Читать книгу Forever Werewolf - Michele Hauf - Страница 8

The day had been long, and Lexi startled awake from her sitting position by the arched door opening into the keep. Her room had not been damaged, yet she hadn’t made it back there after overseeing the disaster and establishing triage in the keep. Now she stretched her legs out before her and arched her back. She hadn’t removed her long coat and she was warm. Too warm, almost stifling here in the windowless room that may have, in centuries past, often housed the entire castle inhabitants as they waited out the enemy.

Rubbing her eyes beneath the sunglasses—she never took them off—felt great. Checking her watch revealed it was three in the morning. Most of the keep was quiet, save a few who sat near the cots with wet towels and worried looks as they tended the wounded.

She stood, stretched again, and decided she could manage a few hours of sleep in her own bed, and a shower. Her kingdom for a shower.

She did have a small kingdom, actually. Well, Lana was the one who insisted on exploiting the princess title. Lexi thought it was ostentatious. Daughters of werewolf principals were referred to as princess—their sons were princes—but that didn’t make them royalty or heirs to a nonexistent castle and crown. But they did live in a castle and, despite the lacking crown, Lana certainly liked to play up the privileged princess routine. It worked well for her. Entitlement had always been her mien.

Lexi would rather choke on a watermelon than play soft, pink and delicate. If she didn’t have a hand and nose to the action, she wouldn’t know how to function. It was a natural compulsion to show her father how much she was willing to help. It was hard enough to get his attention, what with Lana’s pandering. Her sister could win a new Porsche with a bat of her lashes, and she had two in the shed to prove the power of that expert move. Lexi owned a battered old Range Rover. It got her where she needed to go, and that included flooded roads, muddy ditches and icy drives.

Wandering through the darkened halls of the castle, Lexi tugged off her coat and pushed the sunglasses up onto her head. It always took a few seconds for her eyes to adjust and color her surroundings a little brighter than when wearing the glasses, even despite the darkness inside the castle. Her breed had excellent night vision.

Her exhaustion felt as if she were dragging lead pipes for legs, and her shoulders ached. A cup of chamomile tea after her shower would relax her into a restful slumber.

Suddenly she stumbled and, before falling, caught herself with a balance of her hands. Turning swiftly, she saw she’d tripped over a man’s legs. He sat sprawled on the floor across from the lobby doors that had been blocked off with wood boards. Bitter cold air whisked through the hallway about her shoulders and she shuffled her coat back on and tapped down her glasses before kneeling to shake the man’s shoulders.

“Monsieur Hawkes?”

He mumbled something but didn’t open his eyes. His coat lay over his legs, and melted snow from his heavy pack boots puddled around his feet and legs.

“What are you doing here?”

“No place to sleep. Tired. Still missing … one man.”

It had been a good eighteen hours since the avalanche had struck. And this wolf had been working steadily to rescue the missing men. Only one left? He must have fallen asleep standing or, apparently, sat down and nodded off. Even wolves eventually got exhausted and couldn’t go without sleep.

She tugged his arm, provoking him to a grudging stand. “Come with me. We’ve a few open rooms.”

He twisted toward the boarded doors, which swung her around ungracefully as he looped an arm over her shoulder and stumbled a few steps as if a drunken man. “Have to find last one.”

Walking and talking in his sleep, this guy. “You can resume the search after you’ve rested. Is there a backup team out now?”

“Yes, three men volunteered. They’ve had rest. But I should help. Can’t let them down.” With a shake of his head, as if to chase off the exhaustion, he suddenly set back his shoulders and assumed a modicum of alertness. The move stretched him a head taller than she. He blinked a few times in the cool darkness. “Princess Connor. Sorry, I didn’t know it was you.”

“It’s Lexi,” she said, and tugged him toward the south wing. “And you’re not going anywhere but to bed.”

“Best offer I’ve had in a long time.”

She rolled her eyes. She had walked right into that one. For lack of practice in defense of horny males, surely. She couldn’t remember when a man had last flirted with her.

“We’ve a guest room that you can use. Shower, have something to eat, and sleep. I’ll make sure the night shift doesn’t stop until you rise to replace them. I want to thank you for your hard work. You certainly went above and beyond the call of duty for our pack.”

“It’s nothing anyone else wouldn’t have done.”

Actually, she believed it was a lot, and anyone else would have thought twice before jumping into the fray such as Hawkes had.

“Sorry about how rudely I treated your dad. I wasn’t thinking. My dad grilled me on the correct protocol before I traveled here, but my mind was elsewhere. I haven’t had experience with a pack before.”

“Don’t let it bother you. Father is already over it, I’m sure.”

“Did the elixir help?”

“Not sure. Our doctor administered a dose not long after you saw him. If you pray, Monsieur Hawkes, please pray for my father.”

“I do pray to the universe, and I will put in a good word for your father.”

She unlocked the guest room door with a slash of her control card, which worked on all doors in the castle, and strode inside the dark bedroom lit by a ray of pale moonshine. Nearing fullness. Perhaps three more days? She’d lost track of the monthly cycle since her father had become ill. While normally instinctual about the moon phases, she was too discombobulated by the day’s events to summon clear thought.

Hawkes trudged inside, his boots forming small lakes in his wake. He pulled off his sweater and tossed it aside without care. The wolf slapped a palm to his bare abdomen and rubbed it, looking about the room with a long yawn.

He had a fine form. Not so bulky as the wolves in the pack, but certainly one of the biggest. Trystan was long, lean and hard with muscle that ridged his chest and stomach. Was it solid to the touch? Would her cool fingers warm against his pale skin?

Lexi stopped the divergent thoughts when she realized her tongue traced her upper lip. She forced herself to look away from the appealing sight. The wolf was still sleepwalking. He didn’t realize he was posing and flexing with every stretch he made.

Couldn’t.

“Why are you wearing sunglasses?” he asked.

“I always wear them. The light hurts my eyes,” she said, offering the classic lie.

“It’s dark in here.” He sat on the end of the bed, dressed with the thick goose-down coverlets Lexi loved to snuggle into, and lay back, stretching out his arms above the spray of wild, red hair that he wore as if a defiant flag.

She strolled into the bathroom and turned on the light. “The shower stream is fierce. For reasons beyond my knowledge we have excellent water pressure here in the boondocks. You’ll love it. There should be fresh towels and linens in the closet. I’ll see about finding you some clean clothes and have the maid drop them off.”

The werewolf didn’t answer so Lexi peeked inside the bathroom closet to be sure there was soap and towels. Everything looked presentable. She liked to run a tight ship, and was pleased the maid kept up the extra rooms. It was the least they could offer to the man who had selflessly aided their pack today.

Crossing the room, soft snores lured her to the bedside. Arms stretched above his head and feet still on the floor, the fascinating wolf had fallen asleep.

She leaned over him, inspecting his rising and falling chest. Her fingers played in the air but inches from his skin, unwilling and—wisely—not touching. He was a fine piece of work. A few freckles spotted his shoulders and along the side of his muscle-strapped torso. She started mapping them out, tapping the air with a finger and wondering if she could form the constellation Orion….

“What are you looking at, Princess?”

Startled upright, she took an abrupt step away from the bed. “It’s not Princess, it’s just Lexi. And I was …” Taking mental inventory of his steely abs and connecting the tantalizing dots. “Good night, Monsieur Hawkes.”

“It’s not monsieur, it’s just Trystan. Friends call me Tryst,” he said on a sleepy rasp. “And you’ll always be a princess to me, Lexi.” He yawned and turned his head to the side. “So pretty” came out on a murmur.

Lexi paused in the doorway and pressed her forehead to the door frame. He’d called her pretty. She had no earthly idea what to do with that compliment.

Trystan woke to the smell of bacon and maple syrup. Aware someone was in the room with him, he rolled over on the bed and realized he was wrapped like a burrito in the bedspread. Hell, he always conked out like a log after a hard day’s work and often fell asleep wherever he could manage. How’d he actually make it to a bed?

The image of a pretty werewolf with dark hair and mysterious sunglasses came to mind.

“Lexi,” he whispered. She’d made an offer to share the bed with him if he recalled correctly. Probably not a correct recall, and instead a dream. Heh.

“Hello?” He rolled out of the burrito wrap and sat up, shrugging fingers through his tangle of hair and shaking off the hangover of coming instantly upright and awake.

“Breakfast and a set of clothes for you, monsieur.” An elderly woman in casual dark slacks and sweater stood at the door. Must be the maid. He didn’t get the sense that she was wolf, though. “Principal Connor wishes to see you in an hour.”

“Thanks. Where’s his room again?”

“Down the hall at the end of the south wing. Take the stairs up to the tower.” She left, closing the door quietly.

The door wasn’t even closed before Tryst stood over the tray of breakfast, lured by his nose and the savory scent of heaven. He gobbled down a few slices of bacon and tilted back the first cup of coffee without taking a breath. The pancakes followed in huge bites. Man, he was starving. And they certainly knew how to feed a hungry wolf here. Six pancakes, eggs, bacon and sausage, camp fries, and granola with yogurt.

“I could get used to this.”

Living in Paris, in his bachelor pad that overlooked the Eiffel Tower, he normally didn’t cook for himself. Most nights he ate out, and kept a collection of take-out menus on his iPhone. And if on a date, that meant he couldn’t consume a huge meal, as usual, because he didn’t want to freak out his date by revealing his monstrous appetite. It took a lot to keep a grown wolf full. Mortal women ate so little and gave him condemning looks to see him gobble up his food. It was as if food of any sort disgusted them, and how could he possibly eat it?

He usually dated mortal women, but he’d yet to fall in love. And though he suspected the cards wouldn’t deal him love anytime soon, he was hopeful. Raising a family and starting his own pack was tops on his wish list.

He missed that he’d not been raised in a pack. While his father was half werewolf, he didn’t shift to werewolf form too often, because that side of him was vicious and violent. His werewolf was actually ruled by his vampire brain, and the vampire inside Rhys Hawkes was always pissed at the wolf for denying it the blood it desired.

So Rhys remained in vampire form most often because then his kinder, gentler werewolf mind ruled, and though Tryst had adjusted easily to his father’s mood swings—he’d grown up knowing nothing else—he quickly realized if he was going to learn what real, full-blooded werewolves were like, he’d have to find a few wolf friends. Which hadn’t been easy.

Unaligned wolves were not often welcomed to chum around with packs. But Tryst had managed to secure one close friend, an ice demon named Axel Fergusson, who had taught him things his father could have never thought to talk about. Axel knew about werewolves because he had once been one himself—actually, still was—before being cursed by Himself because he’d dated Bloody Mary, the chick who was known to be Himself’s girlfriend, so Axel had had it coming, Tryst figured.

Axel had been his lifeline. Especially when it came to dating advice. Never approach a pack female unless you have a death wish. Even if she gives you a wink. But if she’s alone, then go for it, and enjoy the ride while you could, which was never long. Pack females tended to surf the Parisian nightclubs for unaligned wolves as a vacation from their usual pack males. But they were never serious, just looking for some fun away from home. The different. The outsiders.

Ugh. Tryst hated that term.

Pouring his third cup of coffee, Tryst cautioned himself to slow down and enjoy the meal while he could. There was still another man missing, and if the crew that had worked through the early-morning hours had not found him, Tryst had work to do.

The maid had said the principal wanted to see him? Hmm, yes, he should go and apologize for his brisk treatment of him yesterday. At the very least, he should have bowed before the elder wolf. Rhys would not be happy to learn about his faux pas.

Tryst finished the last sausage link and stood back from the clean plate. A shower and a quick shave were in order. He had a long day ahead of him. Fingers crossed, that day would involve meeting up with the pretty princess who had been staring at his half-naked body last night.

“She wants me,” he said. “Score!”

He tossed an imaginary basketball and landed the trick hoop shot because he was so good, and yes, the woman wanted him.

Now he just had to sniff out any competition from the males in the pack, and then approach the target with confidence yet caution.

Alexis knocked on the guest room door. It was seven in the morning, which wasn’t early by any means, but she didn’t hear a sound on the other side of the door. Was the wolf still sleeping? He deserved the rest. The night team had not found the remaining man, so she entirely expected Hawkes would be out poking about in the snow as soon as the sun blinked across his eyelids. He’d bring up a dead man, surely, but his dedication heartened her.

She was fascinated by those with an ability to fit into any scenario or surrounding effortlessly, such as Hawkes had seemed to do here at Wulfsiege. Herself, she was never quite sure how to become a part of something even as innocuous as a conversation. It wasn’t shyness, but a touch of introversion. Okay, a lot of introversion. Her sister had gotten their father’s extroverted gene. And the pretty gene. And the popularity gene.

“Get over it,” she muttered with a roll of her eyes. Why was she feeling so sorry for herself suddenly? “This is not you.”

It was exhaustion—that was all she could summon as an excuse.

Lexi beat a fist on the door, and it swung inside on the third pound, almost hitting the grinning werewolf in the face. Wet hair dripped onto his shoulders and spilled in tears down his bare, buff chest. She found herself following the trail of water down, down over rigid abs, and through a thatch of red hair to the tight wrap of a white towel hugging his square, utterly graspable hips.

Trystan Hawkes stretched an arm along the door and winked at her. “You look as happy to see me as I am to see you, Princess. What’s up?”

At the double-edged question, she hastily averted her eyes from the mysterious folds of the towel. Good thing she wore dark glasses. “My father will see you now.”

“Not like this he won’t. Come inside. Let me pull on some clothes. The maid brought me something to wear.”

“I’ll wait out here.”

“In the hallway? That’s so security thug, which is not you. Seriously, come in and sit down. I’ll dress in the bathroom. Wouldn’t want to flash daddy’s little princess.”

“I am not daddy’s princess,” she said, finding she’d already followed him into the room. Lexi turned to face the door. Had she closed that? “Alana is.”

“Yeah?” he called from the bathroom. The door was open and steam misted out. “Is that your sister? Think I saw her during the chaos last night.”

“Yes, she’s …” Pretty, and attracted all the wolves’ eyes. “Yes.”

“Then you must be daddy’s secret weapon.”

“I am …” What had he meant by that?

Stepping closer to the bathroom door, she drew in the spicy aroma from what she knew was the guest soap. Cloves and leather were her favorite scent. So manly, so … Hell, what was she doing? She didn’t have time for romancing a fantasy.

Turning her back to the door, she crossed her arms and hiked out a heel. She wore gray today, from boot to neck. It was easier to go monochromatic, because when she started to mix colors bad things happened and people stared. Attribute that to her eyes, she figured. And enough about that.

“Yep, he put the sister out as bait,” Tryst called from the bathroom, “and keeps the smart one close by his side. Head of security, right?”

“Castle chatelaine is my official title.”

“What’s a chatelaine? Oh, wait, I think I heard a song about that once. ‘Miss Chatelaine …’” he sang.

She smiled at his rendition of the k.d. lang song, which she happened to like. “The chatelaine oversees all the domestic business in the castle, such as the kitchen, and preparing and ordering food for meals. Stocks. Events and parties. I keep track of the accountant and lawyers. As well, I oversee security.”

“So you do it all—yikes.”

Trystan walked right into her. Lexi abruptly stood straight. She’d been leaning a little too far into the bathroom doorway. Just soaking up the scent she admired. Yes, that was it.

She adjusted her sunglasses, which he’d nudged north when her forehead had bumped his chest. As her hand had pushed away from his abs she felt the rock-hard ridges and her fingers curled, wanting to touch a little longer. He burned her softly. How long could she hold her skin against his heat without igniting?

“What are you looking for, Lexi?”

“I, er …” Indeed, what had her fingers wanted to grasp, as if a lifeline she desperately needed? She crossed the room swiftly and grabbed the door handle. “You ready?”

He shook out his hair. Bending, he fluffed it a bit before the mirror, which managed to tousle it more messily. But he seemed happy with it, because he nodded at the mirror and winked.

The man and his winks! It wasn’t a flirtatious move. It was more of a tic. Or some kind of code for arrogant overcompensation?

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.

Over by the windowed wall, Tryst saw the man seated on the overwide windowsill. Sunlight beamed across his figure so he couldn’t make out an expression or posture, and a plaid blanket had been spread over his lap.

Now his good judgment snapped to the fore, and, as his father had directed him, Tryst went down on one knee and bowed his head, offering a respectful greeting. “Principal Connor, it’s a pleasure to meet you. Again. Thank you for your hospitality. Please accept my apologies for being so brisk with you last night. I was more worried about finding the men lost in the snow than protocol.”

“He doesn’t seem so unruly, Alexis.” The principal directed the words at his daughter, and then to Tryst he said, “I forgive you only because my daughter has told me of your relentless quest to help find my pack members. Have they all been accounted for?”

Tryst looked to Lexi, who he expected would have the tally.

“Still one missing,” she offered. “Sandra. Liam believes she was running out on the track right before the avalanche.”

“A female,” the principal said with cheerless calm. “And so young. I had just approved her engagement to Vincent. That is unfortunate.”

Tryst felt the old wolf’s grief. Losing a female—hell, anyone—was a tragedy. And she’d obviously been ready to start a new life with marriage to the scion, probably eager to have kids, and build the pack. Both would be counted as a great loss.

He shouldn’t be here. He could be doing more good outside than on his knees.

“Come, have a seat over here,” the principal said to Trystan. “The sun is high and bright this morning. I love the rare winter sun.”

Casting Lexi a raised brow—had the principal earlier referred to him as unruly?—Tryst accepted the invitation and sat across from the principal on the easy chair covered in what may have been pony hide. The rough hide felt nasty under his palms, so he fisted his hands on his thighs.

The principal was not old, and should not appear old, for wolves lived a good three centuries, aging slowly and gracefully, as was Rhys. He looked a little pale, though his smile felt warm and Tryst’s apprehensions sluiced away.

“As much as I would love the chat, Principal Connor, I feel compelled to head outside and join the search. But if you’d allow me my curiosity, can I ask what it was I delivered to you last night?”

“Your father didn’t tell you?”

“The mission to bring it here was so urgent, he slapped the case in my hands and sent me off. I know only it was an elixir of some sort.”

“Alexis.”

The principal’s daughter stepped in and took the case from the table by the bed, gently setting it on her father’s lap.

The principal held up a vial of violet liquid in the beam of winter sunlight. “Wolfsbane.”

“Wolfsbane?” Tryst shoved backward and his boots scraped across the stone floor loudly. He ignored Lexi’s reprimanding glance. “Can I ask why you requested something from Hawkes Associates that could bring your death, Principal Connor?”

The elder wolf tilted the vial in observation. “I’ve had this stored with Hawkes Associates since the turn of the twentieth century. You just returned it to me. A gift from a warlock who warned me someday what could cause me harm may also bring me good. Wolfsbane can bring a werewolf death or, if administered in the proper dose, give life. Or so one can hope.”

He handed the vial to his daughter, who took it in her gloved hand and went to place it on the bedroom vanity.

“You have a need for either?” Tryst questioned.

“You’re very bold, boy. Always a detriment to those wolves not raised in a pack.”

“Forgive me. I’m trying. Pack life fascinates me, but there is much I have to learn.”

“It isn’t your fault you were denied the pack experience. I know your father well.” Edmonton tilted his head in that same assessing manner Lexi had when they’d first met. Tryst had been weighed and measured far too many times to even flinch. “You hold a dangerous secret, boy.”

Tryst averted his eyes from Lexi’s curiosity. Would she ever take off those sunglasses? He didn’t know if she knew the secret her father claimed to know, but he preferred she did not. He noted her fists tightened near her thighs. Of course her father would warn her against him.

Damn. So much for winning the werewolf princess. If his heritage were revealed to her, he was as good as mud beneath her kick-ass boots.

“Well, whatever it is you intend to use it for—” he gestured toward the vial of wolfsbane, diverting the conversation “—I hope you get the desired results.”

Tryst offered his hand to Edmonton, though from what his father had told him, he shouldn’t expect the gesture to be reciprocated. But the old man leaned forward, extending his hand. The handshake started Tryst’s heart beating a little faster. He felt as though he’d been bestowed a great honor.

“Thank you, Principal Connor. I’ll report to my father that you’ve received the package.”

“Do tell him thank you from me, will you?”

“I will. Uh, would it be okay with you if I remain at Wulfsiege to finish the rescue operation and help your pack dig out? I’ve nowhere else I need to be, and I do enjoy the hard work. Besides, right now, the only way out is on foot.”

The principal cast a discerning gaze over Trystan. He suspected that he didn’t quite measure up to the principal’s standards, the old man knowing what he did about Trystan’s lineage. It mattered little. And then it did, because he felt the princess’s regard so close behind him.

“You have my permission to stay until we’re dug out,” the principal offered.

Tryst nodded and backed from the room, swinging around as he entered the conference room. He had a long day ahead of him.

“I must see to finding a replacement for the scion quickly.” Edmonton tapped the vial of wolfsbane his daughter had returned to him. “Who knows how much longer I have.” He sat back and closed his eyes to the warm sun beaming across his face. The first dose had done something. He hoped. He did feel stronger, able to sit up without wanting to curl forward and close his eyes to the compelling yet often painful sleep. “Where is Sven?”

“Toddling after Lana, most likely.”

“He’s not helping with the rescue team?”

He heard his daughter’s smirk, and knew she had no respect for the alpha wolf who was engaged to his other daughter. He liked Sven. Called the Nordic Warrior for the reason he’d arrived at Wulfsiege a year ago after his pack had been annihilated by vampires, yet he had fought them boldly and still wore a scar along his torso. The young wolf was commanding, and quick to sniff out danger, though Edmonton did tend to turn an eye away from the man’s lack of work ethic. If he could delegate, he’d make a fine leader.

“Don’t tell me you would consider Sven for scion,” Alexis dared to say.

“Watch your tongue, girl.”

He didn’t like it when she was aggressive toward him. Toward others it worked well and kept them at the distance she preferred, but around him, he insisted she be more docile.

“And who would you recommend?” he asked.

“Liam.”

“His mother was an American.”

“And you only trust Europeans? Oh, Father.”

“Don’t oh, Father me, Alexis. You’ve developed a decidedly acid tongue of late. I cannot endure your rebellion when I am so weak. When’s the doctor due to arrive?”

“In a few hours. Do you want to wait for the next dose until after he arrives?”

“No. I’ll have you call in Natalie so we can administer another injection. I actually feel better after the first dose. I think it may be working.”

“I will,” she said, standing and tipping down her sunglasses to look over the rims at him. “You sure you’re feeling well this morning?”

“As well as a man who suffers a mysteriously debilitating ailment can feel.”

She snatched the vial and then gave him a hug. He didn’t squeeze back. Affection tended to spoil a well-trained child. Alana was proof of that. He couldn’t lose Lexi. Not yet.

“Lexi?”

“Yes, Father?”

“Be careful around Trystan Hawkes.”

“I am always careful around everyone, you know that. But Hawkes is not a threat to anyone.”

“He’s also not a full-blooded wolf.”

“What?”

His daughter’s gasp hurt his heart—and revealed her heart. Already she’d stepped across the invisible line she kept drawn around herself and had taken to the Hawkes man. He couldn’t allow her to fall into a ridiculous fantasy.

“His father, Rhys Hawkes, is a half-breed. Half wolf, half vampire. And his mother is full vampire.”

He waited for her reaction, but she swallowed and merely nodded, stunned at the announcement.

“I thought you should know. He’s dangerous.”

To her heart, and to his.

After excusing herself from her father’s bedside, Lexi closed the door behind her and wandered down the tower stairs, her fingers tracing the cold stone walls for support. The man she was fascinated by was a half-breed? His mother a vampire?

Her heart beating rapidly, she jammed a shoulder to the wall and shook her head.

Here she’d been close to hope that the new guy was just interesting enough to intrigue her. She’d already begun to trust him. And she’d been gazing at him like some kind of lovesick dove. But he had vampire blood running through his veins. Not potential mate material. Not for the pack princess.

At least that is what common sense boldly said. While her heart, well, it whispered something too soft for her to interpret right now.

“Once again, you get the wrong end of the stick,” she muttered.

With a sigh, she lifted her chin and marched down the hallway. Work would keep her mind away from her stupid mistake.