and humans mingled, the majority of the humans unaware that there were those among them who could change into a wolf at will. His boredom growing, Ruben began picturing their reactions if he were to calmly stroll out to the middle of the empty dance floor, strip off his tuxedo and drop to all fours to initiate the change that would turn his human form into that of a huge, nearly Feral, wolf.
Panic from the humans. His wolf snarled, enjoying the mental image. From his own kind, the Shifters, he expected he’d see a mixture of shock, anger and disgust.
His parents would be mortified. After the first moment of horror, the damage control would begin in earnest.
The thought made him smile again, a record as of late. Again, the idea felt tantalizing. As if he could close his eyes, let his tattered willpower fall away, and allow events to happen as they would. His wolf would take over. Everything would be out of Ruben’s hands.
So simple … He swayed, tempted. Snapping his eyes open, he took another slug of the strong liquor, letting it burn its way down his throat.
And therein lay the twisted path to madness.
Giving himself an inner shake, putting a choke hold on the furious wolf inside, he again began to make another circuit of the room, trying to regulate his breathing, his thoughts, his steps. As he looked up, he noted his mother’s sharp gaze fixed on him.
Inhaling the mixed odors of perfume and human sweat, he shuddered, longing for the clean, crisp scent of the pines, the damp muskiness of the earth. The lure of the forest beyond the castle, where he spent so much of his time, pulled at him, though he knew part of that was tied up in his wolf’s desire to break free.
While he strolled about, gritting his teeth and hiding his indifference, inside his wolf snarled and paced and raged. Ignoring the capricious beast took effort, but he managed. He wanted nothing more than to disappear into the ruins at the edge of the forest, but he fixed what he hoped was a pleasant expression on his face and attempted to socialize.
His mother’s earlier decree replayed in his head. Find a wife. You are heir to the throne. It’s long past time you settled down. Marry. Have children.
His absolute worst nightmare. No, he paused, twirling the ice inside his almost empty glass. His second worst nightmare.
And the women. Every one of them made no attempt to hide their hope that he’d chose them. They smiled and simpered and tried to seduce him, but he barely gave any even a cursory glance. Despite their varying beauty, none of them interested him. He knew many of them, had run into them at one event or another over the years. Some he’d grown up with, played childhood games alongside, and even stolen his first kiss from while hidden in a high-walled garden and thrilling at the forbidden taste. He sighed with annoyance. Such memories were a thing of the past.
Of late, he’d lived the life of a monk, abstaining from all feminine companionship. Another attempt to keep the darkness that haunted him secret.
Glancing at his watch, he prayed this night would be over.
And then, as fate played some sort of ironic trick on him, he saw her from across the room. Unfamiliar, tiny, exquisite, the dusky rose of her skin faintly shimmering with life. Desire stabbed him, sharp and strong and so gut-wrenchingly powerful even his wolf was stunned into silence.
Unlike the others, who resembled overdressed peacocks, she wore a simple long sheath in a muted yellow, devoid of ornamentation or jangle. Head high, smooth shoulders back, she carried herself with the unconscious bearing of royalty. Though he could tell from her lack of aura that she was not Pack, he found himself wondering if she was even human. Something about her …
Damn and double damn. He swayed, wondering if he’d had more to drink than he’d thought.
For the first time in a long time, his wolf approved. Though he’d not yet taken measure of her scent, the beast wanted to mate with her.
Letting his wolf guide him, he began moving toward her, determined to claim her as his.
When their gazes met, every jangling noise inside Willow went still. Who was he? What was he? Whatever he was, he wasn’t human. The darkness emanating from him drew her. She wondered if this was because of her secret Shadow heritage or if, as always, the part of her that was Bright felt a compulsion to bring light to the faintest bit of darkness.
Of course, since she had no magic, she never could. But that didn’t stop the longing.
As he began to move toward her, certain and sure and clearly determined to reach her, she panicked. Glancing left, then right, she quickly calculated an escape route and tried to leap toward it. She didn’t know if she was afraid because she’d crashed his party, or because he was so damn beautiful. She went with her gut reaction to flee. However, she’d completely forgotten about her long skirt and high heels, and as a result, she stumbled and nearly fell.
Miraculously, she caught herself. Casting a quick glance over her shoulder—he was drawing impossibly closer—she slipped in between two groups of women and hurried away. Keeping to the most crowded part of the room, she weaved her way toward a balcony she noticed on the other side.
Finally there, she opened the French style door and slipped out into the cool darkness, lit by the brightness of the full moon. Safe, at least for now.
As she gripped the iron railing, she wasn’t surprised to note her hands were trembling.
Inhaling the sharp, fresh air, she wondered when she’d become such a coward. Behind her the door opened with a click. Even though she’d remained in the shadows, she knew he’d found her, even before he spoke.
“I’m not dangerous, you know.” The husky-as-sin voice sounded exactly that. Dangerous as hell.
Slowly she raised her head. Years of experience at her parents’ court enabled her to put a pleasantly surprised expression on her face. “I think if you feel the need to even say such a thing, then you must be very unsafe indeed.”
When his smile came, the sight of it made her pulse race. She futilely tried to get her now scattered bearings, when he spoke again.
“Walk with me.” He held out his arm, his words a command rather than a request.
She swallowed hard and tried to think. This she hadn’t planned for. She gazed up at him, a dark figure of a man with powerful shoulders and broad chest, and her mouth went dry. Blindly she reached out and took his hand. The roughness of it gave her an unwanted sense of protection. She glanced down at their entwined hands and realized his fingers were beautiful—long and strong and oddly graceful, like those of an artist.
“Who are you?” she asked, finding her voice.
“Ruben,” he answered simply, his dark gaze locked on hers. Despite herself, she shivered.
“Don’t be afraid,” he murmured.
At that, she straightened her shoulders. She might be many things, but coward was not one of them. “I’m not,” she said, wondering why the words felt like a lie.
He gave her hand a gentle tug. Moving with him out onto the terrace, when they reached the balcony that in daylight would look out over the lush and green forest, she let go of him, taking a small step sideways to keep their bodies from touching. He didn’t react to this, gripping the smooth marble rail and staring straight ahead, almost
