The Wolf Prince. Karen Whiddon
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Evidently, despite the way he’d sought her out, he had nothing to say to her. Just like she was back at home, the ugly younger sister. Though she knew she ought to be used to it by now, it still hurt.
Turning to face him, she lifted her chin and flashed a carefully casual smile. “I have to go,” she said, no trace of regret in her voice.
Tall and straight, he swung his head to gaze down at her. “Please, not yet. Stay with me a little longer. Please.”
Though his husky voice simmered with enough sensuality to make her feel dizzy, she suspected he might be toying with her. Though for what reason, she couldn’t tell.
“Why?”
“A simple enough question.” He sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. “Though my answer is more complicated. I’m the prince.”
“The prince?” she repeated, shocked.
“Yes. This—” he waved one hand “—This is all for me. My parents’ idea of a good time. They’re putting me through ball after endless ball, all to find me a wife.”
At the word, he gave an exaggerated shudder, making her laugh despite herself. “I take it you don’t like the idea?”
“That would be a major understatement. I don’t want to marry.” Casually, he placed his hand on her shoulder. Despite the heavy material of the dress, she felt the heat of his beautiful fingers and had to fight not to lean into him. To be able to choose one’s own fate … now that was a luxury she wished she had.
“Me, either.” She sighed, unwillingly reminded of the unknown prince her parents had promised her to.
“You never told me your name,” he said.
Since she now realized the man, this prince, rather, needed a friend rather than a date, she relaxed. “Willow.”
His disheveled dark hair gleamed in the lights from inside. “That’s an unusual name.”
More at ease now, she grinned up at him. “I’m an unusual person.”
As he continued to gaze at her without responding, she felt her face heat. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m not really good at flirting.” The words came out in a rush.
He shrugged. “Who is? I’d rather run in the woods.”
At his words, she couldn’t help but silently agree. How could this be possible? He’d unknowingly echoed her earlier thoughts. “You run in the woods? Me, too, though I roam more than run. I love the forest.”
He grinned, devastating her, and then he laughed, the deep, rich masculine sound curling around her like a shawl.
“Come with me.” Again, he held out his hand.
This time, instead of blindly accepting, she shook her head. “First, tell me where we’re going.”
Gravely, he regarded her, the flickering interior lights casting shadows on his craggy features. “To dance, of course.”
And just like that, he made her want him. So intensely her entire being ached with it.
“Let’s go,” she said, surprised her voice didn’t crack.
As they entered through the French doors, the band had begun to play a waltz, as if on cue. Because her mother had seen to it that Willow had received the same dance lessons as her sister, she knew all the steps.
He swept her into his arms and she had to remind herself how to breathe.
In that instant, she felt sharply the loss of every magical power she’d never had. Because dancing with Ruben was all that and more. He was tall and fit, his broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist. By the laws of physics, he should have been clumsy, a stumbling bear of a man. Instead, he moved with the grace of a born athlete. Women watched them enviously. And the men … the men eyed her, wondering no doubt why such a beautiful man wasted time on such a skinny and frumpy girl.
“They all want you,” he rumbled in her ear, making her start. At his playful words, she couldn’t help but laugh.
“I know,” she murmured back, enjoying the joke. “How could they not want the one who can get the prince to dance?”
He peered down at her, mischief making his eyes sparkle. “You’re right about that, you know. I haven’t danced at a single one of these things since I was twelve.”
“Why not?” The instant she asked the question, she knew the answer. A man who’d rather be running in the wild forest would eschew dances and banquets and all the other social nonsense that came with being royalty. She should know. She was exactly the same way, though no doubt for dissimilar reasons.
Still, this was different, somehow. Her beautiful skirt floated around her ankles and she felt as if she were gliding on air.
They’d barely begun—this time a fox-trot—when someone screamed, a shrill sound of absolute panic. As Willow, along with everyone else, turned to look, the rear of the ballroom exploded.
Chapter 2
The blast knocked them to the ground. Instinctively, Ruben tried to direct his fall to protect the unique woman who’d allowed him to spend the evening with her.
Willow. Hellhounds, he hoped she was all right. Ears ringing, he called her name, even as he hauled her to her feet amid the debris raining down on them.
She sagged against him, causing his heart to skip a beat. So tiny, her bones. He cupped her soot-covered chin in his hand and lifted her face to his. Her amazing caramel-colored eyes were open, if dazed. Alive. Relatively unhurt, as far as he could tell.
Relief flooding him, he slipped his arm around her impossibly small waist, helping her to steady herself.
“Are you okay?”
She opened her mouth to speak, and then licked her cracked lips instead, drawing his gaze. “I think so,” she finally croaked, sounding uncertain. Tentatively, she moved, testing her joints, and finally shook her head. “At least, I don’t hurt anywhere.”
She wasn’t bleeding, so for now he had no choice but to take her words for truth. As he turned away, there was another explosion, this one smaller and farther away.
Damn. His guests … his family … his home.
Releasing her, he turned to survey the damage, praying there were no fatalities. Several people were still down. Smoke rapidly began to fill the room, which meant there was a fire nearby. Flash. Another mini-explosion. Hell, he didn’t see his parents anywhere. The sounds—moans and wails and crying, fire crackling, something— What? Dripping? Smoke, more smoke. The tainted air grew rapidly difficult to breathe. How many were injured? How many were … dead? Hounds. He hoped none.
Need. To. Move. Now.