if she had risen dripping from the ocean. While the skirts were feather-light and loose, the blouse was skin-tight and covered in sparkling jewels shading from sky-blue to sapphire to a blue so deep it was nearly black.