Total pages in book: 148
Estimated words: 140412 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 702(@200wpm)___ 562(@250wpm)___ 468(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 140412 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 702(@200wpm)___ 562(@250wpm)___ 468(@300wpm)
I’ve just rejoined the crowd in the mezzanine when a thrall bearing the sigil of the king on his jacket approaches.
“From his majesty, King Nathaniel,” the thrall says, and hands me a small black envelope.
Inside, a crisp card with strong, slanted script reads:
Ms. Dixon—
It has come to my attention that I’ve put you in an unfavorable situation. I would like to make it up to you. Come to dinner at the royal residence. Friday, eight o’clock.
Nathan
I swallow and read it a second time before stuffing it guiltily into my clutch. Scanning the crowd, I search for any sign that my sisters or Ashton or worst of all, my Mother, has seen the thrall passing notes to me like the king and I are in middle school. To my relief, the subtle flickering of the lights overheard, like a signal to a theater audience to take their seats, distracts everyone. They’ll go down to a set of ritual dressing chambers first to change into ceremonial robes, then they’ll take their place in the circle with the others.
With Nathan.
There are so many werewolves around, on the night of the full moon, and nobody has picked up on how hard my blood is pumping? How much fear and arousal I’m giving off? Fear that they’ll know what I feel every time Nathan looks at me?
He wants to have dinner with me, presumably alone, at his home. That’s not an invitation a king extends to just anybody. There has to be a reason. And I could feel that reason in the way he looked at me earlier.
I surrendered my will to him as my king and pack leader. How far does that vow extend? People didn’t want me to dance with him; they definitely won’t like it if I go to Aconitum Hall to dine with him. And judging from the way he looks at me, that’s not all I’ll be there for.
When I imagine that, what other people think and want doesn’t matter. I know what I think and want.
I want Nathan.
“There you are.”
My stomach plunges as Ashton stands beside me and winds his arm around my waist. He leans in and sniffs my neck, and I will my body to sink through the floor.
“This is the last full moon I’ll spend alone,” he whispers against my hair.
If I try to speak, I might cry. I force myself to look up and smile at him.
He kisses my forehead. “I wish I would have found you here sooner, but now I have to go downstairs.”
“It’s okay,” I squeak out. “Go on.”
“I’ll see you at brunch tomorrow,” he reassures me, as if it’s reassurance at all.
I’m dreading brunch with his parents almost as much as I’m dreading the marriage, itself. His father is stuffy and condescending, his mother cold and always quick with a covert insult or judgmental comment. They’re going to be in my life for the rest of it, so I suppose I should get used to them.
Ashton takes my hand and lifts it to his lips with a wicked smile. “Remember to keep your eyes to yourself. I’m not that kind of werewolf.”
He’s teasing me about the nudity aspect of the ceremony. I know he’ll interpret my flaming hot blush as being meant for him, but the only person I care to see tonight is Nathan. I laugh weakly and remember not to jerk my hand back as Ashton’s grip lingers while he walks away from me. The mezzanine empties of all but a few stragglers, and I flag down a thrall carrying champagne. This time, I take two flutes.
I’m going to need them.
CHAPTER 9
The deep, hollow toll of a bell announces the midnight hour. In the round courtyard below, pack members file into the sacred circle. They wear ceremonial robes of silver silk, easy to remove once the transformation takes hold.
Humans imagine scenes in movies where werewolves scream in agony and tear out of their clothes, which I’ve never understood. We know when the full moon is. It doesn’t take us by surprise. And we know how to dress for it.
Or undress. My breath freezes in my lungs as Nathan walks into the circle. He stops in front of the monolith to Lycaon and drops his robe.
I shamelessly look him over, the way he did to me, from his broad shoulders, down his chest dusted with dark hair that thins to a line on his shockingly sculpted abs. I wasn’t expecting him to look as good as he does. I wasn’t expecting that my mouth would water at the sight of his cock, that my thighs would clench together at the thought of how huge it must be hard.
I wish he could see me. I hope he feels me, smells me.
And I hope that the strange attraction between us is making him as crazed with need as I feel.