Michele Hauf - The Billionaire Werewolf's Princess

“Thanks, Kristine. Give me ten minutes before you come in. I need to—”

“Think about the poor sweet thang that fled your place this morning?” She winked at him. “You have some weird problems.”

Ry entered his office and closed the door behind him, thinking Kristine was right on. But oddly, the human interference last night had been the weirdest. Not the faeries.

Only a desk, a chair and a couch decorated his tiny office space. The far wall opposite the door was completely window, and no cabinets blocked the view of the nearby Seine River. He didn’t do the fancy. Much as his multibillion-dollar philanthropic foundation could afford it. He wasn’t into the bling or showing off his riches. It wasn’t him. And while he could put on a suit and blend in with the wealthy at the snap of a finger, he preferred the casual look and lifestyle.

Yet he did do the expensive watch. He liked to know the time to the exact second. And right now it was eleven fifteen, on the nose.

He sat on the leather sofa and stretched his arms along the back of it. Clouds were rolling in, and rain was in the forecast, yet the color of the sky was wildly vivid.

“Indigo,” he muttered.

Interesting name for a woman. She’d been more of a soft pink last night, mixed with a few streaks of jet-black mascara. Poor thing.

Kristine was right. He should have followed her out of his building this morning. But he’d watched from his loft and seen the waiting cab. She’d beelined into it and it had pulled away. She’d made it home safe.

What hell of a hangover would she have? If not from the alcohol, but from the mysterious concoction of herbs and who-knew-what Hestia had given her?

“Should have gotten her last name,” he said with a regretful twinge that he felt in his heart. “She was pretty.”

And she had seen too much. That wasn’t good. He needed to keep his secret, and the secret of FaeryTown, from the human public. And if she had seen him in those few moments when his rage caused him to partially shift, then he needed to make sure she thought it was just an effect of the alcohol. Not the truth.

Because his truth always managed to fuck things up.

* * *

Indi lifted her head from the alpaca rug. It was dark. Really dark. She was lying on the floor in her living room for reasons that escaped her...

“Ah, really?”

She dropped her head and realized she must have slept the entire day. Twenty-four hours had passed since Todd dumped her last night. And what had happened after that had been even more remarkable. She’d watched a handsome man with P90X abs and biceps kill weird sparkly creatures with a sword. And then she’d woken up under his coffee table.

“This is definitely one for the diary,” she muttered as she sat up. “Oh, my aching bones, have I become an old lady?”

She pressed a hand to her back and winced as she stretched. Either she was growing old quickly or sleeping on the floor was no longer something she could do and recover from with ease. Her college days had often found her sleeping on the floor, or a table, or even in a big box once.

“Shouldn’t have sucked down all that champagne.”

With some groans and grunts, she managed to stand. Inspecting her tattered and dirty gown made her moan. “It was so pretty. I was pretty. Asshole.”

Grabbing her phone from the couch, she intended to call Janet, but...

“It’s ten at night?”

Now she stomped toward the curving marble staircase and her second-floor bedroom. She didn’t bother to turn on the lights. Passing through the bedroom, she clutched the cat ears still clinging to her head and tossed them onto the king-size bed. Tripping a few more times on her torn hem, she made it into the bathroom and flicked on the lights as she stopped before the wide vanity mirror specially lighted for putting on makeup.

Indi chirped out an abbreviated scream. Then she slapped both palms over her mouth. Staring back at her from the mirror was a bedraggled bit of tattered lace and smeared makeup. Her mascara had streaked down her cheeks, but—perhaps when she’d been passed out on the floor—most of it had rubbed off. Had that happened before or after she was at the handsome stranger’s place?

“He saw me looking like this? Oh, Indi, you really know how to impress a guy, don’t you?”

Her hair was half out of the messy bun. One jut of hair managed to stick straight out on the left side. “What hurricane did I walk through?” She pulled out a leaf from her hair. “Where did this—Oh, I want to die! I just...”

She slammed her hands to the vanity and shook her head. But instead of tears, laughter burst out. Lung-tugging, gut-clenching laughter. Dropping and settling onto the soft pom-pom rug in front of the tub, Indi laughed until her ribs ached.

“Lowest point in my life? Last night,” she muttered. “Lesson learned? Lay off the champagne. Never date a guy whose most important accessories are his cell phone and day-planner app. And...” She sighed and wiggled her toes through the tear in the pink tulle. “Always thank the handsome stranger who rescues you from the idiocy of yourself.” And from a strange creature she thought might have been trying to eat her. “Did I thank him? I don’t think I did. Ryland James? And he never did answer my question.”

She had seen things while shivering in the alley last night. More than a few weird things. And he had most definitely changed into...something different. It hadn’t been the alcohol. Couldn’t have been.

“Who are you kidding, Indi? Of course it was the champagne. People don’t change shapes.”

She touched her chest where she had rubbed over a cut earlier this morning at her rescuer’s place. Her skin felt smooth now.

Indi stood and studied her collarbone in the mirror. The skin did not show a cut or mark of any kind. And if she had been hurt, shouldn’t there be, at the very least, a faint or red mark?

Was it possible she’d imagined it all?

“Anything is possible,” she said to the tawdry princess in the mirror.

He’d called her Princess Pussycat. And his eyes had smiled before his mouth had.

Indi smiled. A weak, pitiful and bedraggled smile, but it was the best she could manage. It would be a crime not to see that man again. And she really did need to thank him. At least some man had been concerned about her last night.

More important, she wanted to ask him questions. To make sure she wasn’t going crazy and hadn’t started to imagine strange creatures walking the streets of Paris.

“Tomorrow,” she said to the disaster in the mirror. “Now a shower, and a bath, and maybe another shower after that.”

Chapter 3

The next day

“The proposal is very well done.” Ry laid the file folder on Kristine’s desk. He’d been in the office all day making phone calls and was ready to kick back with a beer and some sports TV.

“The Severo Foundation is amazing.” Kristine brought up the website on her laptop. “Started by Stephan Severo decades ago to buy up forested land in Minnesota to protect the natural wolf population.”

“And I do appreciate that it’s also helping the Save the Wolf Foundation. His son wants to take the project international.”

“Yes. Pilot Severo continued to support the project after his father died,” Kristine said. “I dug a little deeper with my research. Most isn’t in the proposal. Pilot is not werewolf. His mother, Belladonna Severo, is a vampire and his father was werewolf. Pilot was born straight human. I kind of relate to him.” Kristine tapped her highly lacquered red lips in thought. “He was born into a body that was so different from what others must have expected of him. And can you imagine the parents’ disappointment when their son was not a werewolf or vampire, but rather merely human?”