by Michele Hauf
“What are you looking at, Princess?”
Startled upright, she took an abrupt step away from the bed. “It’s not Princess, it’s just Lexi. And I was…” Taking mental inventory of his steely abs and connecting the tantalizing dots. “Good night, Monsieur Hawkes.”
“It’s not monsieur, it’s just Trystan. Friends call me Tryst,” he said on a sleepy rasp. “And you’ll always be a princess to me, Lexi.” He yawned and turned his head to the side. “So pretty” came out on a murmur.
Lexi paused in the doorway and pressed her forehead to the door frame. He’d called her pretty. She had no earthly idea what to do with that compliment.
* * *
Trystan woke to the smell of bacon and maple syrup. Aware someone was in the room with him, he rolled over on the bed and realized he was wrapped like a burrito in the bedspread. Hell, he always conked out like a log after a hard day’s work and often fell asleep wherever he could manage. How’d he actually make it to a bed?
The image of a pretty werewolf with dark hair and mysterious sunglasses came to mind.
“Lexi,” he whispered. She’d made an offer to share the bed with him if he recalled correctly. Probably not a correct recall, and instead a dream. Heh.
“Hello?” He rolled out of the burrito wrap and sat up, shrugging fingers through his tangle of hair and shaking off the hangover of coming instantly upright and awake.
“Breakfast and a set of clothes for you, monsieur.” An elderly woman in casual dark slacks and sweater stood at the door. Must be the maid. He didn’t get the sense that she was wolf, though. “Principal Connor wishes to see you in an hour.”
“Thanks. Where’s his room again?”
“Down the hall at the end of the south wing. Take the stairs up to the tower.” She left, closing the door quietly.
The door wasn’t even closed before Tryst stood over the tray of breakfast, lured by his nose and the savory scent of heaven. He gobbled down a few slices of bacon and tilted back the first cup of coffee without taking a breath. The pancakes followed in huge bites. Man, he was starving. And they certainly knew how to feed a hungry wolf here. Six pancakes, eggs, bacon and sausage, camp fries, and granola with yogurt.
“I could get used to this.”
Living in Paris, in his bachelor pad that overlooked the Eiffel Tower, he normally didn’t cook for himself. Most nights he ate out, and kept a collection of take-out menus on his iPhone. And if on a date, that meant he couldn’t consume a huge meal, as usual, because he didn’t want to freak out his date by revealing his monstrous appetite. It took a lot to keep a grown wolf full. Mortal women ate so little and gave him condemning looks to see him gobble up his food. It was as if food of any sort disgusted them, and how could he possibly eat it?
He usually dated mortal women, but he’d yet to fall in love. And though he suspected the cards wouldn’t deal him love anytime soon, he was hopeful. Raising a family and starting his own pack was tops on his wish list.
He missed that he’d not been raised in a pack. While his father was half werewolf, he didn’t shift to werewolf form too often, because that side of him was vicious and violent. His werewolf was actually ruled by his vampire brain, and the vampire inside Rhys Hawkes was always pissed at the wolf for denying it the blood it desired.
So Rhys remained in vampire form most often because then his kinder, gentler werewolf mind ruled, and though Tryst had adjusted easily to his father’s mood swings—he’d grown up knowing nothing else—he quickly realized if he was going to learn what real, full-blooded werewolves were like, he’d have to find a few wolf friends. Which hadn’t been easy.
Unaligned wolves were not often welcomed to chum around with packs. But Tryst had managed to secure one close friend, an ice demon named Axel Fergusson, who had taught him things his father could have never thought to talk about. Axel knew about werewolves because he had once been one himself—actually, still was—before being cursed by Himself because he’d dated Bloody Mary, the chick who was known to be Himself’s girlfriend, so Axel had had it coming, Tryst figured.
Axel had been his lifeline. Especially when it came to dating advice. Never approach a pack female unless you have a death wish. Even if she gives you a wink. But if she’s alone, then go for it, and enjoy the ride while you could, which was never long. Pack females tended to surf the Parisian nightclubs for unaligned wolves as a vacation from their usual pack males. But they were never serious, just looking for some fun away from home. The different. The outsiders.
Ugh. Tryst hated that term.
Pouring his third cup of coffee, Tryst cautioned himself to slow down and enjoy the meal while he could. There was still another man missing, and if the crew that had worked through the early-morning hours had not found him, Tryst had work to do.
The maid had said the principal wanted to see him? Hmm, yes, he should go and apologize for his brisk treatment of him yesterday. At the very least, he should have bowed before the elder wolf. Rhys would not be happy to learn about his faux pas.
Tryst finished the last sausage link and stood back from the clean plate. A shower and a quick shave were in order. He had a long day ahead of him. Fingers crossed, that day would involve meeting up with the pretty princess who had been staring at his half-naked body last night.
“She wants me,” he said. “Score!”
He tossed an imaginary basketball and landed the trick hoop shot because he was so good, and yes, the woman wanted him.
Now he just had to sniff out any competition from the males in the pack, and then approach the target with confidence yet caution.
* * *
Alexis knocked on the guest room door. It was seven in the morning, which wasn’t early by any means, but she didn’t hear a sound on the other side of the door. Was the wolf still sleeping? He deserved the rest. The night team had not found the remaining man, so she entirely expected Hawkes would be out poking about in the snow as soon as the sun blinked across his eyelids. He’d bring up a dead man, surely, but his dedication heartened her.
She was fascinated by those with an ability to fit into any scenario or surrounding effortlessly, such as Hawkes had seemed to do here at Wulfsiege. Herself, she was never quite sure how to become a part of something even as innocuous as a conversation. It wasn’t shyness, but a touch of introversion. Okay, a lot of introversion. Her sister had gotten their father’s extroverted gene. And the pretty gene. And the popularity gene.
“Get over it,” she muttered with a roll of her eyes. Why was she feeling so sorry for herself suddenly? “This is not you.”
It was exhaustion—that was all she could summon as an excuse.
Lexi beat a fist on the door, and it swung inside on the third pound, almost hitting the grinning werewolf in the face. Wet hair dripped onto his shoulders and spilled in tears down his bare, buff chest. She found herself following the trail of water down, down over rigid abs, and through a thatch of red hair to the tight wrap of a white towel hugging his square, utterly graspable hips.
Trystan Hawkes stretched an arm along the door and winked at her. “You look as happy to see me as I am to see you, Princess. What’s up?”
At the double-edged question, she hastily averted her eyes from the mysterious folds of the towel. Good thing she wore dark glasses. “My father will see you now.”
“Not like this he won’t. Come inside. Let me pull on some clothes. The maid brought me something to wear.”
“I’ll wait out here.”
“In the hallway? That’s so security thug, which is not you. Seriously, come in and sit down. I’ll dress in the bathroom. Wouldn’t want to flash daddy’s little princess.”
“I am not daddy’s princess,” she said, finding she’d already followed him into the room. Lexi turned to face the door. Had she closed that? “Alana is.”
“Yeah?” he called from the bathroom. The door was open and steam misted out. “Is that your sister? Think I saw her during the chaos last night.”
“Yes, she’s…” Pretty, and attracted all the wolves’ eyes. “Yes.”
“Then you must be daddy’s secret weapon.”
“I am…” What had he meant by that?
Stepping closer to the bathroom door, she drew in the spicy aroma from what she knew was the guest soap. Cloves and leather were her favorite scent. So manly, so… Hell, what was she doing? She didn’t have time for romancing a fantasy.
Turning her back to the door, she crossed her arms and hiked out a heel. She wore gray today, from boot to neck. It was easier to go monochromatic, because when she started to mix colors bad things happened and people stared. Attribute that to her eyes, she figured. And enough about that.
“Yep, he put the sister out as bait,” Tryst called from the bathroom, “and keeps the smart one close by his side. Head of security, right?”
“Castle chatelaine is my official title.”
“What’s a chatelaine? Oh, wait, I think I heard a song about that once. ‘Miss Chatelaine…’” he sang.
She smiled at his rendition of the k.d. lang song, which she happened to like. “The chatelaine oversees all the domestic business in the castle, such as the kitchen, and preparing and ordering food for meals. Stocks. Events and parties. I keep track of the accountant and lawyers. As well, I oversee security.”
“So you do it all—yikes.”
Trystan walked right into her. Lexi abruptly stood straight. She’d been leaning a little too far into the bathroom doorway. Just soaking up the scent she admired. Yes, that was it.
She adjusted her sunglasses, which he’d nudged north when her forehead had bumped his chest. As her hand had pushed away from his abs she felt the rock-hard ridges and her fingers curled, wanting to touch a little longer. He burned her softly. How long could she hold her skin against his heat without igniting?
“What are you looking for, Lexi?”
“I, er…” Indeed, what had her fingers wanted to grasp, as if a lifeline she desperately needed? She crossed the room swiftly and grabbed the door handle. “You ready?”
He shook out his hair. Bending, he fluffed it a bit before the mirror, which managed to tousle it more messily. But he seemed happy with it, because he nodded at the mirror and winked.
The man and his winks! It wasn’t a flirtatious move. It was more of a tic. Or some kind of code for arrogant overcompensation?
Lexi tucked her head down to smirk, and noticed a streak of water darkened the front of her gray slacks. She’d gotten too close. What was that about? Keeping her personal boundaries—about five feet of distance from others at all times—had become like breathing to her, and to all in the castle. Everyone knew to walk a wide circle around her. When had those boundaries become so…permeable?
“You’re all about blending in, aren’t you?” the wolf asked as he pulled a soft blue sweater over his head and tugged it to cover the abs she wanted to lose a few hours observing. The sweater, perhaps a size too small, conformed to his structure, making him appear even more naked. And the blue really captured his blue eyes and made them dazzle even more. “Dressing in one color so you don’t stand out. Though wearing sunglasses inside is pushing it.”
“My, aren’t you Mr. Blackwell? Coming from a man who wears camo pants and a blazing blue sweater. Who taught you to dress?”
“It’s what the maid brought me. Though I do like this sweater.” He slapped his abs and gave them a rub. “It’s soft. Is this cashmere?”
Lexi bit her lip to keep from saying it wasn’t soft at all but incredibly hard. Her mouth curled, but not up. He was just too…much. Too there. Too in her face. Too…gregarious. Powerful. Honorable to a fault. Yes, appealing in a way she’d never thought a man could appeal. Or was it that she’d never taken a moment to consider a man’s charm?
“Let’s go.” She opened the door and marched down the hallway, expecting him to follow, and hopefully not like the gushy, bouncy puppy he had a tendency to emulate.
* * *
The werewolf princess wanted him. She hadn’t been able to keep her eyes off him, and she had almost snuck into the bathroom while he’d been changing. How much did that rock?
The woman was not as cold as she led others to believe.
He suspected she wasn’t aware of her sensual side, something he was very tapped into, according to his former lovers. The Princess of Cool hid behind the pressed, exact clothing, those mirrored sunglasses and an icy demeanor. He bet she never wore jewels like the sister he’d gotten a glimpse of last night. Too flashy, that blonde chick. And spike heels in a castle surrounded by snow? So wrong. Lexi Connor sparkled without unnecessary adornment.
Like right now, she moved as if carried by a graceful yet urgent wind. Her strides were sure but quiet, as they took a curving hallway that spiraled into the narrow south tower.
“This is like some kind of old castle,” Tryst commented. “So authentic.”
“Built in the fifteenth century by a former financial minster to King Charles II.”
“And surrounded by perfect powder for skiing. I love this place. It’s tight! You live here all your life?”
“Yes, I was born here.”
“So what’s up with your father? My dad didn’t tell me a lot. He was in too much of a hurry to send me on my way here after getting the call from the pack’s witch. What’s that about?”
“Natalie is our doctor and she’s a witch.”
“Cool. A real witch doctor.”
“I’ve had a medical doctor summoned from Paris to help with the wounded and assess my father’s condition. He should arrive this afternoon if the helicopter can land.”
She paused before a double door fashioned from rich, varnished oak and studded with metal nail heads much like a medieval castle door. “The principal is…under the weather. Natalie isn’t sure what it is, but his health is declining.”
She looked aside and Tryst sensed her unease talking about it. Must be hard for her, virtually running the castle, and having a sick father to worry about. And now the avalanche? The woman exuded strength and endurance, yet she appeared to be losing some steam.
“And I’ll warn you not to press him about his health. Keep your conversation strictly business, or I’ll see that you’re removed from the castle.”
“Good luck with that. A guy can’t even walk through the front door, let alone be removed. But I suspect we’ll get the snow dug away from the storage shed today so we can use the snowplow. I need to get outside to help find that last man. How long is this going to take?”
“I have no idea. I’m as surprised as you my father wants to see you again after you were so quick with him last night.”
“I intend to apologize to him for that, Princess.”
“My name is—”
“I know.” He pressed a hand to the door above her shoulder. “Alexis, the cool, calm beauty who won’t show anyone her eyes because that kind of connection would be too intimate.”
She gaped.
“Guess I hit that one right on the nail, eh?” he said. “But I prefer Lexi, the smart, cautious chick who is going to break down sooner rather than later and give me a big warm smile.”
Her gaping mouth shut and her brows curved downward. About as opposite a smile as she could manage.
He wouldn’t stop working on her. He knew a smile lived somewhere behind those blue mirrored lenses.
“Take me to your leader,” he said with only a modicum of seriousness.
With a perceived roll of her eyes, she pressed a digital combination on the door lock and walked inside the room, announcing her arrival as she did so, “Father, I’ve brought Monsieur Hawkes to see you.”
They passed through the meeting room. The long, polished conference table stretched ten feet before the two-story windows on the far side. A few leather couches sat near the entrance, and a massive fieldstone fireplace occupied the entire wall to Tryst’s left. A video conferencing system sat in the middle of the table.
Medieval castle meets hi-tech office.
He liked it.
Lexi had disappeared through a side door, which she had left open, but Tryst hung back. Nerves made him shake loose fists near his thighs. He never got nervous. Fear had been beaten out of him in his teenage years. But the place intimidated him. He stood within the inner sanctum of a pack principle—and only last night he may have offended him.
He’d always wondered what it would be like to live within a pack. To live under their rules and society. To have a leader to look up to, and to follow a specific hierarchy that placed each and every wolf in rank.
Growing up with his mother and father, he’d not had anything resembling a pack. They’d treated Trystan as if he were a werewolf from birth, because Rhys had said he just knew. A child born with mixed heritage never really knew what he would become until puberty. Trystan had always related to his father’s gentle werewolf side anyway. Yet heaven forbid, he should ever reveal his paternity. Pack Alpine would make mincemeat out of him.
Worse yet, if they knew his mother was a bloodborn vampire, he’d never get out of this castle in one piece. Sure, wolves and vamps worldwide stood on reasonably peaceable terms, but they’d never seen eye to eye. Make that eye to fang. Tryst had learned to be leery around vamp-hating wolves. Hell, he may have a bit of prejudice toward longtooths themselves, but that was changing after meeting his half brother, Vaillant, last year. Vaillant was a blood-born vampire, as well.
Strange family ties.
“Enter.”
At the monotone invitation, Tryst assumed a more menial posture of slightly bowed head and lax shoulders as he entered Principal Connor’s private quarters.
The massive bedroom boasted a four-poster bed clothed in dark browns and blacks. The walls and floors were stone, and medieval-looking tapestry rugs had been scattered here and there. An enormous HD television hung on one wall between a moose head and what appeared to be a boar head sporting massive tusks. Tryst was not keen on killing wildlife, and he kept a cringe to himself.
Over by the windowed wall, Tryst saw the man seated on the overwide windowsill. Sunlight beamed across his figure so he couldn’t make out an expression or posture, and a plaid blanket had been spread over his lap.