Michele Hauf - Forever Werewolf

Lexi tucked her head down to smirk, and noticed a streak of water darkened the front of her gray slacks. She’d gotten too close. What was that about? Keeping her personal boundaries—about five feet of distance from others at all times—had become like breathing to her, and to all in the castle. Everyone knew to walk a wide circle around her. When had those boundaries become so … permeable?

“You’re all about blending in, aren’t you?” the wolf asked as he pulled a soft blue sweater over his head and tugged it to cover the abs she wanted to lose a few hours observing. The sweater, perhaps a size too small, conformed to his structure, making him appear even more naked. And the blue really captured his blue eyes and made them dazzle even more. “Dressing in one color so you don’t stand out. Though wearing sunglasses inside is pushing it.”

“My, aren’t you Mr. Blackwell? Coming from a man who wears camo pants and a blazing blue sweater. Who taught you to dress?”

“It’s what the maid brought me. Though I do like this sweater.” He slapped his abs and gave them a rub. “It’s soft. Is this cashmere?”

Lexi bit her lip to keep from saying it wasn’t soft at all but incredibly hard. Her mouth curled, but not up. He was just too … much. Too there. Too in her face. Too … gregarious. Powerful. Honorable to a fault. Yes, appealing in a way she’d never thought a man could appeal. Or was it that she’d never taken a moment to consider a man’s charm?

“Let’s go.” She opened the door and marched down the hallway, expecting him to follow, and hopefully not like the gushy, bouncy puppy he had a tendency to emulate.

The werewolf princess wanted him. She hadn’t been able to keep her eyes off him, and she had almost snuck into the bathroom while he’d been changing. How much did that rock?

The woman was not as cold as she led others to believe.

He suspected she wasn’t aware of her sensual side, something he was very tapped into, according to his former lovers. The Princess of Cool hid behind the pressed, exact clothing, those mirrored sunglasses and an icy demeanor. He bet she never wore jewels like the sister he’d gotten a glimpse of last night. Too flashy, that blonde chick. And spike heels in a castle surrounded by snow? So wrong. Lexi Connor sparkled without unnecessary adornment.

Like right now, she moved as if carried by a graceful yet urgent wind. Her strides were sure but quiet, as they took a curving hallway that spiraled into the narrow south tower.

“This is like some kind of old castle,” Tryst commented. “So authentic.”

“Built in the fifteenth century by a former financial minster to King Charles II.”

“And surrounded by perfect powder for skiing. I love this place. It’s tight! You live here all your life?”

“Yes, I was born here.”

“So what’s up with your father? My dad didn’t tell me a lot. He was in too much of a hurry to send me on my way here after getting the call from the pack’s witch. What’s that about?”

“Natalie is our doctor and she’s a witch.”

“Cool. A real witch doctor.”

“I’ve had a medical doctor summoned from Paris to help with the wounded and assess my father’s condition. He should arrive this afternoon if the helicopter can land.”

She paused before a double door fashioned from rich, varnished oak and studded with metal nail heads much like a medieval castle door. “The principal is … under the weather. Natalie isn’t sure what it is, but his health is declining.”

She looked aside and Tryst sensed her unease talking about it. Must be hard for her, virtually running the castle, and having a sick father to worry about. And now the avalanche? The woman exuded strength and endurance, yet she appeared to be losing some steam.

“And I’ll warn you not to press him about his health. Keep your conversation strictly business, or I’ll see that you’re removed from the castle.”

“Good luck with that. A guy can’t even walk through the front door, let alone be removed . But I suspect we’ll get the snow dug away from the storage shed today so we can use the snowplow. I need to get outside to help find that last man. How long is this going to take?”

“I have no idea. I’m as surprised as you my father wants to see you again after you were so quick with him last night.”

“I intend to apologize to him for that, Princess.”

“My name is—”

“I know.” He pressed a hand to the door above her shoulder. “Alexis, the cool, calm beauty who won’t show anyone her eyes because that kind of connection would be too intimate.”

She gaped.

“Guess I hit that one right on the nail, eh?” he said. “But I prefer Lexi, the smart, cautious chick who is going to break down sooner rather than later and give me a big warm smile.”

Her gaping mouth shut and her brows curved downward. About as opposite a smile as she could manage.

He wouldn’t stop working on her. He knew a smile lived somewhere behind those blue mirrored lenses.

“Take me to your leader,” he said with only a modicum of seriousness.

With a perceived roll of her eyes, she pressed a digital combination on the door lock and walked inside the room, announcing her arrival as she did so, “Father, I’ve brought Monsieur Hawkes to see you.”

They passed through the meeting room. The long, polished conference table stretched ten feet before the two-story windows on the far side. A few leather couches sat near the entrance, and a massive field-stone fireplace occupied the entire wall to Tryst’s left. A video conferencing system sat in the middle of the table.

Medieval castle meets hi-tech office. He liked it.

Lexi had disappeared through a side door, which she had left open, but Tryst hung back. Nerves made him shake loose fists near his thighs. He never got nervous. Fear had been beaten out of him in his teenage years. But the place intimidated him. He stood within the inner sanctum of a pack principle—and only last night he may have offended him.

He’d always wondered what it would be like to live within a pack. To live under their rules and society. To have a leader to look up to, and to follow a specific hierarchy that placed each and every wolf in rank.

Growing up with his mother and father, he’d not had anything resembling a pack. They’d treated Trystan as if he were a werewolf from birth, because Rhys had said he just knew. A child born with mixed heritage never really knew what he would become until puberty. Trystan had always related to his father’s gentle werewolf side anyway. Yet heaven forbid, he should ever reveal his paternity. Pack Alpine would make mincemeat out of him.

Worse yet, if they knew his mother was a blood-born vampire, he’d never get out of this castle in one piece. Sure, wolves and vamps worldwide stood on reasonably peaceable terms, but they’d never seen eye to eye. Make that eye to fang. Tryst had learned to be leery around vamp-hating wolves. Hell, he may have a bit of prejudice toward longtooths themselves, but that was changing after meeting his half brother, Vaillant, last year. Vaillant was a blood-born vampire, as well.

Strange family ties.

“Enter.”

At the monotone invitation, Tryst assumed a more menial posture of slightly bowed head and lax shoulders as he entered Principal Connor’s private quarters.

The massive bedroom boasted a four-poster bed clothed in dark browns and blacks. The walls and floors were stone, and medieval-looking tapestry rugs had been scattered here and there. An enormous HD television hung on one wall between a moose head and what appeared to be a boar head sporting massive tusks. Tryst was not keen on killing wildlife, and he kept a cringe to himself.