by Cecilia Lane
He hadn’t even meant to stop in the city. His brother was the one who dropped out of the sky and Adrien followed. He caught the scent of the streets and people and food and filth and under it all, the scent of her.
Mysterious. Sweet. Tangy. And utterly ephemeral. One second there, and then vanished in the next. He’d had to drag himself away from a city that didn’t contain his mate, and his dragon hated him for it.
Adrien bit back his growl of annoyance. At himself, at his dragon, at his brother, he couldn’t say. Damien’s clan infighting was a problem for another day and another dragon. Adrien had no patience for politics or his silent dragon, and even less patience for the damn bowtie around his neck.
He eased a finger under the fabric and glared at his brother. “Is it over yet?”
Damien clapped him on the shoulder and pushed another shot glass toward him. “We haven’t even started. There are ripe, eager women inside. Think about the fun we could have. I bet none of these wolves have seen a dragon before.”
“And I bet none will. Wolves don’t mate outsiders. I’m sure the Wolf King would love to make an example of you.”
“I wasn’t talking about anything more serious than a night.” Damien grinned wickedly.
Adrien swept a hand in front of their faces, painting the scene before him. “Wall-mounted cock will suddenly become the decor everyone wants. I aim to keep mine firmly attached to my body.”
“No sense of adventure. Are you sure you’re my brother?” Damien grinned again and pulled a silk mask over his face.
“Let’s get going,” Adrien said before he could be urged. He tugged his own mask over his eyes and nose, leaving his mouth bare, then pushed away from the wall and strode toward the huge doors thrown open. Welcoming light spilled into the courtyard, but he saw an entrance to hell.
They took their places in the receiving line. Custom, he’d been told. The Wolf King and his enforcers would get a good whiff of guests while they took a gift of salt and bread. Any wishing ill upon the Conri line would be sussed out immediately, masked or not.
One of the enforcers took their invitations as they neared the front, read them over, then nodded. For an event where everyone was to remain hidden behind masks, they had top-notch security. Only an invitation with the Wolf King’s seal would allow entrance, and only those of high breeding or importance would receive an invitation. Adrien almost expected to be fingerprinted and his genome decoded before he was allowed close to the Conri leader.
“Donal, Honora.” Damien inclined his head first to the Wolf King, then to the Consort. “We thank you for the invitation.”
A waiter presented them with a tray of bread torn into hunks and a dish of salt. They each took a piece, swiped it lightly in salt, then popped them into their mouths.
“You are most welcome. We are glad to extend you our hospitality,” Honora murmured, then gestured to her side. “Please proceed.”
Adrien slid his eyes to Damien. If he’d been hoping for some sly word, he’d been moved along quickly. He vowed to keep an eye on his conniving brother throughout the night. Maybe he could prevent a war within the clan.
They passed by the Conris and fell headlong into the madness of their annual ball.
Masks covered everyone’s face, though Adrien could smell fur wafting off those they passed. Wolf, mostly, with a bear mixed in here and there.
A small group of humans had been invited to appease the encroaching government. A quick scan of the party found them lingering near the buffet tables lined with enough food to put even the most lavish royal gathering to shame. Shifters tended to eat plenty, and a dance of pheromones worked up an appetite. Nearly all wore slightly scandalized or intensely curious expressions.
If only they knew what happened at midnight.
The dance floor writhed with the press of bodies. Some moved to the commanding steps of the string quartet, while others danced to their own beat. One full of lust, judging by the roving hands and mouths.
Not that it bothered him one bit. It was a suitor’s ball, after all. One expected mates and temporary distractions to be found amongst the stuffiness of tuxedos and corsets.
Not for him, though. Wolves mated wolves, dragons mated dragons, and Adrien’s wasn’t speaking to him. The night would be pure torture while he tried to keep check on his wandering brother, fucking idiot Bloodwing that he was.
Adrien grabbed the attention of a passing waiter, downed one flute of champagne, and held onto the second. Damien had already disappeared onto the dance floor.
It was going to be a long night.
Chapter 3
Rory noticed him the moment she stepped onto the landing of the grand staircase. Tall, dark hair that looked spun of silk, tan skin. His shoulders were wider than most of the men on the floor below, but his waist tapered just as nicely. She could almost see power pushing everyone else away.
Everyone except his mirror copy.
She named them immediately as she followed their path through the ball. Other guests made way for them, opening a swirling lane everywhere they turned. The Trickster and the Stranger. One had a ready smile and word. The Stranger followed after him, giving half-smiles and turning to avoid any idle chatter.
Then he glanced up, and she felt his eyes on her.
Rory lifted her fingers to her throat and rubbed the soft skin there. Something drew her to him, her Stranger. He was a giant magnet, and she’d been caught in his pull. She wanted to know all his brooding secrets.
Something stirred inside her. A whisper of a thought, a faint brush of softness against her mind. That sensation pushed her closer to the dark, mysterious stranger still staring intensely from below.
A shoulder bumped into her and jostled her enough to break her connection to the strange man in the mask. She blinked once, twice, and the magic that clouded her head faded fast. He was like any number of men in black tie attire and scraps of silk across their faces.
She turned to direct a glare at whoever bumped her, but the man interrupted before she began.
“How did you get here?” he asked, passing her a flute of champagne.
She’d recognize Finn anywhere, but the sound of his voice reassured her even further. She didn’t have the ability to scent anyone out. Not like all the wolves and other shifters. One inhale could identify someone they knew.
“It’s all in the tone,” she explained and took a grateful sip. By the Broken and all the gods above, what had happened to her when her eyes caught that man’s? She’d never been attracted to someone so strongly without even knowing a single bit of information about him. “Between Mother’s lessons and the hens at the boarding school, it was easy enough to order a servant to find me a mask and lace up my gown.”
“You can be sure Mother and Father have already heard,” Finn warned.
“Certain of it. Are you going to snitch?”
Finn grinned. “Are you kidding me? You be the Wild Wolf for a change. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some ‘fine breeding stock’ to scare off before Mother tosses them into my bed.”
Rory watched her brother jog down the stairs and move through the crowd. A gasp and a chorus of giggles rose from the clump of women he burst into. He might pretend to be maturing, but she doubted he planned on settling down with a mate anytime soon. He used the wild, uncontrollable persona as a suit of armor against the matchmaking politics of the ball. What different lives they lived.
Shaking her head, Rory made her way to the bar. She’d barely ordered a mixed drink when another woman gasped and sagged against the bar next to her.
“Impressive, isn’t it? All the dresses and decorations. And the food! I’m not sure I’ll be able to pull Cole away from the buffet tables.” The woman laughed softly and shook her head. “It’s really like a fairy tale ball. I couldn’t believe it when we arrived.”
“Your first time here, too?” She grinned and turned from the bar to take in all the details an outsider would see. She’d been too engrossed in simp
ly being there under the nose of her parents to examine everything.
Soft lights hung off dangling strands sweeping across the ceiling. Greenery twined with the strands to mimic branches in an enchanted forest. Nearly every table or level surface held centerpieces designed to look like miniature trees, and tiny lanterns dangled from the ends to add more soft light to the ballroom. Plush seats gathered together to encourage guests to sit and speak when they needed to catch their breath from the dancing.
“I’m Rylee. I’ll actually be here for a week. I’m setting up the research team like the one back in Bearden.” She frowned, disturbing the silver mask covering her eyes, and red spread across her cheeks. “Oh, I’m not supposed to ask who you are, aren’t I? Part of the rules.”
As insane as it sounded, she liked the woman’s rambling. Someone was willing to engage her without a snide word. She wasn’t the shiftless princess to be whispered about in scandalized tones. She was just another guest.
“Nice to meet you, Rylee. I’m Rory.” Her drink was served, but she didn’t take the natural exit.
“Rory... Rory...” Rylee tapped her lips and then snapped her fingers. “You’re Finn’s sister, aren’t you? I’m so sorry. Of course you know everything about these events. Here I am, rambling on like you’re as human as I am.”
Rory took a sip of her drink. Feeling bold, she was completely honest. “First one, actually. I technically haven’t been invited. Wolves only, and I’m not a wolf.”
“Oh? So both your parents are wolves, your brother is one, and you are not. Do you mind if we make an appointment? I’d love to dig into your genes.”
There was zero harm intended in her words, Rory noted. She just laid out the facts like she wanted to see how the puzzle fit together. It was refreshing when she’d grown up around insult and contempt.
Rylee’s quick inhale stole Rory’s attention from her thoughts. “Shoot. Cole heard me talking shop.”
Rory followed Rylee’s glance and found a hulking figure swing his head in their direction.
“Quick, pretend we weren’t talking about research projects,” Rylee insisted, pride resonating in her tone.
Rory tracked the man push his way through the group of humans he utterly dominated with his size. They looked so tiny in comparison, though she was certain they were normal height and he was a giant. He ran a hand through his black hair, and she breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn’t her Stranger.
A tiny frown marred his lips when he stepped up behind her. “Rylee, no working. We agreed.”
Even with his words scolding her, his hands wrapped around her middle and drew her close. A rumbling sound almost like a purr built in his chest. He shifted Rylee’s hair to the side and planted a kiss on her shoulder.
A slow smile split her face and even more red colored her cheeks. “Bad bear. You’re distracting me.”
“Good. The sooner we can leave,” the man growled.
She’d heard from her cousin Tommy that Bearden wasn’t as strict with mating as Wolfden. He was the only Conri to ever mate someone other than a wolf when he chose a fox as his partner for life. Rylee had her bear while she was still entirely human.
Rory wished for that freedom. She wanted to find someone permanent in her life, someone who wouldn’t treat her like an unpleasant chore like Todd the Toad. She wanted the undeniable love that obviously existed between Rylee and her bear.
As fun as it was to attend the ball her family threw every year, it came with a pang of sadness. She wouldn’t find true acceptance in Wolfden. She’d never be a true Conri. The curse made sure of that.
Rory glanced at the dancing crowd and spied her brother expertly moving his dance partner toward her.
“Hide,” Finn hissed, then whirled away with the woman on his arm.
Rory didn’t hesitate. One glance was all it took to see the hard lines on the jaws of her parents as they pushed through their guests. She fled in the opposite direction.
At first, the game was thrilling. Dodging through the crowd brought a laugh from her lips. Her heart pounded in her chest from the exertion and the excitement. Wild Wolf. Oh, she envied Finn if he got to feel so alive all the damned time.
She twisted and turned between the press of bodies along the dance floor, narrowly avoiding the enforcers looking to haul her before her parents.
They, too, hadn’t given up the hunt for her. She could practically feel her mother’s wrath scorching her from across the hall when she ducked behind a large plant for a moment to breathe. Honora latched a hand on her husband’s arm and pointed. Rory disappeared into the crowd before any enforcers could find her.
She turned and for the second time that day came close to planting her face in the chest of a man much taller than herself.
Rory squeaked and took a step back, then threw a glance over her shoulder. She’d never felt more caught between a rock and a hard place than that very moment.
Behind her were her parents and their enforcers. They casually moved through the crowd, taking a moment for a word here and there from guests that absolutely recognized them even behind their masks. They marched on, slowly pushing closer and caging her in a trap.
In front was a beast of a man. The Stranger. His dark hair looked even silkier up close. And his eyes! Twin onyx gemstones sparkled from behind a black silk mask that covered half his face. It left his full, gorgeous lips on display.
Rory swallowed thickly, her eyes locked on his. Each second she stayed silent was one step closer to being removed from the ball. That unfamiliar brush against her mind railed at the idea of being separated from the strange man.
Rory reached for the Stranger’s hands. Heat spread through her at the first swipe of her fingers against his skin. She shivered with the difference between him and the air around her. Fire burned through her limbs and settled hotly in her stomach.
Nerves, she convinced herself. Raw desire and nerves at being caught.
“Dance with me,” she whispered harshly.
Chapter 4
Adrien was overcome by three large, undeniable facts that fell straight out of the sky like lightning bolts.
One: his dragon was awake. The beast stretched his wings over his mind and inhaled the scent of the woman urging him to dance.
Two: whoever she was, he’d murder anyone who brushed against her. Which meant the dance floor was about to turn into a blood orgy.
Three: she was his mate.
He’d noticed her when she appeared on the staircase. Deep red hair bounced around her shoulders and hung in waves down her back. The mass was so thick and shiny, it was almost a living thing that threatened to consume her.
Which only led to examining her curves. Her body was fucking heaven. He expected she wore a corset since nearly every female in the room struggled to breathe or turn naturally. Her breasts were mounded at the neckline of her dress. Her waist pinched and gave way to full hips and thighs barely hidden under the yards of flowing fabric.
His dragon rumbled loudly in his head. The beast wanted to shove forward, wrap around her, burn fire through her and claim her entirely.
Adrien pulled back on the instinct before he shredded her dress then and there. He wanted to devour her and run his tongue over every single inch of her.
It was her. The scent that vanished without a trace and haunted his dreams.
He remembered himself three stumbling steps into their dance and trailed his fingers down the skin of her arm to take hold of her hand. His other arm wrapped around her waist and hauled her against him.
“What is your name?” His pulse roared under his skin, beating a ferocious rhythm at the behest of his dragon.
The heat of her body blasted through him, overpowering his own. He could smell the scent of her, like sweet apples and cinnamon. And not a trace of scales or fur. The woman in his arms was human and commanded his full attention.
“Rory. Rory Conri.”
He watched her mouth move and form the words. He heard them, cataloged them
, placed them on a pedestal in his head.
The name brushed at his memory. The Conri name was repeated throughout Wolfden as cousins and distant family spread the line. But she held herself with an air of superiority, and he tried to remember the crash course in Conri nobility he’d been forced to take after Gideon ordered him and Damien attend the fucking ball in the first place.
Something about a woman rejecting public appearances, one not many even wanted to whisper about...
“You don’t recognize me?” Her mouth dropped open before she collected herself. “I’m the Shiftless Princess, the Cursed Conri, the one who brings shame with my every step.”
The words tumbled out of her mouth with the air of a sports promoter. Oft repeated to build up her reputation as an outsider.
Adrien felt a growl bubbling out of his middle. “They treat you like that? Fuck them.”
She laughed. The sound shooed away the thoughts of violence his dragon sent him.
“Finn isn’t so bad. He’s not trapped in the old ways like our parents.”
“Who are the ones you’re avoiding, I take it?”
“And their enforcers. So let’s stay stranded in the middle of the dance floor for a while longer, shall we?”
“Whatever the princess wants,” Adrien rumbled. He pulled her close, perhaps closer than appropriate. Fuck anyone who objected. He was a man, she a gorgeous woman. He wouldn’t be shamed by any of the scandalized faces around them.
“They don’t like that I’m here,” Rory said softly. Sadly. And a bit of her daring pulled away.
“Aren’t they supposed to pretend not to know you?” Adrien growled and bared his teeth at the nearest couple, who quickly whirled away. His dragon grew inside him, pulsing power outward. He wouldn’t be able to keep his human form for long if the wolves didn’t stop pissing him off.
He jerked his attention back to the woman in his arms. Her curves were more lush than he imagined from a room away. Slowly, steadily, the rage of his dragon faded. The beast wanted her. There was no time for anger when she needed to be won over.