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Possessed by a Wolf
Sharon Ashwood


Wolves mate for life… Photographer Lexi Haven has reasons for avoiding monsters, so when she discovered her boyfriend Faran Kenyon was a werewolf she knew she had to leave. But years later, Faran crashes into the exclusive royal wedding she’s covering, chased by a gunman… and Lexi has no choice but to face her ex.In the chaos, the royal wedding ring disappears – and Lexi is suspected of having stolen it. As a spy, Faran can help her find the jewel, but first Lexie will need to put her trust in the supernatural… and the werewolf she cannot resist.







“This was all I ever wanted. To be close to you, even with you knowing what I am.”

Faran looked down into her face, his human eyes as impassive as the wolf’s had been.

Lexie’s hands found his chest, bringing back a flood of sensory reminders. Suddenly she felt flushed and aching with memory. Her first thought was to push him away, but the crack in his voice stopped her. Her heart was pounding so hard she felt breathless. “I’m sorry.”

Her hands slid down his shirt, feeling the quivering muscles beneath. He was holding himself in check so hard, it felt as if he might explode.

And then her hand found hot, sticky wetness. She gasped. “Faran, you’re bleeding.”

He exhaled, his breath warm against her cheek. “That wasn’t what you said in my fantasy of this moment.”


SHARON ASHWOOD is a novelist, desk jockey and enthusiast for the weird and spooky. She has an English literature degree but works as a finance geek. Interests include growing her to-be-read pile and playing with the toy graveyard on her desk. Sharon is the winner of the 2011 RITAВ® Award for Paranormal Romance. She lives in the Pacific Northwest and is owned by the Demon Lord of Kitty Badness.


Possessed

by a Wolf

Sharon Ashwood






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


To my Grandma, who taught me the joys of the kitchen (and the occasional tall tale).


Follow love and it will flee,

Flee love and it will follow thee.

—English proverb, 16th century

* * *

The Royal Family of the Kingdom of Marcari

King Renault

Dowager Queen Sophia

Princess Amelie

* * *

The Royal Family of the Kingdom of Vidon

King Targon

Crown Prince Kyle

Prince Leopold


Contents

Cover (#u46abe9e2-044c-5183-9bd1-c2373653aa95)

Excerpt (#u8830be3e-0f51-5af1-bc7a-00ff48f46a40)

About the Author (#ucc19c9bd-bc0e-575d-8371-6e8bca78042d)

Title Page (#u5f6a09f6-0b24-5e33-baa3-3ef348f00cd1)

Dedication (#u237ffced-1a39-5db6-852a-c6d12cc4e292)

The Royal Families (#u09198a26-dbdf-55d7-b6d7-a031233b4dd9)

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


There are very few monsters who warrant the fear we have of them.

—Andre Gide


Chapter 1 (#u84c5b5f0-bc3b-580d-aed5-f34a467cfcff)

Something cracked, a snapping sound that shot up Lexie Haven’s spine with an icy, instinctive foreboding.

She looked up from her Nikon, still absorbed in photographing the wedding ring on its black velvet pillow. Her concentration had been absolute, and it took a moment to come back to reality and wonder what had disturbed her. Curious, she glanced around the room, but the portable lights she’d rigged up sank everything and everyone else into darkness. The night outside turned the floor-to-ceiling windows into mirrors. She was far away, but could see herself move—a figure in an emerald silk tunic and slacks, her pale face framed by a hip-length tumble of fiery hair. And then someone moved, blotting out her reflection.

“What was that?” she said to no one in particular. No one replied. She looked around, almost ready to dismiss the noise from her mind. She had work to do.

The dim room crowded with party guests made it next to impossible to take good photographs, but royalty paid well. In return, Lexie took plenty of shots of the attendees and their bling, and that included the celebrated wedding band. Although not every palace official wanted a photographer at the party, Lexie was the compromise choice between no coverage and a tabloid free-for-all. Hers would be the first photographs to hit the press. The royal couple had unveiled the ring only half an hour ago.

Which was why Lexie was standing beside the marble fountain, camera pointed at the display case where the ring was being shown. For Lexie’s convenience, the case’s glass top had been removed and the security alarms switched off. Nevertheless, security guards stood to either side of the case. Until that moment they’d been polite yet bored, but at the cracking sound they stiffened like dogs catching a scent.

Other people must have heard the noise, as well. Voices rose above the splashing of the central fountain, no longer the polite murmur of ambassadors and celebrities deemed worthy to visit the Palace of Marcari. The hundred-odd A-list guests were now just ordinary people, shrill and afraid. Only the classical pianist carried on as usual from his Steinway in the corner, but then musicians were trained to keep going no matter what.

Another cracking noise came, sharper this time. A woman screamed—a short, horrified yelp of surprise. Lexie switched off the portable lights, bringing the rest of the room into better view, and stopped cold. The three south walls of the octagonal room were almost all glass, giving a view of the gardens. A spiderweb of fractures radiated across the center pane, leading away from a tiny hole. Gunshots. That’s what they’d heard. Fear came like a crashing wave, and Lexie’s whole body turned cold. Who was out there in the darkness, looking—shooting—in?

Both the guards drew their guns and joined the scatter of security bolting toward the prince and princess, who stood just in front of the fountain. Lexie’s hands had gone slippery with fear, and she set the Nikon down, some part of her still sane enough to worry about dropping it. She grabbed the edge of the display case to steady herself.

The crowd was scattering—or trying to. The west doors that led to the rest of the palace were flung open, but rather than offering escape, more gunshots rang outside the open door. Someone shut the doors again, and the noise of the crowd escalated.

“What’s going on?” Lexie’s friend, Chloe Anderson, appeared at her elbow. She was dressed in a silk suit with her fine hair swept up in a twist. Her normally fair coloring had turned ghostly pale.

“Someone is shooting. We need to get people out of here.” Lexie’s voice shook. The room suddenly felt smaller than it had a minute ago, as if the walls were being sucked inward.

“There’s got to be another exit.” Chloe’s eyes were wide with shock. And no wonder—she was the princess’s wedding planner, responsible for making sure the event went off without a hitch. Whatever was going on definitely wasn’t part of Chloe’s plans.

“I think we’re trapped,” was all Lexie could say.

The room was packed, making it hotter than it should have been. Lexie swallowed hard and forced herself to breathe. A jittering edge of panic danced at the edges of her self-control. She slammed it down. She needed her wits sharp. Lexie passed a hand over her forehead, trying to ignore her clammy skin. Get it together. She made herself stand straighter. “How are we going to keep these people calm?”

She was just a photographer, but job titles didn’t count at moments like this. Fortunately, she wasn’t the only one thinking ahead. Right then, the knot of security around the prince and princess broke apart. Princess Amelie of Marcari had one hand on her future bridegroom’s arm. Kyle Alphonse Adraio, Crown Prince of Vidon and future king of both countries, was waving a hand as if insisting the guards leave his side and help deal with the shooters. The guards, who wore the green uniforms of Vidon, didn’t look happy. Nor did Prince Kyle’s younger brother, Leo, who had gone the pale gray of moldy cheese.

Another shot punched through the window and smashed one of the crystal chandeliers, making Lexie jump. In the next moment, the central window shattered into tiny fragments. Cries of fright and pain tore the air as shards smashed to the marble tiles, sending up a dazzling shower of glass. Lexie grabbed Chloe and ducked behind the display case. Needle-sharp glass fragments left a stinging kiss against her skin.

The crash still echoed as an enormous wolf leaped through the gaping window frame. The beast cleared most of the fallen glass in one graceful bound, landing a dozen yards away from Lexie, its claws skidding as it turned to face the broken window with a savage snarl. The creature had pale gold eyes, its coat shading from white fur at the muzzle to black at the tips of its ears. It was huge, at least four feet at the shoulder.

There were wolves in Marcari’s mountains—they were on the crest of the royal family—but this one’s size gave him away as something more. The beast was not just a wolf, but a werewolf, and she knew his markings. More than that, she inexplicably knew it was Faran Kenyon as clearly as if he had called her name.

Faran. Her ex-boyfriend really was the big bad wolf.

The room—even the piano—fell into a horrified, fixed silence. Lexie’s heart, already speeding, nearly pounded through her ribs. Memory speared her, adding old terror to new. She’d seen those razor-sharp fangs tear a limb off.

The silence ended as every one of the prince’s guards drew their weapons and pointed them at the beast. Lexie leaped to her feet and thrust out a hand. “Stop!”

Her voice rang with command. Everyone turned to stare. Even the wolf looked surprised.

So was Lexie. Why am I saving Faran? I ran across a continent to get away from him. And yet, there was nothing else she could bear to do. With a terrible, desperate surge of dismay, she understood that not even a world of distance had broken the essential bonds between them.

“Be careful!” Chloe said in alarm, though Lexie couldn’t tell whether it was the guns or the fangs that worried her.

“I know what I’m doing,” she replied tightly. It was an utter lie. Lexie’s heart was pounding so hard she felt dizzy, but she moved until the guards would have to shoot through her to get to the wolf. And then she turned and faced him. The wolf—Faran—was watching her with his cool yellow gaze, sniffing the air. Lexie wondered if he would recall her scent, and how he would react when he did. She’d never been sure how much humanity Faran kept in wolf form and besides that, their parting had been awful.

Glass clung to his coat in glittering fragments, his muzzle scratched and oozing blood. There was a wound in his flank, too—deep enough that the fur was matted and dark. Lexie felt a wrench, guessing that was where at least one bullet had gone. The wolf rose, taking a step toward her.

“No,” she said sharply. “Sit. Stay.”

He sat, ears going back as if she’d ticked him off. Faran never had liked being told what to do.

Too bad. Lexie was shaking. She had memories of watching him fight, teeth and claws rending flesh with unthinkable, wet sounds. The sight of blood didn’t bother her much, but the warmth and smell of it had undone her that night. She’d never heard a man scream like that before. They weren’t memories she’d ever shared much less tried to figure out. It had been easier to run, and keep running. I knew there was a chance he might be in Marcari. I should never have come.

But there were other memories of Faran Kenyon. Like the fact that he’d brought her champagne in bed and listened to her talk about the career she’d have one day, the beautiful photographs she’d take. We did love one another. Until she’d found out what he was.

Their history was a painful tangle, but this moment—here, now—was simple. She refused to watch him die.

“Ma’am,” said one of the guards, his weapon raised. “Step away.”

“I don’t think so.” She stepped closer instead, wiping her sweating palms on the green silk of her tunic. Her stomach felt like a bag of writhing snakes.

At the sound of the guard’s voice, Faran snarled again, showing long, curving canines. He began to stand, but Lexie ordered him down with a gesture. There was no question Faran would protect her, but that would just put him in harm’s way again.

Why had he come through the window, and who had shot him?

“Listen to Ms. Haven,” said Princess Amelie from across the room. “Unless the creature attacks, do not harm it.”

“Your Royal Highness, please!” one of the guards protested, glancing at the prince for direction. “There is enough danger without this!”

“You will respect her wish,” Prince Kyle ordered in a tone that brooked no argument. The prince and princess were well aware of Faran’s secret.

A whisper ran through the crowd, and not a happy one. They saw only a wolf.

Lexie swallowed hard. Panting, Faran regarded her with that unreadable yellow gaze, giving away nothing. She could feel the eyes of the guards on them both, waiting for an excuse to shoot. A sudden image of Faran’s smile, the private one he’d kept for her alone, stabbed through her.

Chloe was still crouched behind the display case. She spoke, low and soft. “I hear dogs.”

So did Lexie, and the baying was getting louder, breaking into the deep bell of bloodhounds and the growling snarl of coursers bred to bring down prey. Lexie’s breath caught. She raised her chin, forcing authority into her voice. “That’s a hunting pack. What’s it doing on the palace grounds?”

One of the guards looked up, his eyes cool. “I don’t know, ma’am.” Since the wolf wasn’t moving, a few of them stepped away, trying to get a better look out the windows. Lexie watched them suspiciously. Had the guard just lied?

And why are they—whoever they are—chasing a werewolf? she added silently. And who is doing the shooting?

Faran was looking at the broken window and giving off a slow, steady rumble of threat. Enough light spilled across the lawn that Lexie could make out what was happening outside. The pack was just beyond the gaping hole where the window used to be. Despite the gunfire, some of the guests had been escaping through the shattered opening. Now they scattered out of the way. At least two dozen dogs were coming fast, straining at their leashes. Their handlers also wore the green coats of the visiting Vidonese.

That was the clue Lexie needed. “Oh!”

Chloe shot her a curious look. “What?”

Lexie dropped her voice. “Does Vidon still hate the supernatural?”

Chloe blinked and gave a single nod. The wolf made a chuffing noise that sounded sarcastic. Lexie swore under her breath, doing her best to still the trembling in her hands.

Until Faran had finally taken her into his confidence, Lexie’s knowledge of the supernatural was limited to B movies and horror novels. Only a handful knew that the King of Marcari had vampire soldiers at his beck and call, or that the King of Vidon had a company of knights sworn to destroy them. And they’re still fighting. Brilliant.

The disagreement between Team Vampire and Team Slayer had kept the two tiny countries at war since the Crusades. The marriage between Amelie and Kyle—a true love match, by all accounts—was supposed to unite the kingdoms and end the hostilities. That was why all this—the party, the ring and the photos—was happening.

But if the Vidonese were hunting a werewolf on Marcari soil, all bets were off.

The hounds spilled over the window frame, howling in fury. Faran was on his feet, suddenly between Lexie and the dogs. The guards flinched, and the wolf froze, stopping just out of reach of his opponents. But he growled so deep and low that she felt it through the floor.

The hounds exploded toward him, but the rush didn’t last. At the last moment, the handlers realized there was a sea of broken glass. Swearing, they hauled on the leashes. The dogs whined and yipped and howled, denied their prey.

Faran stalked back and forth just beyond the litter of shards, limping from the wound in his side. Blood spotted the floor behind him. Still, his jaws dripped with saliva, upper lip curling to show long ivory fangs. One particularly ambitious hound strained forward, front paws rising as it fought the leash. Faran snapped, taunting the howling dogs. Guarding Lexie.

The tension in the room spiraled upward. Several of the Vidonese guards looked ready to start shooting, no matter what the princess had said. “Wolf,” Lexie commanded, fear sharpening her tone. “Heel!”

He gave her a look that sent ice down her spine. “Heel your alpha ass,” she muttered under her breath, dizzy with terror but showing none of it. “Now. Please.”

Faran stubbornly remained standing, but he fell quiet.

“Get those dogs out of here!” Prince Kyle thundered. “This is a palace, not a kennel.”

The west entrance to the rest of the palace slammed open again, the heavy oak doors swinging as if they were no more than paper. Lexie realized that the gunshots both inside and outside the palace had stopped. A tall, dark-haired man with a rifle stood poised on the threshold, looking stern and businesslike in a perfectly tailored black suit.

“Sam!” Chloe exclaimed softly.

For the first time, hope warmed Lexie. Sam Ralston was Chloe’s fiancé and like most of the warriors serving La Compagnie des Morts—the Company of the Dead—Sam was a vampire. He was also utterly reliable, exactly the sort of good guy one wanted on one’s side when the world turned upside down.

Sam was one of Princess Amelie’s personal bodyguards. Lexie frowned, doubt eroding her sense of relief. Why hadn’t he been at the party, guarding the princess? Why were the only guards here Prince Kyle’s?

Sam had clearly been fighting, the collar of his jacket ripped and the front of his shirt smeared with dirt. He strode forward, looking disheveled but in control. His cool regard took in the wolf, the hounds, the royals, and only faltered when he saw Chloe huddled on the floor. His expression grew even darker. A handful of other armed men arrived in his wake, all wearing black. They were vampires, too, judging by their pale faces and graceful movements.

Princess Amelie watched them approach with a somber expression at odds with her bright yellow party dress. She was delicately beautiful, with long dark hair and wide violet eyes. Prince Kyle kept a protective hand on her waist.

At the prince’s order, the handlers had removed the dogs. The baying of the hounds was fading, but many of the green-coated Vidonese had remained. Now they stepped forward. They were less graceful than the vampires, but made up for it with coiled, angry tension. And then one of the green-coated men pushed forward, gesturing to the others to fall in behind him. Clearly, he was their captain—and it wasn’t just his air of authority that set him apart. An elaborate design of a serpent and crossed daggers was embroidered in gold on his jacket sleeve. Those aren’t just ordinary guardsmen, Lexie realized with a fresh bolt of alarm. They’re Knights of Vidon! Both sides of the supernatural war were right in front of her, facing off before her eyes.

The knights were closest to Kyle and Leo, the vampires to Amelie. The two groups—so clearly representing the kingdoms of Vidon and Marcari—seemed to pull the couple apart with the weight of their hostility. Anger hung in the air like lightning waiting to strike.

Sam stopped before the princess and dropped to one knee, the gesture reminiscent of a warrior of old—which he was. He bowed his head, and the room fell silent once more.

Faran moved to stand close to Lexie, the heat from his body like a warm blanket. His rough fur brushed her hand. For a moment, with him beside her, she forgot to be afraid—forgot that she’d done her best to break the bonds between them.

Then Sam spoke.

“My lady, we have been betrayed.”

Faran sent up a howl, long and heartbroken, that stole Lexie’s breath.


Chapter 2 (#u84c5b5f0-bc3b-580d-aed5-f34a467cfcff)

Lexie watched the closed faces of the knights and vampires and wished for her camera—and not just to take pictures. Somehow she saw things more clearly through a lens, and right now she desperately wanted to understand what was going on.

Apparently, she wasn’t the only one.

“Explain yourselves,” Kyle said, his gaze roaming from the captain of the knights to Sam and back again. The room felt unnaturally quiet in the ringing emptiness left by the wolf’s howl.

The prince was young and athletic, looking more like a striker for one of the Italian football teams than he did royalty. His brown hair curled past his collar, and normally his mobile mouth was ready to laugh. But right now, he was furious. “Tell me why there is violence here? Why you are making accusations on a night when my bride and I should be toasting a united and peaceful future?”

Nobody spoke for a moment, the vampires still as waxwork. It was Faran who broke the silence with a low woof. He roused himself, his ruff brushing against Lexie’s hand as he limped slowly toward the royal couple. With a touch of panic for his safety, she reached out, her fingers tangling in his coat. Faran paused, looking over his shoulder. His eyes caught the light, reflecting an unearthly yellow glow—but the wolfish stare gave nothing away.

Gooseflesh rose along her arms. She had left him for good reasons—only some of them to do with his furry side. Her courage suddenly draining away, she dropped her hand.

The wolf huffed and carried on, padding wearily forward. He was safe now, Lexie decided. With so much tension in the room, no one was drawing a weapon without good cause. Still, everyone in Faran’s path moved away as if pulled by an invisible string.

The wolf sat down next to Sam, ears pricked forward as if ready to join the conversation. Sam put one hand on his back, a gesture of solidarity. To the onlookers, it appeared as if the wolf was Sam’s pet.

“Your Royal Highness,” Sam said, addressing Princess Amelie. “The Knights of Vidon struck at the loyal members of the Company. They claim our presence here is treason. We were forced to defend ourselves.”

Before anyone could respond, the captain of the Vidonese Knights gave a sharp, military bow. “There was clearly a mistake, Your Highness. When it became clear to me that the orders had been given too soon, I commanded our men to stand down. The hostilities have ceased.”

Too soon? Lexie’s entire body chilled until she was light-headed. Did that mean there was a correct time to open fire on Sam and the rest of Marcari’s trusted bodyguards?

The princess wheeled on the knight. “Captain Gregori, when is it ever suitable to fire on my people? Who gave those orders?”

A shocked murmur ran through the room. Lexie moved quickly to Chloe’s side, grasping her friend’s hand. Chloe returned her grip as if she needed comfort just as badly.

“Where is my father?” the princess demanded, fear sharpening her tone.

Captain Gregori gave a slight bow. “Your Highness, the Kings of Marcari and Vidon have been in a private conference at the summer palace.”

“I know that. Where is he now?”

“They are still there, Your Highness.”

And they didn’t even break for their own heirs’ engagement party? Lexie wondered. Both the queens had passed away, which made the absence of the royal fathers even more pointed. What’s so important that it’s keeping them locked away in the countryside?

The storm of voices grew louder. Kyle held up a hand for silence, waiting out the crescendo of exclamations until the room fell quiet again. “Many of our honored guests have left, but some still remain. Captain Gregori, would you please order your men to see those still here safely back to their rooms. You, however, will remain. Once this chamber is cleared, we shall receive your full report and a thorough explanation.”

“Shots have been fired,” the princess protested. “My people attacked. I want more than words!”

Prince Kyle gave a firm nod. “So do I, my love. But we must think first of the safety of our guests. Captain Gregori, order a sweep of the grounds. Ensure there are no more misinformed marksmen lurking in the bushes. And bring those dog handlers to me. I want to know what possessed anyone to bring a dog pack into the city. The last time I looked, downtown was woefully short of wild boar.”

Although the prince’s words were polite, his tone said heads would roll. Still, there was an uncomfortable pause where no one moved a muscle. But then Sam pointed to two of his own men. “Start helping.”

Obediently, the dark-suited members of the Company turned and approached the shocked crowd of onlookers.

It was like a switch flipped. Suddenly everyone moved, the scene dissolving into commotion. People streamed past Lexie as they pushed toward the doors, many not even waiting for an escort back to their rooms.

Lexie swept up her cameras and equipment, packing as quickly as she could. Now that the threat of danger was past, an intense weariness flooded her. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the kind of tired that promised a good sleep. She could already feel nightmares coming on.

Winding an extension cord, she looked around the room. Even though she was moving at top speed, she was one of the last ones out. Even Faran was gone, vanishing when her back was turned. There was only a trail of blood from his wound.

She still felt a treacherous pang of disappointment. Knowing Faran, that would be the last glimpse she’d have of him. Once he’d made a decision, he stuck to it. Her vision blurred a moment, but she blinked the tears away. She’d already cried enough over the way things had ended between them—enough to last a lifetime.

“Ms. Haven,” said a male voice beside her, making her start.

She looked up. It was Prince Leo. He wore a dark suit, his style and manner as impeccable as an aftershave commercial. He was holding another extension cord, neatly bundled. He gave her a faint smile. “I thought you could use some assistance.”

She accepted the cord. It was a polite way of hurrying her out the door, but it was graciously done. “Thank you, Your Highness.”

“Have you got everything?”

She put the cords in her bag and glanced around. “I think that’s it.”

His fingertips brushed her sleeve. The contact was barely there, but it made her shiver, and not in a good way. The gesture reminded her of her brother, who’d been the perfect gentleman in public and something else when her parents’ backs were turned.

“Then I bid you good night, Ms. Haven. I must say I admire your spirit. I’m not fond of large dogs, to say nothing of wild animals.” Without waiting for a reply, Prince Leo gave a brief nod and went to join the other royals.

Her spirit. Just a suave way of saying that her particular brand of crazy had some entertainment value.

Lexie bent and zipped up her duffel bag, then hitched the strap over her shoulder. It was heavy, but the familiar weight was a comfort. Chloe, who had been speaking with Princess Amelie, finished the conversation and joined her. Together they left the reception room for the corridor, the heavy oak doors slamming behind them. The sound echoed along the marble palace floors.

“I can’t believe any of this,” Chloe said, pale with anger. Her heels clicked on the marble floor, the sound like snapping teeth. “Their wedding is just weeks away.”

Lexie frowned. “What was all that about Kyle’s knights going after the Company? Did you follow any of the conversation?”

“I don’t think it was Kyle’s idea. He looked ready to strangle Captain Gregori.”

And then they stopped walking. The corridor was crammed shoulder to shoulder with people—guests, palace employees and medical personnel tending to those with cuts from the broken glass. Lexie hated enclosed spaces. “We’ll never get through this.”

Chloe glanced around, noticing that Lexie was standing motionless behind her. “You can dive out of an airplane, but you hate a crowded room.”

Lexie shrugged. “I want somewhere private to hash this all over. A jam-packed hallway isn’t the place.”

“Follow me.” Chloe took a left turn and led her down a different, less populated corridor. Eventually they came to a narrow door. She pushed it open, revealing the palace garden beyond.

Lexie followed her out. A walk across the soft, springy grass wasn’t ideal—Lexie’s bag was heavy and Chloe had to take off her spike heels, but the open air was a relief. The dogs were absent, and a few guardsmen patrolled at a distance. Otherwise, it was quiet.

“Well?” Lexie asked after a moment. “Do you have any idea what’s going on?”

“There is a disagreement between the two royal houses,” Chloe said, keeping her voice down although there was no one close by. “Sam won’t tell me anything.”

At that, her cheeks darkened to a brighter pink.

“Has he even hinted what it’s about?” The breeze whipped Lexie’s hair across her face. She brushed it away.

“I don’t think he knows the details, but it’s to do with the wedding. It’s all wedding, all day. No one thinks about anything else.”

Lexie shifted the strap of her bag. “Still, it’s a wedding. What’s so wrong that they’re shooting at each other? Did someone order the wrong napkins?”

Chloe gave a derisive laugh. “This isn’t like an ordinary marriage, sweetie. With royal families involved, it’s as much a treaty as anything else. The politics are above my pay grade, but even I know everything could fall apart in a blink.”

The wing of the palace where they slept was just ahead, and Lexie’s spirits began to recover a little. They walked without speaking, the way old friends could, and she caught the scent of the sea. The Mediterranean was visible from the upper balconies of the palace, but here there were only trees and pale stone walls.

“Who’s that?” Chloe asked, pointing ahead.

Lexie squinted. Someone was sitting on a rock wall, hunched over as if he was resting. The waist-high wall—according to the official palace guidebook—was part of an ancient fortification no longer in use. The breeze gusted again, rustling leaves. The ambient light caught a shock of fair hair. Lexie stopped, dumbfounded for a second. Faran.

Chloe gestured with the hand that held her shoes. “I’m sure you two have something to say to each other. I should go.”

“Don’t you dare!” Lexie reached out to catch her arm.

But Chloe was too fast. “I’ll see you in the morning. Maybe Sam will actually tell me something by then.” She retreated across the lawn.

“No, wait!” But Lexie’s feet were glued to the earth, and it felt as if that earth was opening up to swallow her whole. Defeated, she set her bag of equipment on the ground.

Slowly, Faran slid from the wall and landed with easy grace, although he seemed to favor his right side. Lexie felt the same tug of recognition as when she’d seen him inside. Now that he was in human form, he was terrifying in a completely different way.

Faran had shaggy fair hair and strong-boned features that reminded her of a Viking. But it was the memory of what she couldn’t see beneath the black T-shirt and jeans that made her mouth go dry. Faran Kenyon was tall, with a warrior’s lean and muscular body that had made Lexie reach for her camera time and again because she barely trusted what her naked eyes told her. She could have made a fortune from those photos. For a moment, she drifted in memory, recalling the hot, hard feel of him beneath her hands.

They’d met in Cannes when she’d been photographing a swimwear collection. He’d been catering private events, and looking as sexy as sin fresh out of the box. When he’d turned on the charm, it had been a full-on sensory assault.

Two months later, they’d been living together in Paris. She’d had no idea he’d been working undercover the whole time, hunting down a ring of rogue vampires who dealt in the traffic of runaway girls. Not until the end, when she was halfway out the door.

“Hey,” he said, watching her warily. It was too dark to see the color of his eyes, but she knew they would be blue now, and not wolfish gold.

“Hey,” she returned, hot embarrassment stealing over her. She groped for something to say that wouldn’t be inane. “You got dressed fast.”

So much for sounding cool and collected.

His eyebrows gave a slight lift. “The guardhouse has lockers.”

“Oh. So you’re prepared.”

He gave her an exasperated look. “Normally I’m a prepared kind of guy. Though I didn’t expect to see you here.”

There wasn’t anything to say to that. “Are you hurt? Did they use...” she trailed off. “I should stop talking now.”

His mouth flattened with anger. The next words came out hot and fast. “Silver bullets? Yeah. Thirty-eight hollow point ammo and hunting dogs. Way to make a guy feel special. I was lucky it wasn’t a direct hit.”

“What are you saying?” she asked in a small voice.

“I’ve been patrolling the grounds every night after dark. They knew I was coming. I ran to the one place I could think of where they would have to stop shooting.”

“Inside the palace.” She realized they were talking as if years hadn’t passed since their last conversation.

“Leaping through the window was not my best move, but I’d tried everything else and I’d been hit.” He ran a hand through his fair hair. “I appreciate that you stood up for me.”

“No problem.” She wasn’t sure what she expected, but appreciate felt lukewarm. Then again, she was talking to a werewolf ex-boyfriend who’d never been a stickler for etiquette. “Do you know what’s going on?”

“No.” His voice held a ring of bitter truth. “But it’s nasty.”

He touched his ribs, probing gently. His breath hissed inward, surprising her. Faran rarely showed pain or any kind of vulnerability, so it must have really hurt. Her hand rose, automatically reaching out to comfort him, but she dropped it before he noticed.

“I thought you healed when you changed form,” said Lexie.

“Wounds from silver are different.”

“Do you need a doctor?”

He gave her a narrow look, his expression changing as if he suddenly remembered how everything had ended between them. “In a human hospital? That would go well, don’t you think?”

She took a step back. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think.” Hollowness opened up in her, recalling everything that she’d lost when she’d slipped out of their apartment, leaving no more than a note behind.

His tone grew sharper. “What are you doing here, Lexie?”

“Chloe hired me as the wedding photographer.”

“I don’t mean that, I mean...” He gestured from her to him. “I mean why are you talking to me? I don’t exist for you.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” she shot back, irritation rushing in to salve her hurt. “If I close my eyes, you’ll disappear?”

His glare reminded her of why she had left him. Beneath his charming exterior was a predator. That beast was fully present now.

“But one day I did vanish, didn’t I?” The resentment was thick in his voice. “The day you learned what I really was, you just stopped seeing me. It didn’t matter if I was standing right in front of you.”

“That was years ago, Faran,” Lexie said, fresh shock rising in her. She’d expected time to blunt emotion, but clearly that hadn’t happened for either of them. “Why are you still so angry?”

He stood with one hand over his side and a stubborn glower on his face. “Why am I still angry?” he repeated softly. “Do you have to ask?”

She matched stubborn for stubborn. “Yes.”

He closed his eyes. “Lexie, what does happiness look like to you?”

The question caught her off guard. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Just answer me.”

“I’m an artist,” she said automatically. “Taking pictures is what makes me happy.”

He moved so fast she never saw it. All at once, his hands were on her arms, pulling her close until their bodies all but touched. Werewolves ran hot, their body temperatures a degree or two above humans’. A long line of heat vibrated between them, tantalizing Lexie through the silk of her tunic and slacks.

She didn’t like being trapped in his grip. It was far too unexpected and intimate for comfort, putting him in control in a way that sent every alarm bell ringing. She squirmed, but his fingers were like iron.

Faran looked down into her face, his human eyes as impassive as the wolf’s had been. She could almost touch his resentment. He wore it like a scar over the hurt she’d left behind. “This was all I wanted. To be close to you, even with you knowing what I am. I thought maybe you could eventually get past the wolf.”

Lexie’s hands found his chest. It was familiar territory, bringing back a flood of sensory reminders. Suddenly she felt flushed and aching with memory. Her first thought was to push him away, but the crack in his voice stopped her. Her heart was pounding so fast she felt breathless, her face nearly numb. “I’m sorry.”

Her hands slid down his shirt, feeling the quivering muscle beneath. He was holding himself in check so hard, it felt as if he might explode. Her fingers became clumsy, unequal to whatever it was she was trying to do. Comfort? Fend off? She’d lost all sense of direction.

And then her hand found hot, sticky wetness. She gasped. “Faran, you’re bleeding.”

He exhaled, his breath warm against her cheek. “That wasn’t what you said in my fantasy of this moment.”

“Faran...”

He pulled away, walking backward. Cold air flooded in to take his place. “Go home, Lexie. Get out of here. Whatever’s going on is just going to get worse. Believe it or not, I don’t want to see you hurt.”

Of course she believed him. Whatever else he was, Faran had never been cruel. “But aren’t you in danger?”

He stopped moving, his hand over his injury again. “That’s got nothing to do with you.”

Lexie couldn’t help feeling that he was very, very wrong. “What are you going to do?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he turned and walked away. It was exactly what she’d done to him back in Paris.

It was what she wanted.

She was absolutely sure of it.

Almost.


Chapter 3 (#u84c5b5f0-bc3b-580d-aed5-f34a467cfcff)

“You’re lucky you left the scene when you did,” Sam said to Faran. “The discussion in the reception hall went from bad to worse.”

It was just before dawn and Faran was exhausted. Sam didn’t look much better. He had gone from the palace to a long meeting with the Company’s top brass and hadn’t even bothered to change out of his torn suit.

Now they were sitting in one of the break rooms at the Company’s headquarters, which was a compound hidden in the hills outside the capital city. It had been decorated by vampires, and looked like a cross between a country club and a crypt—all dark, heavy furniture and oxblood wallpaper.

“What did I miss?” Faran asked. “Please tell me Prince Kyle did more than send Gregori to bed without his supper.”

“Amelie was ready to flay him alive for threatening her personal guards.”

“I’m touched.”

“I’m in awe. She has her father’s temper.”

Of course the members of the Company were more than just bodyguards. They were supernatural operatives, and the King of Marcari encouraged their participation where and when the international community needed them.

Faran was one of the Four Horsemen, the Company’s crack unit named after the riders of the Apocalypse: Death, Plague, Famine and War. Sam was called War and the doctor, Mark Winspear, Plague. Faran was Famine and the only one not a vampire. Jack Anderson—Death—had been killed in action. He’d been like the father Faran had never had.

Even one man down, the Horsemen were the best. They took the call after the CIA, the FBI, MI5 and all the rest of the big boys failed to get results. Then they slipped in and did what needed doing. They were ghosts, action heroes and James Bond all wrapped into one fabulous package—at least on a good day.

This had not been one of Faran’s better days. “I would have stayed, but silver bullets aren’t exactly my friends. Once I got the bleeding under control, I came back here.”

“I would think so.”

Faran slumped as far down in the armchair as he could without pulling his stitches. “Still, I hated to miss the punch line.”

The whole time he’d been in the reception room, Faran had felt his strength fading, his vision going dark. He’d been bleeding out, but every instinct had refused to let him show weakness. Not in front of the enemy.

Not in front of Lexie.

“You drove like that?” Sam asked, changing the subject abruptly.

“I turned human first. Easier to reach the gas pedal.”

The vampire gave him a look. “I’m surprised you managed without passing out.”

Faran grunted. “Not a big deal.”

“Right. You could have asked for help.”

“Whatever.” Being the token werewolf in the group wasn’t easy. As tough as he was, keeping up with vampires demanded his best game. There’d been a few bad moments in the locker room when he’d struggled into his shirt. There were so many tiny movements that went unnoticed until a person had a hole ripped through his gut. And the walk to the parking garage a few streets away from the palace had been no treat, either. But he’d rather shave off his fur than admit it.

“Did anyone see you?”

“Chloe,” he answered automatically, but then he hesitated. “She was with Lexie.”

Sam cocked an eyebrow. “Any problems there?”

“No.” Not in the way Sam meant. Lexie would never betray the fact that he was a werewolf. She’d been true to her word about keeping his nature and the Company a secret. By Company law, she should have had her memories wiped, but he hadn’t been able to ask that of her. Lexie clung fiercely to her independence, and obviously that included control over her memory. That bargain—her silence for his trust—was the one unbroken promise between them.

Faran leaned his head against the chair back, closing his eyes. “Lexie and I talked for a few minutes and then I left.”

Her voice—always low, always a little throaty—had resonated through him, stirring up the memory of so many midnight conversations. A hopeless, empty feeling yawned inside him, reminding him that she’d recoiled from the very core of what he was. Faran pressed his hand against the wound in his side, as if that would keep his soul, as well as blood, from leaking away.

He opened his eyes. Sam was watching him. Faran was used to the undead, but there was something about that motionless, storm-gray gaze that put him on the alert, predator to predator. “You’re giving me the vampire stink-eye.”

“I remember the mess you were in when you two broke it off before. Right now, we need your head in the game.”

Faran didn’t argue. “Not an issue. We’re barely on speaking terms.”

“She faced down men with guns for you. That took a lot of courage.”

“She didn’t mean anything by it.” He’d learned his lesson the first time. “Our love life was filled with sound and fury, signifying nothing.”

Sam didn’t look convinced, but he let it drop. “Shall we move on to the hounds and bullets part of the entertainment?”

“Why not?”

“We need to talk about what happened tonight.”

“I’ve heard that one before, but the girl was half-naked and holding a bottle of Veuve Clicquot.”

“Don’t joke. Not now.” Sam’s worried expression sobered Faran.

Faran tried to sit straight and regretted it. “What’s up? Give me the quick and dirty version first.”

“The Vidonese insist on using their own security for the wedding. In fact, they’re insisting that the entire capital be patrolled by their own guard.”

“So where do we fit in that picture?”

“We don’t. No nonhumans allowed.”

Faran’s anxiety burst into full bloom. “That doesn’t sound like Prince Kyle. He likes us.”

“It’s not Kyle, it’s his father.” Sam pushed his dark hair out of his eyes. “Now that the prince and princess are uniting the two kingdoms, there has to be a compromise about the Company and the Knights of Vidon.”

“What does that mean?”

“The Company is banned from the palace. From the city itself.” Sam was expressionless, which usually meant he was about to explode.

“Since when?” Faran growled. “How come this is the first I’m hearing about it?”

“No one knew. The kings signed the agreement earlier tonight, but their negotiations have been kept under wraps. No one could afford a leak, especially with all the international media around for the wedding. Both sides agree that the supernatural should remain a secret from the general population.”

“And this agreement is why the knights suddenly started shooting at us?”

“The Vidonese expected our resistance. Their orders were to clear us out, at gunpoint if necessary.”

And of course—knowing nothing about any agreement—the Company had fought back. Anger hunched Faran’s shoulders. “Did anyone plan on informing us we weren’t welcome anymore?”

“The king wanted to speak to us, and to Princess Amelie, himself. The Vidonese representatives agreed that would be best.”

“That’s not what happened. Amelie and Kyle looked as surprised as anyone else.”

“His Majesty was going to tell us tomorrow. But the order to treat the Company as hostile went out tonight. Vidon is claiming an administrative error.”

Faran swore. “Yeah, right.”

Sam’s mouth was a tight line. “Marcari’s human guards will stay at the palace, but no members of the Company. None of them except you.”

Faran looked up in surprise. “Why me?”

“The Vidonese don’t know your human face. Werewolves don’t show up on the Knights’s security sensors the way vampires do. You can still walk freely though the palace and the city.”

It was true that Faran hadn’t worked at the palace very often. His comings and goings involved a lot of sneaking around, posing as a tourist, and once showing up with Sam holding his leash. They’d both been the butt of jokes after that one.

“You’re saying I’m to be the Company’s eyes and ears?” Faran said, a mix of apprehension and excitement stirring inside him. “Who knows about this?”

“Company HQ, the king, Amelie and Kyle. That’s it.”

“Even though Kyle is from Vidon?”

“He knows you, and he loves Amelie. He wants her to be safe.”

Faran narrowed his eyes. “Why wouldn’t she be?”

“Vidon just forced Marcari to give up its greatest protection. The two nations have been at war forever. You have to admit, it looks suspicious. There are even whispers of Vidon’s collusion with outside forces. King Renault is willing to go along with the agreement up to a point. He wants the marriage and alliance to work, but he wants a hotline to the Company if things go wrong. That’s you.”

“I see.” Faran shifted uneasily. He was ideally suited for the task, but was—at least compared to the centuries-old vampires—a junior agent.

Sam ducked his dark head. “Tell Chloe all this, will you? With the wedding so near, she’s sleeping in the palace. She needs to know why I cannot come to see her.”

“Of course,” Faran agreed, wishing he had someone expecting him.

He dismissed the thought, even if the emotion behind it snagged in his soul like a barb. Wanting Lexie—a woman who saw him as a slavering beast—was no way to keep his head in the game.

* * *

Pounding woke Lexie out of a fitful doze. She cracked open her eyes, squinting into the darkness. For a long, foggy moment she couldn’t figure out what had dragged her to consciousness, but then she heard it again. A fist thumping on the heavy wood door to her guest suite in the palace.

Foreboding brought her fully awake. She groped for her phone and checked the time—five o’clock. Her anxiety deepened, making her clench her fingers around the phone.

The pounding started afresh.

No one pounded on a door before dawn for a happy reason. She shoved the covers aside and got up, pulling on a robe. Her feet found slippers somewhere between the bedroom and the tiny sitting room.

“Who is it?” she called.

“Open the door, Ms. Haven,” a male voice demanded. “It is Captain Valois of the Marcari Police Department. We would like to ask you some questions.”

Lexie hesitated, her fingers on the door handle. The officer was speaking English even though the country’s official language was French. It was a courtesy she’d encountered everywhere in the tiny kingdom, but for once it seemed sinister. Whatever questions the captain had to ask, he wanted to be clearly understood. With a hard swallow, she opened the door.

Valois didn’t so much as blink at her disheveled appearance. “May I come in?”

Lexie stepped aside. The captain was somewhere in his forties, with nondescript brown hair and worry lines. But his uniform was neatly pressed, as were those of the guards who stood to either side of him. All three marched into the tiny front room, immediately overcrowding the small space.

“What can I do for you, Captain?” she asked. Her voice was thick with sleep, but firm.

“Please remain here with me while we search your quarters,” he said evenly.

“Search my things?” Lexie exclaimed. “What for?”

Valois gave a nod to his henchmen. One started for her bedroom, the other picked up her bag of camera equipment. Lexie darted forward protectively, but the captain grabbed her arm. “Let my men do their work, Ms. Haven. I promise you they will not be unnecessarily destructive.”

Lexie pulled away, feeling utterly ambushed. She ran her hands through the rough tangle of her unbrushed hair. “What’s going on?”

Valois clasped his hands behind his back. “A distressing circumstance has emerged. We are questioning everyone who was in the reception hall last night.”

She suddenly noticed the dark circles under his eyes. Valois appeared to have been up all night. “Distressing circumstance? You mean the shooting?”

He gave a slight shake of his head. “Not that. You were photographing the wedding band.” It wasn’t a question.

She winced as something clattered inside her equipment bag, and the man searching it swore under his breath. “Yes, I was.”

Lexie pictured the heavy gold band set with the magnificent fire rubies of Vidon. The stones were part of Vidon’s crown jewels—and some of the finest specimens in the world. Kyle had ordered them reset for Amelie as a symbol of unity between the two kingdoms. The sight of them in the swirling gold band had dazzled the guests at the reception. “I was about halfway through when everything happened.”

“As I understand it, the security detail had disabled the alarms and opened the case to make the process easier.”

“Sure. They were standing right there. The ring was perfectly safe.” Lexie stopped short, realizing what she was saying. Her irritation at the intruders faded beneath a mounting dismay. “But they left the ring unguarded when they went to protect the princess.”

“Exactement,” he said grimly. “The ring is missing. We can only assume that it has been stolen.”

Lexie’s mouth dropped open. “Surely there were security cameras on the display case!”

“Indeed there were, but it seems that they malfunctioned at exactly the right moment. There were a number of incidents last night that had unusually bad timing. The chaos caused by a pack of hunting dogs, for instance, that just happened to be available right when Sam Ralston’s pet wolf ran by. Or the fact that an order to dismiss the Company guards was given to the Vidonese at a time when it was guaranteed to cause a riot.”

Bewildered, Lexie struggled to take in everything Valois was telling her. A sick feeling spiraled through her, especially when she knew how unusual it was for someone like Valois to reveal so many details to a civilian. There was only one reason he would do so—which was confirmed in his next words.

“But you know all of this already, don’t you, Ms. Haven?” the captain asked with an icy glint in his eyes. “Once we established that the ring hadn’t simply been knocked aside during the chaos, we put our heads together and thought about that familiar threesome: means, motive and opportunity. You were the one closest to the unguarded ring, and you had a perfect excuse for being there.”

Lexie felt the blood drain from her face. “What are you saying?”

Relentlessly, Valois continued. “It would have been nothing to take it when everyone’s attention was riveted by breaking glass and howling dogs. There are your means and opportunity, and motive isn’t hard to figure out. The ring is priceless. With your connections in the fashion and art worlds, it wouldn’t be hard to find an unscrupulous buyer for such treasure.”

A suffocating sense of injustice howled through her. She wanted to rage at him, but the words stuck in her throat. Instead, she fell into one of the overstuffed chairs, her skin prickling with rising panic. His theory was too perfect. There wasn’t even video evidence to prove she hadn’t done it.

“I think you had better get dressed, Ms. Haven. I’d like to take you to a more secure location for the rest of our tête-à-tête.”


Chapter 4 (#ulink_6b7d888c-a102-5770-a72e-1c9544f1ea0e)

“Stop right there,” ordered the green-coated guard at the gate to the palace grounds. His scowling glare traveled from Faran’s shaggy blond head to his well-worn boots.

Faran stopped, suddenly wary. It was barely noon the next day, but already the palace guard had been replaced by soldiers from Vidon.

“Step back here, please,” said the guard.

He moved slowly, hiding the stiffness from his wound. According to Sam, he should still be in bed. Whatever. Faran needed to sort out his shiny new position as palace spy, and he was counting on Chloe to help him develop a cover. He’d left a message on her cell phone he hoped wasn’t cryptic to the point of nonsense.

“Identification?”

Wordlessly, Faran handed over his passport and waited patiently in the pale January sunlight, the distant rumble of midday traffic competing with the splash of the courtyard fountains. The formal gardens separated the Palace of Marcari from the street. The building itself rose in the middle distance, a confection of pointed turrets and carved stone balconies. It crossed his mind that Lexie would be there as well, but it was a big place. He’d just have to put on his big boy fur and keep to himself.

Never mind that his inner idiot yearned for another glimpse of her. Last night she’d been even more beautiful than he remembered, with that flame of hair tumbling down her back. He longed to bury his face in it and smell the perfume of her skin. Like that’s ever going to happen again.

The guard looked up, jerking him back to reality. “American. From California.”

Tourists wandered past, cameras clicking.

“Yes,” Faran replied, watching the man scrutinize his passport. Ironically, this was his real one. Faran had plenty of fakes he could have used, but he’d decided a simple approach would be the best.

“Hmm.” The man nervously brushed the double row of gold braid on his uniform. Despite himself, apprehension pooled in Faran’s stomach. Cops of any kind made him feel guilty—no doubt a knee-jerk reaction from his misspent youth.

“What is your business at the palace? There are no tours today.”

“I’m here to see Chloe Anderson.”

“Step over there while I confirm,” the guard said, pointing. Obediently, Faran moved to a spot beside the black iron fence that surrounded the palace grounds. There were three more Vidonese soldiers waiting there, weapons already drawn. Faran tensed, last night still fresh in his memory. The guards saw him flinch and gave an unpleasant laugh.

The gate guard said something that Faran didn’t quite catch. Whatever it was, it made the one with the gun step closer, shoving the barrel inches away from Faran’s ear. “You’re not on the schedule.”

Faran laughed. “You’re going to shoot me for that? Seriously?”

Mocking wasn’t the best idea. The closest soldier spun Faran around and pushed him against the fence. Pain burned through Faran as the stitches pulled over his wound. The pat-down began, professional but thorough. Fury rose like an incoming tide, knotting Faran’s shoulders. He clenched his teeth against it, willing himself to be silent.

“I think you had better come with us,” said the guard who had frisked him. He took one of Faran’s arms, the other soldier grabbed the other, and they began walking toward the palace. “Captain Valois has a special place ready for unexpected visitors.”

Oh, goody, Faran thought as they led him away.

As it turned out, the Vidonese didn’t take Faran to the cells built into the—thankfully modernized—palace dungeon. Instead, they took him to a room that looked vaguely like an old-fashioned kitchen, complete with huge enamel sinks and a massive table in the middle. Benches ran along either wall, and they were full of other people. Faran glared around him. The wolf in him wanted freedom, dominance and revenge—not necessarily in that order—but the rest of him knew smart strategy was going to make or break his cover.

The benches were already full of people awaiting questioning. Faran sat in the one empty spot.

“The cells are already packed,” said a tall, thin man next to him. He spoke English with a cultured British accent that belonged on a polo field and not at all with his wardrobe. He had ink-black hair to his shoulders and was wearing a black T-shirt stenciled with Old Goths don’t die, they’re just Nevermore.

“Why are you here?” Faran asked, but he thought he knew. If the man wasn’t immortal, he should have been. No one but a vampire had the right to rock that much eyeliner.

“I am suspect because I am Maurice.” The man stretched out his arms as if addressing the entire world. His fingernails sparkled an electric blue.

“Is that so?”

The man shrugged. “They’re idiots. The captain isn’t—he’s real police—but he’s working with those green-coated fools. Eventually they’ll figure out my most criminal act was a diminished seventh chord during the final moments of my last concert. It was at the end of the tastiest riff, just hanging there with buckets of unresolved longing. Mwah.” He kissed his painted fingers like a satisfied chef. “Stole the hearts of my audience. Every single one.”

“Right,” Faran said, humoring the guy. Memory sparked—a clip from a recorded concert involving a light show, live horses and a snowstorm of glittering feathers. The guy was some kind of musician, if one used the term generously.

Faran didn’t have a chance to ask more questions. The door flung open and Chloe stormed in, her heels clicking on the tile. Two Vidonese officials trailed in her wake.

She took one look at the room and spun on the guards. “I was told my friend is being interrogated. Clearly, you’ve shown me to the wrong room.”

Faran got to his feet. “Chloe!”

She looked around a moment before spotting him. Her blue eyes widened. “Faran! I got your message. What are you doing here?”

“I need to confirm that I have an appointment with you.”

Chloe blinked, but caught on at once. She turned to the guards. “Let him go, he’s with me. Now where’s my photographer?”

An argument started, Chloe insistent and the guards defensive. Faran tried to eavesdrop, but Maurice tugged on his sleeve. “Do you know if they ever found the ring?” he asked.

“What ring?” Faran answered.

Maurice grinned a ragged smile. “The wedding ring. What did you think I was talking about, hobbits?”

Faran grimaced. “I’m so not going there.”

“It’s gone. Stolen.” The man waved a long-fingered hand. “That’s what this is about. The green-coats showed up at my rooms last night looking for it.”

“And they think you have it?”

“I’m not sure what they think. I was having a party. You know—a few musicians, a few fans. Some lush young lady in a school uniform. Don’t think she was in school though, if you take my meaning. The green-coats showed up with faces like the Grim Reaper in need of a laxative.”

“And?” Faran said.

“One of the guards was clearly unused to such sights of revelry. He fainted dead away.”

“A Knight of Vidon passed out on the job? That’s hard to believe.”

Maurice shrugged. “I can’t be responsible for the effect I have on common mortals.”

Faran couldn’t think of a reply to that one. Fortunately, Chloe’s argument with the guards ended right then. She grabbed Faran’s wrist and dragged him away—which felt odd since she was more than a foot shorter.

“This is a nightmare,” she murmured. “They think Lexie stole Amelie’s wedding band.”

“They think everybody stole the ring,” he replied, gesturing to himself and Maurice.

“You’ll be fine,” Chloe replied, sounding exasperated. “The guards have nothing concrete on you or Maurice. They’re just making a big show so they look like they’re doing something. But Captain Valois is focused on Lexie because she was standing right next to the case when it vanished. It’s circumstantial, but he counts that as a real lead. I just found out he’s taken her for questioning. He’s had her for hours.”

“What?” Faran snarled. Lexie was many things—some of which made him furious—but she was no thief. “Is she all right?”

“They won’t let me see her.” Chloe’s blue eyes were dark with worry. “Thank heavens you’re here. They’ve sent Sam out of the city.”

“You know Lexie and I aren’t together, right?”

“What does that matter?” Chloe demanded. “She saved your life last night.”

Chloe had a point, but that didn’t make things any less awkward. He folded his arms. “Where are they holding her?”

Silently, Chloe pointed to a door at the end of the hall.

He flexed his fingers, wishing they were claws. “Have they allowed her to call a lawyer?”

“It doesn’t work like that in Marcari. You know that.”

But what he knew and what he demanded for Lexie weren’t the same thing. His vision went fuzzy around the edges as he went from anger to fury. Faran was storming down the hall before he realized it.

Within moments, he heard Chloe’s voice raised in another argument. Clearly, she was running interference with the guards and buying him time. She might have been Lexie’s best friend, but Faran owed her a long list of favors, too.

One of the guards called after Faran, ordering him to stop, but he blew through the command as if it was no more than a wisp of steam. There were a few things the world didn’t understand about werewolves. They didn’t need the moon to change. They were a different species, not victims of a disease caught from a bite. And they were insanely loyal when the occasion demanded it.

The door was locked but he wrenched the handle. It made a sick crunch and ping and then the door swung open. Lexie was sitting alone at the table, her head in her hands. She looked up, her hazel eyes widening as she saw him. “Faran!”

His chest constricted. She was alone and forlorn, the only vibrant thing in the dead room. He crossed the room in two steps, stopping on the other side of the table from her. “Time to go.”

Her hands settled on the table, looking pale against the dark wood. “What are you talking about? Captain Valois is holding me for questioning.”

He knew Valois. A good cop, but this time he had the wrong suspect. “You don’t belong in custody. I won’t have it.” A tiny voice inside Faran whispered that he was losing it. He wavered a moment, realizing that the wolf in him had bounded past some invisible line of good sense. Lexie brought that out in him as surely as if she short-circuited his brain. But then he decided he didn’t care.

She opened and closed her mouth before sound came out. “You shouldn’t be here!”

“Why not? You need help.”

She held up her hands, palms out. She looked appalled. “You’ve got to leave. If you break me out, you’re just digging us both in deeper.”

“Don’t you want to get out of here?” He leaned across the table. She pulled back. Whatever softness he thought he’d seen in her when they’d met in the garden was gone. Her fingers were trembling. He could scent fear on her, sharp and sour. His own nerves coiled, unnaturally alert. Fear meant prey. “Come with me.”

“Think, Faran.” Her expression was fierce, but tears glinted in her eyes, silvery in the hard light of the room. He had always loved her combination of bravado and vulnerability—but at times like this, her stubborn refusal to take the easy way out drove him crazy. She lifted her chin. “Cooperating is my best chance for a clean getaway.”

She was probably right, and that made her refusal sting all the harder. Getaway. She was already planning to leave him behind. Again. Frustration bit like fangs. He slammed the flat on his hand on the table, making her jump.

“Stop it!” she protested. She was breathing hard, a pink flush bright on her cheekbones. “You’re not going to bully me. Not ever.”

He instantly felt worse. She’d been terrified of him ever since he’d saved her that night in the alley. He didn’t understand. He’d never hurt her. Ever. “Your solution is to run. I want to make it so that you don’t need to run ever again.”

“That’s not your decision!” Her voice cracked, but there was anger there as well as fear. “And you’re not being logical.”

But he was far past rational thought. The ground seemed to drop away under his feet, and suddenly he was back in Paris, begging her to stay. “How do you expect me to help you if you keep pushing me away?”

She took one last deep breath. It came out on a sigh. “I didn’t ask for your help. I can clear my own name. Or maybe running is what I want, but I’ll manage it on my own.”

And there was the rejection again. You wrote me off as a freak and cut your losses. “Sorry I stopped to care.”

Lexie didn’t answer. Instead, she looked up, her eyes shifting to a point behind Faran. He whirled, past and present blurring in his head. And then the present hit him like a brick.

Captain Valois was in the doorway, a scowl on his face. Odd, but the captain looked shorter from this vantage point. Faran had only ever seen him when in wolf form.

“What happened here?” Valois asked, his voice mild. Faran wasn’t fooled. There was a core of steel in that softness.

He didn’t care. “The door was in my way.”

Valois’s eyebrows rose.

Chloe appeared at the captain’s elbow, linking her arm around Valois’s as if they were very old friends. Faran knew it was a trick she used to calm her clients when they were on the edge of a bridal meltdown. “They’re fighting,” she said in a stage whisper. “Like wild dogs.”

“What about?” The captain looked mildly interested.

“It’s personal,” Faran and Lexie said almost at once. She shot him a sour look.

“Is that so?”

“It’s domestic,” Faran said with some annoyance. The word didn’t sit well on a wolf.

“Sad when a marriage goes like this,” Chloe added, clearly improvising.

Lexie made a strangled sound.

“What’s your name, sir?” Valois asked.

“Faran Kenyon.”

“What’s your business in the palace?”

There was an uncomfortable silence as Faran’s brain froze. He’d lied his way in and out of hostage takings, terrorist cells and crime dens, but Lexie had flash-frozen his brain. “I had to see her,” he said with asperity.

“They work together, too,” Chloe volunteered. “He’s her assistant and her husband. Always a bad combination.”

Faran’s eyes met Lexie’s. For the first time in years, they were in complete accord: Chloe was out of her mind.

Valois gave a slow nod. “You should leave, Mr. Kenyon, and I suggest you do it quickly.”

Faran barely stifled a growl.

“But don’t go far,” Valois added. “I’ll need to speak with you later.”

Faran took a last look at Lexie. “I won’t be far. I’ll come if you need me.”

“Go,” she said. “Just go.”

Even now, she didn’t want him. Especially now, when he’d let the wolf get the better of him. With a curse, Faran pushed his way from the room.


Chapter 5 (#ulink_07965f09-6229-5b2a-b75c-04e3e694b643)

“The ring isn’t in your chamber,” said Valois. “It is not in your belongings. So where did you put it?”

Lexie was exhausted, but sat with her spine straight and her don’t-mess-with-me face intact. Her watch said it was just after two o’clock, but it felt as if she’d been in that tiny, windowless room for days. She was bored with the grimy walls, the scarred tabletop and the gritty floor. She’d never thought it was possible to be bored and scared at once. Added to that was guilt. Faran had pushed her buttons and she’d lashed out. He’d been trying to help and deserved better than that. If Valois ever let her go, she’d try to apologize.

“I don’t have the ring,” she said. “I never took it. I don’t know who did.”

“Is that right?” Valois tapped his chin with his forefinger. “And yet I wonder about a woman such as you, one who grew up in what might be considered luxury, and now lives more or less out of a suitcase. With all those advantages in childhood, why is it that you work and live like a nomad, when you don’t truly need to work at all?”

Lexie stiffened. “I choose to work. I earn my own living in my own way. I don’t need to live off anyone else.”

“What does your family think of that?”

“I’ve never asked. They don’t control me anymore.”

His eyes narrowed at that. “You don’t miss them?”

“No.” She tried to say it without venom. Her brother had been the golden child, as vicious as he was perfect. They had both been restless, intense children, but he’d channeled his unsettled energy in dark ways. Her mother had doted on him, even after his death. “We’re not close.”

Valois didn’t waver, although he sat back with a weary air. His fingers twitched against the tabletop, though his expression was exactly the same as it had been when he’d knocked on her door early that morning. “Tell me about your husband. When we checked your background in preparation for your employment here, your marriage was not mentioned.”

Lexie’s mouth felt sticky with stress and bad coffee, as if she’d been drinking glue. He’d grilled her over and over about every minute detail of the evening, but he hadn’t touched this topic yet. Did that mean he had a fresh layer of hell in store for Mr. and Mrs. Werewolf? What the blazes had Chloe been thinking, coming up with this story? And why?

She sighed. “What about him?”

For a moment Valois almost looked amused. “He seems very protective.”

“He is.” That much at least was true.

“The front gate scanned his passport. I asked them to do a little digging just now.” Valois examined his nails. “There wasn’t much to find at first glance. No mansions or art schools like you had.”

“No.”

“In fact, there is little information about his early years. It is almost as if he had no childhood. Can you explain that?”

“He doesn’t talk about his childhood much.” And that would be the first clue he’s different. His secrecy should have rung an alarm. “I don’t think he had a happy youth. Not that it’s any of your business.”

For the first time, a flicker of interest crossed the policeman’s eyes. “From your tone it seems you are just as protective of him.”

“So?”

“You’re not exactly inseparable. No evidence of a common address. No common name.”

“I’m a fashion photographer. My work keeps me on the move.” The room felt as if it was growing smaller. Sweat trickled down the small of her back.

Valois flicked his fingers dismissively, as if suddenly changing his mind. “Perhaps you are telling the truth. There was an application for a marriage license in Paris some years ago. There is every chance that none of this is relevant.”

Marriage license? Lexie’s limbs numbed with shock. She blinked stupidly, trying to mask her surprise. Valois was regarding her coolly, studying her response.

Her hands rested in her lap, but they felt clumsy and cold, as if they belonged to someone else. Faran was going to propose back then? Was that why he told me his secret? Her heart jerked painfully at the memory, but she gave a careless shrug. “We have a unique relationship. It works for us.”

“Is he violent?”

“No!” She looked away. Not to me.

Valois caught her hesitation. “Interesting.”

Lexie didn’t reply, but rubbed a scar along the back of her hand. A gift from Justin, her golden brother. It was far from the only one. She forced herself to turn her gaze back to Valois. He was still regarding her intently, searching for something to expose.

There was plenty there. The earlier scene with Faran had been achingly familiar, a replay of their last days together. Him burning with intensity and her wanting to duck and run. They were lucky all that broke this time was a lock.

“What has any of this to do with the ring?” she asked coldly.

“Your Mr. Kenyon has known associates in the jewelry business.”

“Oh?” Lexie strained to keep the curiosity out of her voice.

“It makes for interesting reading.” Valois stroked his lip. “But as his wife, I’m sure you know all that.”

She didn’t. Faran had kept so much from her. Tiny flames of anger licked along her bones. At the same time, she saw the yawning pit opening up beneath her feet. Faran’s history—whatever it was—made him vulnerable. No doubt Valois would invite her to save herself by selling Faran out.

Her stomach turned sour at the thought. The secrets I know aren’t the ones Valois expects. He’s looking for a thief, but I could hand him a monster.

Valois watched her reactions the way a cat studied an aquarium. “You know, I can’t put my finger on you two. You are either master criminals or helpless fools. Should I arrest Mr. Kenyon?”

“We don’t have the ring. You’re not going to find it by talking to me. Or him.”

“Are you so sure about that?”

“Yes.” Refusing to budge, Lexie dragged her fingers through her hair, but turned the nervous gesture into a leisurely stretch. She wasn’t giving Valois the satisfaction of seeing how much he’d rattled her.

And she’d keep the act up as long as she had to. Faran was innocent. Last night he had been in wolf form and thieves generally required opposable thumbs.

“How do I know you’re not lying?”

“That’s up to you. I have no idea how I can prove our innocence to you.”

Valois removed a roll of antacids from his jacket pocket and began peeling away the paper wrapper. “I’m forced to agree with you there. Guilt is a far easier thing to prove, Ms. Haven. Or should I call you Mrs. Kenyon?”

* * *

Faran sat outside the corner bistro three blocks away from the palace. After leaving Lexie—and after Chloe had told him to go cool his jets—he’d slipped into the guardhouse and cleaned out his locker. Now he wore a light trench coat and had the local newspaper folded in front of him on the small glass-topped table, looking like any other young professional caught between appointments.

He was trying not to brood, but it was far from a complete success. It was as if he had an idiot button, and Lexie pushed it every time they met. But some instincts were more than human society could handle—and that was the whole problem.

Back in Paris he’d gotten himself on the bad side of bad men—a hazard of working undercover. Stupidly, one of them had tried to get to Faran by hurting Lexie. That was a very bad choice. There were some lines no one got to cross—and hurting Faran’s mate was one of them.

But that night Lexie saw what a rage-filled werewolf could do. She was gone by the next day, leaving no more than a note. His need to protect—as much a part of him as his head or hands—had driven her from his side.

And now Chloe had saddled him with a cover identity as Lexie’s husband and assistant. Chloe had meant to give him a plausible excuse to be in the palace, but that meant Lexie would be close to whatever trouble Faran might stir up. This is going to be no end of fun.

Regret stewed with anger in his gut. It was true what they said about love and hate being one step apart. He’d never hate Lexie, but his love had edged to that painful point where it was hard to tell the difference. He was a lone wolf, orphaned and raised up rough. Self-worth had come hard, and trust even harder. Lexie hadn’t destroyed him, but she’d left a hole that still hadn’t healed.

Disgusted with everything, Faran took another swallow of coffee, feeling the sugar and caffeine already buzzing along his nerves. The wound in his side was a steady ache.

Instinctively, he watched the street. Crowds walked by, some locals and some clearly visitors. No one seemed to notice the green-coated Vidonese guards everywhere, replacing the usual patrols like a spreading stain.

They were, however, looking at the red-haired woman striding down the street like the hounds of hell were at her heels. Faran set down his coffee. He knew that set of her mouth. She was swallowing back tears. He had to go to her. Now.

Or not. Hadn’t he tried the whole rescue thing once already today? And yet, he had to know what Valois had said about the ring. There was every chance its theft was connected to the scene last night. He had to talk to her, whether he liked it or not.

Faran abandoned the coffee and strode after her. He caught up in seconds.

“Lexie!” he cried, grabbing her arm. “What happened after I left?”

She turned, her hair whipping around her face. In the thin sunlight, the long waves were the color of turning leaves—not one shade of orange or red, but all of them—like a riot of flame. He dropped his hand as if the hue alone could scorch.

To his utter surprise, she fell against him with a strangled noise, her arms around his neck. Not sure what else to do, he held her. The way her tall, slender frame fit against his was all too familiar. They’d stood like this a thousand times, her cheek against his shoulder, the curve of her back under his hand. He tensed, afraid to remember too much—even if his body knew her soft skin and sweet, womanly scent.

It was just as well he held back, because the next instant Lexie pulled away, her eyes wide as if she couldn’t believe what she’d just done. “I’m sorry.”

“No problem,” he replied.

She scanned his face, her expression cautious. It rankled.

“What happened in there, Lexie?” he asked, keeping his voice neutral. “How come they let you out?”

She didn’t answer, just studied the pavement.

“What happened?” he asked again in a flat tone.

She heaved a slight sigh. “Valois can’t prove anything right now, but I think we’re still in trouble. More trouble. I was actually— I was actually going to find Chloe and see if she knew where you were. But I kept getting her voice mail.”

“Okay,” he said, his voice careful. This was a complete reversal from telling him to get lost. “Now you’ve found me.”

With jerky movements, she looked around. “We need to go somewhere private.”

“How private?”

Lexie angled away, her shoulders tight. “Away from the palace. I feel like there are eyes everywhere.”

She was probably right. Besides, staying put wasn’t in Lexie’s nature. She didn’t even like going to the same restaurant twice. Faran nodded, but not too eagerly. He’d learned his lesson about overenthusiasm that morning. “Let’s go for a drive. That always makes me feel like I’m getting somewhere, even if I’m not.”

They could be alone in a car. Lexie gave him a look just shy of apprehensive, but nodded. They went to the garage at the far end of the palace grounds where her rented Peugeot was parked. Since it was her car, Faran was content to let her drive. Sort of. Lexie was an excellent driver, but she’d never met an accelerator she didn’t like.

Soon she was tearing down the service road that wound behind the myriad stables, garages, work sheds and other utilitarian buildings that kept the Palace of Marcari functioning. At the bottom of a sloping hill, she turned right onto the scenic coastal highway.

“So tell me what wasn’t safe to say on the street,” Faran ventured.

Lexie ran through the interview blow-by-blow. “Valois is suspicious. He pulled a lot off the computer about both of us. I think that’s why he kept leaving the room. He wanted to check on the progress of his computer minions.”

“Minions?” Faran echoed.

Lexie frowned. The expression looked dangerous with all that red hair. “Men like Valois have minions. He hinted about your associates in the jewelry business. What was that about?”

“That file was supposed to be buried deep.” The Company had pulled him out of a bad life and given him choices. Part of that had been wiping the official slate clean. Faran looked out the window. “I was a kid. It was stupid kid stuff.”

“Something illegal?” she asked in a quiet voice.

“You could call it that.” Some were still doing time for their last score, but Lexie didn’t need to know the details. “I was on my own. Some people had uses for a small kid with exceptional agility. I could get around obstacles they couldn’t.”

“You were a cat burglar.”

“I don’t like cats.”

But the label was accurate. He’d received an education in thievery, especially precious stones. It had been a crack team, going after the best pieces. With Amelie’s ring missing, no wonder Valois was interested.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?” Lexie asked.

Because you already had one foot out the door. “I’m not proud of it. There’s never a good time to start a discussion about your juvenile arrest record.”

She shifted gears to take a hairpin curve. “Before we moved in together would have been good.”

But by then he was too far gone in love to risk losing her. “I didn’t plan to screw everything up.”

“We never do,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry for all the ways I hurt you.”

The soft words surprised him so much he forgot everything else. “You are?”

She didn’t answer, but the blood rushed to her cheeks. He looked away, knowing that if he pushed her to say more the moment would be ruined. In the brief silence, his gaze drifted to the passenger-side mirror.

The back of Faran’s neck tingled in warning. “Don’t look now, but someone is doing an amateurish job of tailing us.”


Chapter 6 (#ulink_b73cf4a2-a13d-56f4-a374-0c1879ebd1be)

Lexie looked anyway. There was a dark gray sedan behind her—which was not by itself a suspicious fact, but when she changed lanes, it changed with her.

“Told you,” Faran said. “I’d give him five and a half out of ten.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Even before she’d known he was a real spy, he’d liked to give a play-by-play review of the covert ops on TV. “What do I do?”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Do you know who it is?”

“No.”

“Think you can lose him?”

Irritated and apprehensive, Lexie looked behind her again. The sedan was still there. “Maybe.”

“Go for it.”

Conversation died. Full of curves and switchbacks, the scenic road had been used in more than one sports-car commercial and Lexie needed all her concentration. The first chance she got, she made a left turn off the highway, picking up a smaller road that wound through the hills. The sedan didn’t change course.

“Wait a minute,” she said, oddly disappointed. “Did we completely misread the situation?”

“I dunno,” Faran said, but he didn’t sound convinced.

Disgruntled and feeling as if she was missing some punch line, she let the road take her along a twisting loop that wandered back toward the city. It wouldn’t take long to reach the suburbs—Marcari’s capital was small. No place was more than ten minutes to the countryside and bad roads.

Lexie looked for another turnoff to take her back to the highway, but there was nothing in sight—not that one could see very far in front or behind with so many twists and turns.

“I don’t like this,” Faran said. “It’s like driving blind.”

“I’ll get back to the highway as soon as there’s a turnoff.”

But there were just lanes here and there leading to farms or the wealthy estates that were hidden along Marcari’s coastline. She drove along the hilly, bumpy terrain, sometimes surrounded by clumps of scruffy pine and other times overlooking the blue sea and whitewashed houses below. Another day, she wouldn’t have minded getting semilost, but right then she wasn’t in the mood.

Apart from everything else, Faran’s presence in the passenger seat was reminding her of too many road trips that had ended up at little wayside inns. There had been magical evenings—sometimes with long walks or music festivals or just a local dinner and bed. They had all started out in a car going nowhere in particular with the whole world ahead of them.

Those scattered images of their past made the space between them far too small. Faran had a formidable presence, but Lexie was especially aware of his square, practical hands resting on his knees. Those hands had often told her so much more than his words. They were capable of incredible tenderness, but right now their nervous fidgets said he was every bit as uneasy as she was.

“Lexie!” Faran shouted, snapping her out of her thoughts. “Behind you!”

She glanced in the rearview mirror just in time to see a car speeding into view around a steep curve. Instantly, she swerved to avoid it, but the road was too narrow. The car clipped her back bumper, jolting her against her shoulder belt. The Peugeot lurched forward, the front tire sliding off the road and slewing into a sapling. Wood snapped as Lexie cranked the steering wheel hard, forcing the vehicle back onto the road before it skidded completely out of control. She felt the bump as the car regained the solid surface, and only then saw the gray sedan speed past. Furious, she leaned on the horn. Faran swore.

The sedan disappeared around the bend, going far too fast for the sharp curves. Lexie fell back against the seat with a gasp, almost deafened by the thunder of her own pulse. She lowered the windows a few inches, allowing the cool breeze to chill her sweat-soaked skin.

“Good driving,” Faran said. His voice sounded almost normal, but his fingers gripped her forearm as if he would never let her go.

“If you hadn’t spotted him, I wouldn’t have been able to get out of the way.”

“That was a close call. He meant to run us off the road.”

Lexie’s hands turned to ice. It wasn’t just the idea of being targeted that bothered her—she’d lived with her brother’s malevolent temper for years. She just couldn’t understand how a random attack on the road connected with anything. “What’s going on?”

“I wish I knew. A warning, maybe. Against what, I don’t know.” He cursed again.

She put her hand over his, trying not to meet his eyes. At first she simply meant to reclaim her arm, but his touch was electric, as if that small span of skin against skin was all it took to loan her a bit of his unnatural strength.

“It’s okay,” Faran said finally, though which one of them he was reassuring wasn’t clear. Slowly, he uncurled his fingers.

She didn’t reply, not trusting herself. Words never worked well between them. With every heartbeat, she became more aware of the purr of the idling motor, the chirping of the birds hopping from branch to branch in the trees. The world was still there.

“I should check the bumper,” she said.

“Don’t get out,” Faran said, his voice tense. “Not yet. Drive slowly until we get someplace where we can turn around and go back the way we came.”

Spooked again, she inched the car forward, looking for a wider spot and wishing she could see more than a few car lengths ahead. She cautiously rounded a fork in the road. Tall poplars framed both sides of the avenue, turning the late winter shadows to a purplish blue.

“There,” Faran said, pointing. He indicated a dirt lane that led through an old arched wooden gate in a high fence. Judging by the thick growth of grapevines shrouding the gate, it probably went to one of the local wineries. “Careful, though, visibility sucks.”

She slowed, thinking she’d drive past and then back into the lane to turn around. It would take good aim, but the Peugeot was nimble. Even though she was on high alert, she didn’t see the dark gray sedan speed out of the gate until it was too late.

With a yell, Lexie slammed on the brakes, swerving the car to the side. It was the only thing that saved them. The Peugeot skidded and slid, finally bumping to a stop.

A horrible noise followed, like a giant pop can crunching in an ogre’s fist. That had to be the other car.

Lexie sat frozen, hands clenched around the steering wheel. Breath came in short, sharp gasps, her pulse pounding in her throat. At first she felt nothing, just a remote sort of panic. How bad was the damage? Was she hurt? Faran? What about the other driver?

The other driver had turned and waited to ram them on purpose. Why? Her vision focused and found the sedan. It had crumpled against one of the poplars, which was now leaning at a dangerous angle. The motor was silent, the door open and a man sprawled out of the driver’s side.

“Oh, God!” she breathed.

Faran reached over and killed the motor of the Peugeot. “Are you okay?”

Lexie made a mental check of her limbs. “Yeah.”

“Stay here.” He opened the door and slid out, drawing a gun from beneath his coat.

Lexie watched him prowl toward the other car. She managed to wait five seconds before she followed. Her door jammed on the uneven ground, but she wriggled out, sucking in air as if she’d been drowning. As she stood, the smell of dust and gasoline assaulted her, and then she fell against the Peugeot, her knees weak with shock.

Faran circled the driver, gun pointed at the downed man’s head.

Lexie drew in a slow, shaking breath. Her mind raced as she forced herself forward a step, eyeing the driver. His face wasn’t visible, and he was wearing a plain black suit that told her nothing about his identity. It looked as if he was alone in the car.

Who was this guy? Her fear was draining away, pushed out by a rising anger. She’d been dragged out of her bed, questioned, locked up and now run off the road. If the driver hadn’t been flat on the ground already, she was furious enough to put him there. She marched toward the sedan, wanting answers.

Faran kicked a stone toward the unconscious man. The prone figure didn’t flinch. “Take the gun and cover him,” he said to Lexie. “I’ll check for a pulse.”

“I hate guns.” And she was in no mood to take orders. Despite Faran’s protest, Lexie came forward and crouched, pressing her fingers to the man’s neck. She gasped and yanked her hand away. “He’s icy cold!”

His gun still aimed at the man’s skull, Faran bent and felt for himself. His mouth flattened into a grim line. “This one’s been dead awhile. No wonder his driving sucked.”

“Is he one of yours?” Lexie asked in a tight voice.

“I don’t recognize him,” Faran replied. “Besides, he followed us from the palace. Vampires are banned from there now and, in case you hadn’t noticed, it’s broad daylight. Not even the old ones like moving around in full sun. This one has a tan.”

“Are you saying he’s not a vampire? Then what is he, a zombie?”

“He doesn’t smell bad enough.” Faran holstered his gun. “Stand back while I turn him over.”

This time Lexie didn’t argue, and she retreated a step. The countryside fell eerily silent. Only the ping of the cooling engines interrupted the shushing breeze. “Why do you think he followed us?”

“That depends on who he’s working for.” Faran grabbed the man’s hip and shoulder and flipped him so that he was faceup. The limbs splayed lifelessly. Faran gave him a critical look, then bent and peeled back his upper lip. There were no fangs. “Not a vampire for sure. Let’s look for a name.”

“I’ll check his pockets,” Lexie said. “You take the car.”

Faran raised an eyebrow, but left her to it. Caution and curiosity warred inside Lexie. She folded her arms, fingers curling into fists as she knelt beside the man. There was something compelling about the still form, which was why she wanted to be the one to check him over. Maybe it was because she finally had the upper hand in this bizarre chain of events. Maybe it was because she felt as though she was on the brink of an understanding she couldn’t define. The guy was weirdly familiar. Not his face but...

She gave up trying to capture the thought and got to work. Gingerly, she reached over and pulled his wallet from his pants pocket, snagging a wrapper for salted peanuts along with it. He must have been a pack rat, because the wallet was stuffed with more wrappers and receipts. There was a Vidonese driver’s license showing the same bland, round, brown-haired face.

“His name is Serge Gillon and he’s thirty-two,” she said.

Faran looked up from searching through the sedan. “Probably fake but it’s a start.”

Out of force of habit, Lexie pulled out her phone and snapped pictures of Gillon, the cars and the scene. She knew she’d forget half the detail any other way. She pocketed her phone again and tried to stuff the wallet back into his jacket pocket. A crumpled snack food bag blocked the way—apparently Gillon liked salty treats. She tossed that aside and tried again. As she reached into the satin lining of the pocket one more time, her fingers brushed something cold and metallic. With a sudden leap of suspicion, she grasped the metal object and plucked it free.

“Faran!” Her brain stalled as she gaped at Amelie’s ring. Dumbfounded, she staggered to her feet, holding it up to the sunlight. The rubies sparkled like fresh blood. She slid the band over her finger, afraid she’d drop it otherwise.

Faran stepped over Gillon’s body and grasped her hand, angling it to see the ring better. There was a flash of bloodred fire. “That’s the ring, all right. There can’t be two sets of rubies like that.” They stood like that for a long moment, hand in hand but for all the wrong reasons.

Finally, Faran spoke again. “Who was this guy and why did he have the ring?”

Lexie didn’t have a chance to reply. With a sudden grunting roar, Gillon surged from the dirt and grabbed Faran from behind. Faran’s eyes widened with surprise, but he twisted in the dead man’s grasp and grappled with him. With a snarl, Faran rammed Gillon against the tree with enough force that Lexie heard a crunch of splintering wood. It would have knocked an ordinary human senseless, but Gillon just wrapped his hands around Faran’s throat and started to squeeze.

Lexie had no weapon, so she dove for the cars to find one. The trunk of the sedan had popped open in the crash so she scrabbled inside, peeling up the carpet and grabbing the tire iron. She took a two-handed grip and whirled to face the two men.

Whatever Gillon was, he was as powerful as a werewolf. Faran was wrestling himself free of the choke hold, but it was taking all his strength. Gillon had him against the tree now, and Faran’s hands were on the man’s shoulders, holding him off. A fierce, feral snarling came from the combatants, but Lexie could not be sure which one was making the sound.

Faran’s foot snaked out, hooking Gillon’s knee. Gillon stumbled and Faran pounced, but the dead man kicked, launching Faran through the air. With animal grace, Faran twisted in the air, landing on all fours. Rocks and leaves skidded from beneath his feet, but he was up in an instant, braced for the next attack.

It came with terrible ferocity. Gillon bounded through the air, arms and legs arched the way a leaping spider splays its legs. His lips drew back from his teeth in a savage rictus. He might not have had fangs, but it was no less threatening.

But just as he leaped, Lexie skidded forward and swung the tire iron, putting all the weight of her body into the motion. It caught Gillon right in the ribs with a loud crack. For a moment, she thought the sound was her shoulder joints separating as the force of the impact shuddered all the way to her spine. But then Gillon seemed to fold in midair, ripping the iron from her hands as he fell.

That gave Faran all the time he needed to draw his weapon. The instant Gillon hit the ground, Faran fired two shots into his skull. The sound tore through Lexie, but that was not what shocked her most.

Gillon’s head exploded. Instantly, an acid smell hit Lexie’s senses, making her cough. Through stinging eyes, she could see the shadow of his bones appear through his flesh. As she blinked, the shadow grew darker, seeming to pulse from behind skin that grew more and more translucent. His hands and the remnants of his face—anywhere flesh showed from beneath his clothes—quivered like something made of gelatin. And then, with a sickening slurp, Gillon’s flesh oozed away into a glistening, yellowish puddle. A moment later, bones, clothing and even Faran’s bullets dissolved in an ashy smoke.

“That’s new,” Faran said, his voice brittle with disgust.

Lexie’s lips moved in a silent curse. She took a step toward Faran. His arm circled her waist and pulled her away from the smoking ruin. He’d gone pale, but his hand was firm and warm against her. They stopped a few yards away, Lexie stumbling against Faran. She leaned into him, grateful for the solid wall of his body. Lexie wanted to bury her face against him like a child and wish the world away, but instead she simply stood with her head bowed, her back against his chest. His support, at least, was something she could accept.

For that instant, she could almost believe that everything would be all right. They’d stopped fighting each other and conquered a common enemy. But now her nerves were jittering, flooding every muscle with the need to move. She curled her fingers, nails biting into the palms of her hands. It was as if a spring was overwound inside her and fighting that energy would only make her crack.

In the distance, Lexie heard the wail of distant sirens. Had somebody on one of the nearby farms heard the gunshots? “Do you think that’s the police? Are they coming for us?”

“Do you feel like trusting our luck?” Faran replied in a weary tone.

She looked at the crumpled car, the stinking smear on the ground where Gillon had been, and at the glittering—stolen—rubies on her hand. Even with no actual dead body, there was no way this would end well.

Her hand gripped Faran’s. “You know how I like to run?”

Pressed against him, she felt as much as heard his reply. “Yup. I’m right behind you. Let’s get out of here.”


Chapter 7 (#ulink_be15ce1d-a6db-59e7-ae4a-5c85605fe951)

Faran studied the image of Serge Gillon on Lexie’s phone, anger prickling his skin. “Now that I look at him again—when he’s not strangling me—I do recognize him. That’s one of the guards who chased me last night. He has to be connected with the Vidonese.”

They were sitting on a bench in one of the back streets near the palace, counting on the afternoon shadows to hide their dirt-streaked clothes. Both of them had needed a moment to regroup. Faran’s side ached; the wound had reopened during the fight. They’d driven back in the Peugeot, this time with Faran at the wheel. He’d taken some questionable goat paths to avoid the emergency vehicles summoned by the gunshots, much to the distress of the vehicle’s paint job. But it wasn’t as though the car didn’t already need repairs after being run off the road, and a mechanic’s bill was the least of their worries.

Lexie’s face was wan, making the scattered freckles stand out along her cheekbones. For an instant, Faran thought she might throw up. “Are you all right?” he asked.

She sat back, swallowing hard. “I don’t deal well with violence.”

“I know.”

Lexie shook herself, visibly sliding her tough-girl mask back into place. “I don’t suppose anybody does.”

Faran shrugged. “No one is supposed to.”

“But you’re used to it?”

“No one likes an emo werewolf.” He gave her a bitter smile. “I’m one of those things that go bump in the night, remember?”

She turned a shade paler, licking her lips. “I do. You’re good at violence when you need to be.”

“Yeah, well, it comes with the package.” Sadness burned like silver.

Her mouth tightened. “Why do you think Gillon was after us? To get to you?”

Faran dragged his brain back to the problem in front of them. “Maybe. It would be flattering to have my own personal assassin. How thoughtless of me to break him so soon.”

She heaved a sigh. “So what do we do next?”

“I think we need to return the ring, and then you need to get out of Dodge. Whether it was me he was after or not, it’s not safe for you here.”

She ducked her head, but then raised it slowly, her hazel eyes dark with something he couldn’t name. “You’re getting rid of me?”

Faran couldn’t stop a wry smile—even though his insides lurched. “I don’t know what that thing was back there. I’d rather you were far away right now.”

“Do I get a choice?”

But you’re so good at walking away. Why stop now? Faran mentally slapped himself. He might be angry, but he had to be fair. As little as she hated violence, Lexie had fought bravely that day, as coolheaded as any Company warrior. Whatever else, she was good in a crisis—and with a tire iron. “Do you want to stay?”

Her fingers twisted in her lap. “Will it help if I do?”

Faran could see the reluctance in the set of her mouth, but there was also determination there. Lexie clearly wanted to do the right thing, and he had to respect that. “One step at a time. We should deal with the ring right away. The sooner it’s back with Amelie, the better.”

“Okay,” she said, shifting impatiently. “Then let’s go.”

They rose from the bench and began walking. Pigeons fluttered away from their feet as they stepped off the curb and took a cobbled alleyway between bookstores and an antiques emporium. Faran cast a glance around, memorizing faces. He wasn’t going to let his guard down again.

Lexie hunched her shoulders, slowing to a stop. “I need to see Valois,” she said in a low voice. “His men seized my camera equipment.”

“Why?” He stopped as well, turning to face her.

“I think they assumed the ring was hidden inside.”

Faran winced. Although there were other, more pressing dangers than damage to her cameras, Lexie was madly protective of her equipment. Small wonder, since some of it was insanely expensive. “Once your name is cleared, there’s no reason for Valois to keep your things. Is there any danger they’ll erase the photos you’ve taken?”

“No,” she said, sounding relieved for the first time. “There are too many publications who’d pay top dollar for pictures of this wedding. I’ve been keeping the memory cards with me.”

People were starting to notice them standing there, deep in conversation. He urged her forward with a hand on her back. She shivered slightly, and he released her. His old anger—the one that resented her fear of the wolf—flared up, but he forced himself to let it go. They’d fought together. They were solving problems. That had to suffice for now.

But his old feelings refused to be silenced. This uneasy truce would never be enough. He loved her.

And yet she’d left with no more than a note scribbled with two words: I’m sorry. There was no reason to think anything would ever be different.

Lexie hugged herself, looking miserable. “If Valois suspects us already, if we just walk into the palace and hand the ring over, won’t they think we took it?”

“You’re asking for my advice?”

“I’m asking for your help. The prince and princess know you and they trust the Company. I’m asking you to go with me and help me clear my name.” She brushed her hair back in a gesture he knew all too well. “I have no right to, but I am.”

Faran cleared his throat. He should have been happy, or vindicated, but what he felt was too complicated for that. He’d assumed he’d go with her, but as usual Lexie had been planning on her own. She’d never thought like part of a couple. “Of course,” he kept his voice cool. “I owe you for last night. It’s the least I can do.”

“Okay.” Lexie’s eyes held something almost like regret. She parted her lips to speak, but then pressed them tightly together. The clouds had thinned and the winter sun washed her in a clean white light that recalled another moment long ago.

She had stood in the middle of their Paris apartment, wearing nothing but a wispy white silk robe. The late morning sun had turned her long waves of red hair to molten gold. He’d spent the night tangling it with their lovemaking, and it had been wild as a fairy woman’s locks. At that moment, he’d decided she was the one love he’d want forever.

The whole thing had been a terrible idea—a foolish, romantic, awful idea that had proved how young he was, despite all his years on the street. He’d been a grubby urchin clutching at a work of art.

He sucked in his breath, forcing the memory away, but the emotion lingered. “Let’s get this over with.” It came out almost as a growl.

She gave him a startled look, but he ignored it. He’d have to ignore everything about her if he didn’t want to go mad. He couldn’t bring back the past, and why would he? It had fallen apart in his hands.

This is just business.

* * *

Returning the ring right away meant getting a private audience with Princess Amelie on short notice. Since Chloe was in constant communication with Amelie and her staff about the wedding, she was the logical one to help. Chloe’s schedule made her hard to reach, but by the time they reached the palace, she’d finally returned Lexie’s call.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Chloe said briskly, back in wedding-wrangler mode. “You and Faran stand by.”

“Stand by?” Lexie sighed, putting her phone away. She didn’t want to wait. She wanted desperately to thrust the ring at Amelie and then jump on a plane. “That requires doing something with ourselves in the meantime. Without being arrested again.”

“I can’t see how we can possibly manage,” Faran replied in a dry tone. “Perhaps if I stand very still. Oh, wait. That’s loitering.”

“With you it’s more like looming.”

He gave her a wounded look that seemed too real. “I don’t loom.”

Barely an hour ago, Lexie had seen him twist in the air and land like a cat. The memory of it still made her shiver. “Lurking, then. You’ve got to stipulate to the occasional lurk.”

“I’ll plead you down to hovering with intent.”

He was hiding behind jokes—and that had always driven her crazy. Yet now it was weirdly comforting. Everything was in turmoil, but Faran remained stubbornly who he was.

They waited for Chloe in the Queen’s Gallery, which was a long, wide hallway that stretched from one side of the palace to the other. The walls were molded plaster, the ceilings high and painted with designs of cherubs and clouds. Hung with selections from the royal family’s considerable art collection, it was one of the attractions open to the public. Normally it would have been packed, but there were no tourists that day, since security was on high alert. They had the place to themselves.

It was the first time Lexie had been able to see the pictures without being elbowed by the crowd and, despite her mood, their beauty pulled her in. She wandered slowly from one canvas to the next, so lost in the study of colors and textures that she almost forgot everything else. Art was an almost physical pleasure for her, the sight of it as tangible to her as a bubble bath or silk against her skin. It was one of the few things that could make her stay still.




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