Книга - Forever Werewolf

Forever Werewolf
Michele Hauf


He was searching for a home. He didn’t expect to find her. Trystan Hawkes is looking for family, for his true werewolf pack, when he is trapped at Castle Wulfsiege following an avalanche. Stuck in her lair, he’s soon drawn to werewolf princess Lexi Connor but her cool attitude makes winning her heart a challenge…And Lexi is hiding a secret from Tryst – the dark truth that could forever impact their future together. Now Tryst has to decide how much he’s willing to give up if he wants to win Lexi’s heart.












When Lexi shrugged, the most amazing thing happened.


It struck Tryst so hard, he slapped a hand to his chest to slow down his suddenly rapid heartbeats.

“What?” she asked.

“You know what’s even more amazing than your skills on the slopes?” He pointed to her face. “That gorgeous smile. Lexi, I just gotta say, right now I so want to kiss you. But I feel like I have to ask your permission, or risk a sharp left hook to my jaw.”

That chased away her smile. “Right. Well. I’ll see you tomorrow, Hawkes.”

Lexi marched off. Even in the snow boots, she managed a sexy hip-shifting sashay. Tryst whistled lowly.

His inner wolf howled, and then, Tryst let it escape, carrying out a long vocal song that declared his interest in Lexi and placed a challenge to any who would protest.


Dear Reader,

I’m thrilled to present this double volume of werewolf romances to you. In Forever Werewolf you’ll meet my newest werewolf hero, Trystan Hawkes, who has a complicated family history, and must learn to embrace that before he can truly love another.

Now, I write my stories in a world I call Beautiful Creatures. Sometimes characters show up in other books, and other times children of a previous hero and heroine couple might have their own story. If you are interested in learning more about my world, do stop by Club Scarlet online at clubscarlet.michelehauf.com. I’ve also begun making “boards” on Pinterest for each of my books. There I pin pictures of the people who inspired my heroes and heroines, places, things and homes that are also featured in the books. Find me as toastfaery. It’s fun!

Michele




About the Author


MICHELE HAUF has been writing romance, action-adventure and fantasy stories for more than twenty years. Her first published novel was Dark Rapture. France, musketeers, vampires and faeries populate her stories. And if she followed the adage “write what you know,” all her stories would have snow in them. Fortunately, she steps beyond her comfort zone and writes about countries she has never visited and of creatures she has never seen.

Michele can also be found on Facebook and Twitter and at michelehauf.com. You can also write to Michele at PO Box 23, Anoka, MN 55303, USA.




Forever

Werewolf


Michele Hauf




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




Chapter 1


The stretch limo rounded a plowed country road that had segued from asphalt to gravel about three leagues south. The area was remote, perfect for a pack to live in relative privacy, though there was a village not far to the west. The village catered to mortals with a taste for quality skiing and secret liaisons in cozy cottage hideaways.

The gravel road was lined in frost-coated trees. The sky was white, the road packed with white snow. The proverbial winter wonderland.

A remarkable castle rose from the snow-blanketed valley and into Trystan Hawkes’s backseat view. His father, Rhys Hawkes, had told him the fifteenth-century castle Wulfsiege was something to see. He had understated the remarkable structure.

Set in the Hautes-Alpes region of southeastern France, the multiturreted castle, forged from pale limestone, was surrounded by waves of pine forest, and mountains capped with pristine powder. The almost-white stone blended the castle against the landscape in an eerie effect that must have been a sudden shock to marauders from the past as they marched upon the fortressed structure.

A literal wall of snow, sheered off by a plow, fenced the left side of the road as they approached, as if a glacier, pushed just far enough, had decided to stop and rest for centuries. Pale winter sun glinted on the wall of snow and flashed as if across steel.

Trystan ached to ski or snowboard the gorgeous powder. His wolf pined to lope along the forest’s edge under the moonlight on four legs instead of two.

“Should have brought along the board,” he said to the driver, who pulled the limo to a stop at a massive iron gate coated with more of the hoarfrost and flashed his credentials to the gatekeeper. “Man, I’d love to shred that stuff.”

“The Alpine pack hosts the games every other year,” the driver said in a cheerful voice. “Edmonton Connor is the principal. Wolves from dozens of packs across the world show for the competition.”

“Competition,” Tryst muttered, feeling a blood-deep competitive streak flash through his veins. “Winter games, as in skiing and snowmobiling?”

“And snowboarding and two- and four-legged races. It’s quite the spectacle. This isn’t the year though. Next year.”

Tryst gave a disappointed whistle. “I will most definitely be back.”

“It’s quite calm here today. One would never guess just yesterday the area experienced a fierce snowstorm. Covered an icy layer of December snow with a foot of the fluffy stuff. Pretty.”

Pretty, Tryst thought, but also dangerous. Mother Nature may be capable of producing stunners like the view he’d admired while driving up, but she could also be a bitch in areas like this set between mountains and valleys. Sudden storms could trap recreational skiers without warning.

“We’ve arrived, Monsieur Hawkes. Shall I wait?”

Tryst tore his gaze from the immense limestone front of the castle, where purple banners depicting a wolf rampant whipped in the wind, and dug in his pocket for his wallet. Then he remembered this was a limo the pack had sent to pick him up from the nearby village, and not a cab. Before that, he’d cabbed it from the airport to the village. The flight from the Charles de Gaulle in Paris had been rough. He hated flying, unless it was unimpeded through the air on a snowboard over extreme white powder.

“Must partake of the pow while I’m here,” he muttered.

He lived for physical competition, and winter games were his sport of choice. Skimming down fresh powder, icy snowflakes misting his face, his body in complete control of the board—heaven. He couldn’t believe there were actually games for his breed. Outstanding! Too bad he’d come here during a year when the games were not featured.

“I’d say drive on,” he said to the driver. “I have to hand the package directly to the receiver, and it may take a while. Heck, I hope to have a look around while I’m here.”

And learn more about the pack, was what he didn’t say. Pack life intrigued him. He’d not grown up as part of a pack, and the allure of a tightly knit group of werewolves living together as family was irresistible to his wondering heart.

“Enjoy the weather, monsieur.”

Tryst stepped out of the limo and tugged the small titanium case, handcuffed to his wrist, along with him. “Thanks, man,” he said. “Be careful on that hairpin turn going out. That was a doozy in this long car.”

The driver nodded and drove off.

The wind blew Tryst’s scatter of hair across his face. Brushing it away, he trudged over the packed, icy snow that glossed the courtyard before the massive castle, eager to see the inside of this fascinating place.

“Wulfsiege.” He loved the name. It conjured images of medieval werewolf warriors defending their homes and family against ancient marauders.

His father had been born in the eighteenth century, but he’d never regaled Tryst with tales of his past. Tryst figured his dad hadn’t seen armored combat, though the man had certainly experienced defiance and struggle thanks to his mixed heritage of werewolf and vampire.

He paused, inhaling a breath of courage. Yes, it was required. For the haunting taunts of outsider lived in his brain. A slur used too often against him when he was younger and even, on occasion, now. Could he do this?

“Of course I can,” he whispered. But a defensive clench of his fist was unavoidable. He never let down his guard.

A weird rumble, almost like thunder, alerted him. He cast a glance to the strange white sky that looked solid, as if he could take a bite out of it. “Couldn’t be. Not in February.”

Instinct prickled the hairs along his arms under the layers of sweater and ski coat Tryst wore. He cast a glance along the sharp wall of snow not five hundred yards from the castle grounds. Tryst tilted his head, wondering what he was looking for and sensing he should see it. But he did not, so he brushed it off as nerves. Never before had he entered a pack compound—or castle—and he wasn’t certain how they’d accept this outsider.

Once through the doors, the castle opened to a vast space that resembled more a streamlined airport lobby than a medieval stronghold. While the interior limestone walls had been retained, the three-story space was all glass, steel railings, and an escalator even glided up to the second level. Not very sporting for a werewolf to take an escalator, he mused.

Tryst exhaled. So far, so good.

To his left, a wall of windows looked over an open-air stadium that featured bleacher seating set up against the castle exterior, and looked out over a snowy field marked with flags and a judges’ stand. A person didn’t need a seat in the open-air stadium to get a good view of the action; they could stand and look out the window.

Damn, he wished this had been the competition year.

A pair of males wandered near the glass wall, heading toward the hallway that led north and he knew by their familiar scent they were wolves. They lifted their heads, sensing him, and eyed him curiously.

Here it comes.

Tryst gave a friendly wave but lowered his eyes. His father had told him a little about pack hierarchy, and it wasn’t wise for an unaligned wolf to hold eye contact with a pack wolf unless he wanted to eat his own teeth for breakfast. Hell, Tryst hadn’t needed a coaching session to know that one was truth. Some things he just needed to learn through experience, and he had a wealth of experience under his belt.

The wolves approached him, bruisers with wide shoulders and hands clenched in fists. Heads lifted as they looked him over, their sweaters stretched across ample delts and biceps. While Tryst was tall and broad, and had a tendency to always be the largest man in the room, he judged the two to be close in size to him.

He offered his hand to shake but they stared at it. “Trystan Hawkes,” he said. “With a special delivery for the principal.”

They exchanged looks and one asked, “What pack are you with?”

“Paris,” Tryst answered easily. He didn’t say pack because he wasn’t going to lie. He waited to see how long it would take before they figured out he was not official.

“Paris pussies,” one of them muttered, and smirked.

“Wait here,” the other said. “We’ll get Rick.”

They strode off, keeping a keen eye over their shoulders as they did so.

The adrenaline racing through Tryst’s body crashed and he exhaled, his tight muscles relaxing. He’d passed that test.

“All werewolves here,” he muttered after the wolves must have decided he wasn’t a threat, and assumed their path north. He’d never been around many of his kind in any particular instance.

Admittedly, he’d led a sheltered life. Growing up in Paris, and homeschooled by one of his father’s good friends, Tryst hadn’t begun to associate with other werewolves until his teen years when he’d go out at night in search of them. Learning the ways of packs had been an eye-opener, sometimes an eye bruiser. Though he had never been part of a pack, he was considered an omega wolf, like it or not. And most pack wolves did not like him because he was the son of a half-breed vampire/werewolf. Son of a longtooth was his least favorite slang term used against him. Outsider, being the most bruising and mentally damaging. But he’d stood his ground against the pack wolves and had managed to gain their friendship, if not a leery trust. From a few, at the least.

The lure of pack life stirred his wanting heart now. It wasn’t that he’d not felt loved growing up—he had—but what he really wanted was to fit in, to be with his own breed and to know that kind of family. He’d missed something by growing up with vampires.

“Monsieur? Can I help you?”

As a suited young man who smelled like wolf, but who looked like GQ, approached him, Tryst explained, “I’m the courier from Hawkes Associates to see Principal Connor.” His gaze darted quickly from the man’s narrow shoulders to his polished leather shoes. “Are you Rick?”

“Yes.” The man checked the iPad he held nestled against his forearm and then nodded. “That’s Lexi’s arrangement. Wait here. I’ll get someone who can help you.”

“No problem.” Tryst saluted the man, who hurried off. “Real tight operation they’ve got around here.” And not as imposing as he’d expected.

He started toward the north hall, the chain from his wrist to his case shushing across the titanium shell. He sensed a cafeteria close by for he smelled roasted meat. The crackers and peanuts on the airplane hadn’t done much for his aggressive hunger. Hell, he was a big man; he needed fuel. All the time.

“Hawkes Associates?” a woman called after him.

Tryst swung around and sighted in a gorgeous, petite bit of darkness and light. Heeled white leather boots that rode to her thighs clicked on the stone floor as she strode purposefully toward him. A long white winter coat, pristine as fresh powder, swayed out about her knees. Her slicked-back black hair contrasted sharply with the coat, and the black, wraparound sunglasses flashed blue chromic lenses. She worked the winter Matrix look nicely.

Stopping before him, she hooked a white-gloved hand at her hip, which revealed she wore all white leather clothing underneath. The pose also exposed the white grip of a pistol she sported at her hip, but Tryst immediately knew it was a flare gun because he always packed one on any skiing venture.

Interesting. Matrix chick was sexy and deadly, in a safety kind of way. He nodded appreciatively. And a wolf, to boot? He could smell her wild pheromones enhanced with a burst of citrus, and his wolf howled inside at the prospect of standing so close to a gorgeous female of his breed.

Female wolves were not so rare in Europe as they were in America, but their packs and families protected them as if gold, and were very choosy about whom they were allowed to interact with and marry. Or so Tryst’s dad had told him. He’d met a female wolf in a nightclub once, and indeed, members of her pack had carefully watched her every move. He hadn’t been able to say more than “Hey, baby” when a bruiser had forced him to the opposite side of the dance floor where the vampires lurked. He’d challenged the guy to a fight, as his pride had demanded, and had limped for days after. Still, he’d counted himself a winner simply for surviving the beating.

It surprised Tryst this woman was out in the forefront and with no apparent male to guard her. He looked around. No guards posted in secret nooks, not even security cameras tucked at the ceiling or in corners.

“Trystan Hawkes,” he offered, holding out his hand.

She shook it, firmly. The brief contact, though shielded by her leather glove, sent a scurry of excitement through his system. He was touching a female werewolf and no one was stopping him. A triumphant howl blossomed in his gut, and it was only with great restraint that he kept it silenced.

He wished he could see her eyes beyond the blue lenses, but the mystery heightened her appeal. Her mouth, prettily natural and not painted with bright lipstick, smiled softly, and Trystan imagined kissing those lush lips—

“You’re here to see Principal Connor?”

“Er …” He snapped out of the fantasy. He shouldn’t even go there in his mind, because if he so much as looked at a pack female the wrong way he suspected he’d never get out of castle Wulfsiege alive. “Yes, I’ve a package for your pack leader from Hawkes Associates.” He tapped the case. “I’ve been instructed to hand it directly to him.”

“Of course. I wouldn’t have it any other way.” She appeared to assess him from snowcapped boot toes, up his white-and-gray snow camo pants and over his Gore-Tex jacket to his shoulder-length hair, which he never remembered to comb. And no, it was not red, it was auburn.

Tryst winked, just in case her eyes were on his.

She gave him a “really” tilt of her head, and he felt the admonishment, but that didn’t erase the smile he could not stop.

“Wait here,” she instructed. “I’ll check with the principal.”

“No problem. I didn’t catch your name?”

“No, you didn’t.” She turned and marched off in a precise line that took her around the steel railing that curved along the castle wall, and out of Tryst’s sight.

“No, you didn’t,” he mocked. “Tough chick. But sexy. And a wolf. Whew!”

The howl still clambered for release and his smile went full-on goofy. Tryst shrugged his hands back through his hair. He figured every wolf in the castle had to have his sights set on Miss No You Didn’t. But had they spoken to her as he just had?

Didn’t think so. He was so ahead of the game.

On the other hand, a gorgeous chick like her was probably already mated to the strongest, most alpha wolf in the pack. He shouldn’t get his hopes up. But the fantasy was always a kick. And hell, look up glutton for punishment in the dictionary and his face would be featured.

A sudden unnatural roar lifted the hair all over his body.

Tryst swung around and saw the massive cloud of billowing snow just before it broke through the glass wall that overlooked the stadium. The entire castle shook. Male shouts punctuated the calamity.

Tryst lost his balance but managed to stay upright. The roar, as from a beast unearthed after long centuries of hibernation, engulfed the area—and then it suddenly grew deathly quiet as if a damper had been clamped over all.

Or a heavy wall of snow.

With glass and snow scattering across the tiled floor, Tryst turned to find the lobby doors through which he had entered had gone dark. The window that had once looked over the stadium area was also dark and filled in with a wall of snow.

“Avalanche,” he muttered, and started toward the hallway down which the female werewolf had left. She had walked right by the window.

Werewolves ran by him, shouting for help. A few were bleeding. The structure of the castle seemed intact as Tryst let his eyes scurry up and down the limestone walls, and he guessed the walls must be three or more feet thick if built so many centuries ago. He hoped so.

He sighted the female wolf in the long white coat and called out to her, but she was running toward him, shouting orders into an intercom device she held to her mouth.

“You all right?” he called as she ran past him.

She nodded. “Get away from this wall! It could collapse inward.”

“Right.” He turned and ran along beside her. “We need to go outside and see where the snow moved and what areas it covered. How many outside do you think?”

“Too many,” she said. “A group of at least a dozen was out skiing.” She ran off ahead of him.

Trystan stopped in the lobby, standing near the shattered glass and snow. The wall hushed in an icy cold wave of air that crept up the back of his neck like a deadly poison. Fresh snowfall over hardpack last night, and then today a group had gone out skiing? That had been asking for disaster.

He didn’t think the snow blocking the window would move in any farther. But having been in the vicinity during a few avalanches, he knew there was always danger of aftershocks and even another avalanche. The people inside the castle needed to be moved to safety, which could be the other side of the castle. He didn’t know the layout.

The female wolf raced by him again, telling whoever was on the other end of the walkie-talkie to start gathering the castle’s inhabitants and move them. She had a plan, so Tryst would leave that to her.

But if anyone had been outside, they could be trapped under heavy snow. A rescue team had to be formed. He’d worked on a team once to bring up a mortal couple who’d been trapped eight feet under snow, and so he knew what to do. He needed a few strong men. And they had to move quickly. No one lasted for more than a few hours under snow, and in fact, most mortals could withstand no more than half an hour unless they had a pocket of air and their lungs hadn’t been crushed.

Werewolves had an innate ability to heal, and could withstand a lot. He figured if any wolves had been buried they had maybe four to six hours before death.

Alexis Connor marched through the Wulfsiege lobby, her boots crushing broken glass, and her mind racing in twenty different directions. They’d experienced avalanches before, but never one that had hit directly on Wulfsiege grounds or that had caused such damage as she now assessed.

The north window had been busted out, and she couldn’t be sure if the surrounding wall was stable. The medieval castle walls were thick, but she had felt the walls and floors shake, as if an earthquake had occurred. She had to find Liam, he was the only pack member she knew who might be able to make an assessment on the structure thanks to his past, which involved a stint as a construction foreman.

She’d rallied two wolves to move everyone they could find in the castle to the south rooms and the keep, which was the sturdiest place she could imagine, with nine-foot-thick limestone walls and which had originally been built to keep out enemy invaders.

Today, the snow had proved a malicious invader.

She briefly wondered if her sister, Lana, had made it to safety, and then knew she must be with her fiancé, Sven. Surely, the Nordic Warrior, as some in the pack called the blond bruiser, would protect her. Lexi wanted to look for her, but more urgent was ensuring her father’s safety. She hadn’t gotten to his room to let him know the courier had arrived before the avalanche struck. The principal’s room was in the south tower, and he was the first she’d radioed when the avalanche had struck. He hadn’t responded, but he was ill, so he could have slept through it all. She hoped for that. Father didn’t need another thing stressing him out and pushing him closer to the unstable edge he trod.

Liam raced past her with a bleeding wolf in arm. The Irish werewolf was broad and stout, quiet yet constant. “He was just outside the doors and was slammed up against the glass when it hit,” he explained to her. “His body must have been crushed but he’s breathing.”

“Natalie and Reese are setting up triage in the keep. Take him there. Have you been able to get outside? Do we know who was outside?”

Liam shook his head. “Where’s Vince?”

Vincent Rapel was pack scion and had assumed control over the pack during the principal’s sickness. Vince was a dutiful, capable wolf who would seek her immediately at any sign of trouble, because he understood Lexi’s standing in the pack. She may be a female, but she was truly the second in command under her father’s reign. She handled the security for the castle, and nothing happened here without her knowledge. Chatelaine was her unofficial title, which she liked much better than the official one she had been born with—princess.

“I hope Vince is all right,” she said under her breath as she observed the scatter of wolves heading toward the safe sections of the castle.

A sound on the roof alerted her, and she nodded, confirming what she knew but hadn’t come to mind until now. “The roof access. The best way to get a good look at the damage.”

Racing toward the escalator, which was stalled because the avalanche must have taken out the electricity, she took the unmoving stairs two at a time yet paused before pulling open the roof access door. It was on the wall hit by the snow. It could be unstable. Yet it was far from the shattered glass window.

She gave it a pull. It opened freely, and she was not hit with snow. Rushing up the stairs, the brisk winter air smacked her in the face and she tugged up the coat hood over her head. The sun shone too brightly for the disaster that had just occurred, which reminded her how deadly Mistress Winter could be beyond her deceptive cloak of glittering white snow.

A crew loitered at the edge of the roof, shovels in hand, and one held a long thin stick. A ski pole? The snow wall had pushed all the way up to the roof. As Lexi approached the men, she saw that the entire courtyard at the front of the castle, where visitors and pack members arrived and departed, had been covered over with snow. Probably ten to twelve feet deep, she decided, and it had pushed all the way up to the doors of the storage shed, where they kept the snowplow and pack vehicles.

Two men were carefully making their way down the snow mountains formed up against the castle walls.

“What’s the situation?” she asked anyone who would answer, noting that Vince was not standing in the crew. “Who is that?”

“Said his name was Trystan Hawkes,” one of the men offered. “He’s the one that suggested we go down with shovels and sticks to start looking for men. Just jumped right in and took charge. Said time is of the essence.”

Lexi lifted her chin, not sure how to take that. She liked a man who took charge and, especially in a situation like this, they needed someone to take command. But did he know what he was doing? He could be risking his life by stepping on unstable ground.

“Said he helped rescue a couple after an avalanche in Germany,” another said. “The guy knows what he’s doing. Where’s Vince?”

“I think he was with the skiers this morning,” the other man replied.

Lexi’s heart dropped. If the scion was trapped in the snow, they had only hours to get to him before the unforgiving snow crushed his lungs. While werewolves could withstand much, they were not immortal, and his death would prove slow and suffering.

She cast a glance at the man with wavy red hair who appeared to be sniffing as he walked. Even if a man were buried deeply, the werewolf’s senses should be able to track him. He towered over the pack members. A natural leader who stood out among the average. He calmly delivered instructions to the men. That command appealed to her inner need for order, and touched a curious part of her that lifted her chin and kept her eyes pinned to the bold newcomer.

“Trystan Hawkes,” she whispered against her gloved hands as she clasped them to her mouth to keep her face warm. “What have you brought to Wulfsiege?”




Chapter 2


Wind whipped icy crystals up about the site where Trystan had sensed a heartbeat under the hard-packed snow surface. He’d stowed the titanium case in a cubby near the cafeteria on the way outside. Now he instructed the three men digging to be cautious: a live body was beneath the snow. They didn’t want to cause further injury with a misplaced shovel. But, as well, they had to act quickly.

None of the pack members had been wearing transceivers, as skiers often did, so the search proved difficult. They had been digging for over an hour and the sun was falling toward the horizon. Tryst left the diggers to continue the search for more live bodies. Using a makeshift probe, a ski pole he’d broken off the basket to poke through the snow where he sensed life, he directed another team of shovelers.

“Here. He’s closer to the surface. Can you sense the heartbeat?”

The first rescuer to arrive nodded and knelt to the ground, listening. “Can’t be more than a foot under. I can hear him breathing.”

Thank the gods, werewolves had supersensitive noses and hearing.

Tryst rushed over to another trio who dug where the snow was perhaps only five feet high, near to the front of the storage shed. The ski team must have been heading in for the day, or else the avalanche had carried them this far, which seemed unreal but not out of the realm of possibility.

“Another?” he asked.

“Yes, here’s his hand.”

Tryst bent and clasped the hand sticking out of the snow. The cool fingers clasped back, strongly. Good energy there. “Hurry,” he instructed. “He’s going to be okay.”

Shouts from the first dig site brought him around to assist as they pulled a limp body from the snow. Tryst bent to listen at the wolf’s chest but didn’t hear a heartbeat. He grabbed his wrist, but the man did not react and his hand fell limply across Tryst’s leg.

“Hell, it’s Vince,” one of the wolves who had been digging said. He knelt beside Tryst and bowed his head. “Pack scion.”

Not good, Trystan knew. If the principal was ill, then the scion was the next in line to take charge. This news would shake the Alpine pack to its core.

“Bring him inside. Carefully,” he said. “There may yet be life in him. Get him to—” He didn’t know if there was a medical team on site. “Bring him to the female wolf. What’s her name? The one walking around like she’s running the place?”

“Alexis?” The man who had knelt next to Tryst smirked at him. “She likes to think she’s in charge. But yes, she’ll know what to do with Vince.” The wolf stood and ordered the men to place the scion’s body on a stretcher. “I’m Liam. Just Liam. No last name.” He offered his hand to help Tryst stand. He had a good, firm clasp and friendly eyes, and he actually met Tryst’s stare straight on because he was the same height. “What’s your name?”

“Trystan Hawkes. I had just arrived at Wulfsiege with a delivery to the principal when the avalanche roared in through the castle wall. I’m here to help for as long as you need me.”

“We can definitely use another man, especially one who has had experience with avalanche rescues before.”

“No problem. I’m going to find the female and make sure they’ve got triage set up.”

“Before you go, one thing you should know about Alexis.”

“What’s that?”

“She’s the principal’s daughter. One of two Connor daughters. Alexis is a cool number. Watch you don’t get on her bad side.”

“Thanks. I think I’ll be too busy for that to happen.”

On the other hand, if he clashed with the gorgeous Alexis again, he’d welcome the experience. A bad side? Let it be naughty bad….

By midnight the men who had been digging nonstop since the avalanche had occurred before noon, were called in for the night. They’d found six men. Five had been alive, all with brutal injuries, yet, Natalie, the witch doctor on staff who had lived with the pack for decades, had diagnosed they would heal. The sixth, the scion, was dead; no methods of revival had proved successful.

According to Lexi’s count, that left six still missing. She doubted any could still be alive, yet Trystan Hawkes insisted, with blind determination, they continue the search.

“You never know what we wolves can withstand,” he said as he accepted a change of gloves and boots from Lexi’s assistant, Rick, because his were soaked.

He walked up to her and met her with his bright blue stare that seemed so out of place in this dire time. His gaze sparkled with an innate sort of well-being she couldn’t understand. When had a man ever truly looked at her in such a nonthreatening manner? She had to look up at him because he was so tall. Imposing, in a strangely gentle manner.

“If a pocket of air is trapped near the victim’s face, he may stand a chance of survival,” he explained. “You’ve got six men still missing, and I’m not stopping until we’ve found them, dead or alive. No man should be left out there as his final resting place.”

“Why?” She had to ask. The wolf was not aligned with the Alpine pack. He should care little for a few strangers.

“Why?” He frowned, yet that expression did not dilute the radiance glowing from his eyes. “How would you like it if you were the one trapped and someone asked me why?”

She nodded, taking his curt response as the admonishment it had been. Lexi was accustomed to male dominance, but this time it didn’t rankle her as much as it usually did, because he was only trying to help. And his devotion to the rescue touched the hard, cold place in her heart that she often wished could grow warm.

“At least eat a bit before you go out again. We’ve prepared sandwiches and there are sports drinks just around the corner on a table outside the cafeteria. Don’t be stupid, Hawkes. You need the energy.”

“I can manage a few minutes.” He headed toward the food, his heavy boots clomping with his lanky strides. Shaped differently than the pack wolves, he was longer, leaner, but no less muscled.

Lexi watched as he tilted back a sports drink in one swallow, then grabbed another and sucked that down as quickly. Accepting a turkey sandwich stuffed with veggies, and thanking the women manning the food table, he ate it as he marched out the lobby door and back into the brisk winter night.

Outside, the winds whipped relentlessly, nearing thirty miles an hour. Here in the valley, where one would think they’d be protected, it was as if the winds scooped down to scour the land. Lexi knew the weather had to be brutal, yet Trystan Hawkes’s determination glowed like a bright aura only a psychic could see.

The other wolves helping the rescue efforts were all as determined, but seeing this stranger step into the role without question or ties to the pack intrigued her. What kind of man would do such a thing? Sacrifice for others he didn’t even know? Exemplary—

“Who’s the tall redhead with the freckles? He certainly stands out from the pack like a bright red warning beacon.”

Lexi turned to find her sister, Alana, looking fresh as ever with perfect makeup and blond hair swept into a smooth, tight bun. She never went anywhere without bright red lipstick. Or the five-inch stilettos. Lana Connor was a Tiffany kind of girl stuck in bargain-basement hell. Apparently she had not been volunteering in the keep with the wounded, but then Lexi would have been knocked over had Lana even asked after the well-being of the survivors.

“I don’t know who he is,” Lexi offered. “But he just may be the most honorable wolf I’ve ever met.”

“Is that so?”

She sensed her sister’s eligible bachelor radar go up. Lana might be engaged to Sven Skarson, but that didn’t keep her from flirting with every wolf who risked his life by returning the heartless flirtation. She was beautiful, spoiled, and could have any man at whom she batted an eyelash. It was a game, Lexi sensed, a defense mechanism of sorts. Because she knew she was safe, Lana played with social and pack boundaries. Lexi was her sister’s opposite—she put up a cold front, knowing she was safe from any of the pack’s amorous attention.

Lana was the pretty one; Lexi was the smart one. She’d grown to accept the distinction between them, and for some reason, Lexi had never cared about Lana’s random flirtations.

Until now.

“He’s not your type,” Lexi said quickly. “He’s a hard worker, and is more concerned with helping others than himself.”

Leaving that verbal slap hanging, Lexi marched off toward the south wing to look in on her father.

“I almost forgot!” a man shouted down the hallway as she neared him.

Trystan Hawkes had a way of putting himself near to her, not touching yet just a little too close, challenging her own personal boundaries. He huffed from running and carried a titanium suitcase that she had remembered seeing when he’d first come into Wulfsiege.

“I came here for a reason, and I think what I have with me may be timely. I’m supposed to hand this directly to the principal. Your father?”

“Principal Connor is my father. But I can take that for you.”

“No, I, uh … can’t.”

“Monsieur Hawkes, with the events that have occurred, protocol has changed—”

“Sorry. I have specific orders to put it in only your father’s hands. Instructions stipulated by your father to mine according to the contract he signed with Hawkes Associates when assigning us as security advisors for his stored items. Please, can you take me there quickly? I need to get back outside.”

It wasn’t a breach of protocol, but it could be dangerous for her ailing father to have visitors. Still, if her father had requested whatever was inside that case—something he had chosen to store at Hawkes Associates and not here at Wulfsiege, so it must be valuable—then she would not question.

As well, she didn’t mind spending a few more minutes with Hawkes. She wanted to observe him, figure out what made the handsome wolf tick.

“Come with me.”

The principal’s private quarters were set in the south tower of the castle, as far from the damage as one could get. Lexi thanked the nature gods for that small blessing.

Though the principal’s room was located in the tower, the space was massive, but Tryst couldn’t move his thoughts from the urgency of the rescue to do more than flash a look around the room, not really taking in details. There were still wolves outside. It had been over eight hours since the avalanche hit. They were likely dead, but if the slightest chance existed any could be alive, he had to find them.

Alexis, still dressed in white leather and still sporting the sunglasses inside—though the conference room she led him into was lit with low light—gestured he approach the man seated in a leather chair at the end of a long table. It was an easy chair, and the leg rest was up. A plaid blanket covered him to the chest.

Tryst laid the titanium case on the table and said, “Sorry to be in such a hurry, Principal Connor. My father sends the elixir inside this case with his blessings and wishes you a speedy recovery.”

The elder wolf stared at him with mouth agape. Salt-and-pepper hair curled about a narrow face with loose skin that indicated he must have lost weight and perhaps was normally much more fit. His heavy-lidded eyes made him appear old and weak, yet they stared at Tryst, stunned.

It was then Tryst realized his lack of protocol. He should bow or kneel, or—something—before a pack leader. His father’s instructions rang loudly in his thoughts. He should have waited to first be spoken to.

No time.

“Forgive me. I apologize for the protocol I am stepping on and of which I probably made a huge mess. But I have to leave. The avalanche. There are still many from your pack missing.”

Principal Connor didn’t say a word, merely lowered his tired eyes to the titanium case.

With that, Tryst did bow and backed from the room. He looked to Alexis, who also gaped at him with her soft pink mouth parted, and then knowing he hadn’t the time or the fortitude to make political amends, he turned and raced down the spiraling tower stairs.

“What the hell was that disaster?” Edmonton Connor rasped at his daughter.

Lexi should have explained protocol to the man on the way up to the tower, but she had blindly expected him to behave. Or to have a rudimentary grasp on pack procedures. He’d shown such courage and leadership so far. Was he not a member of a pack? Had he never approached a principal before?

“He’s heading the rescue team, Father. Please accept my apologies for his rudeness. If I had known …” She sighed. She’d been running on full throttle since the disaster, hadn’t eaten, and right now was feeling as tired as her father looked. “Trystan Hawkes has helped our men bring up six who were buried under the snow. And he seems determined to find the remaining six.”

“I see.” Her father looked aside and smoothed his palm caressingly over the titanium case. “I suppose I can overlook it this time. Knowing his father, Rhys Hawkes, I should have expected the insubordinate behavior. He didn’t bring up his son in a pack.”

“He’s an omega?”

The principal nodded. “Where is Vincent?”

Lexi sucked in a breath. This was the part of chatelaine duties she did not enjoy. Reporting to her father was easy. She’d been doing it all her life, ever since her dreams of growing up like Lana had been smashed at puberty. But she never liked delivering bad news to her father, which had to be done on occasion, and most especially now, when he was not well. Stressful news could make him weaker, but neither would she dream to hide the truth from her father.

“Vincent Rapel didn’t make it. Natalie and Reese looked him over and suspect all his bones were crushed. She also concluded he died instantly as a rib bone appeared to have pierced his heart.”

“The witch doctor?” He named Natalie that because she was a real witch who had been taken in by the pack decades earlier. She’d been nurse to Lexi and Lana when they were little, and Lexi had great respect for her, though she knew her father often conflicted with the woman’s “spiritual” ways. “She suspects? She concluded? We need a real medical doctor here, Alexis. Immediately. If there are wounded, they’ll need more than herb-craft and moon voodoo.”

“Father, don’t worry yourself, please. Reese is working alongside Natalie, and you know he has medical training.”

“Veterinary training.” He grunted and slammed his shoulders into the easy chair. “We are not dogs. Why I allowed Natalie to recruit him is beyond my ken. Call Paris. There’s a few practicing werewolves in the city. Check with Rhys Hawkes, he’ll have their contact information.”

“I will. You should be in bed resting. How are you feeling?”

“The same. Weak. Like my blood is sinking to my feet. I’m so light-headed. But this.” He slapped the case. “I’ve had this for ages. This may be my last hope.”

She had no idea what was inside the case but would learn soon enough. “Do you want me to call Natalie here to help you with it?”

He sighed, his drawn face saggy. “Yes, she is my only option at the moment. And Alexis?”

“Yes, Father?”

“I’ll have to elect a new scion since I’m not doing so well.”

“Don’t talk like that. Whatever Monsieur Hawkes sent along in that case will help you recover, I’m sure of it.”

“You don’t even know what it is. Nor do you have any idea who Rhys Hawkes and his son Trystan are.”

That statement took her back for a moment. What did it matter if the man had helped only since arriving?

“Trystan seems trustworthy and a man to have around when the chips are down. He’s focused. He impresses me.”

“Yes, well.” Edmonton sighed and gestured she help him to stand. “Be wary, Lexi. He is not from this pack.”

“I will.”

Lexi walked her father into the attached bedroom suite and helped him onto a bed topped with a plush goose-down coverlet.

Her father was a young wolf, only a century old, and had been the picture of health two weeks ago. But he’d begun to decline, slowly yet steadily, and three days ago he’d taken to his bed. The witch doctor hadn’t a clue, but Natalie kept divining her father’s blood, with no results.

Edmonton wouldn’t let her cast a healing spell upon him, because he didn’t believe in witchcraft.

Another reason Edmonton’s mistrust of Natalie ran deep was due to the affair he’d had with her twenty years earlier, after Lexi and Lana’s mother had died. Edmonton Connor was a rogue of the first water, and never apologized for it. Lexi understood he needed connection, love and, yes, to answer the physical cravings all werewolves felt. But the past few years, as far as she knew, he’d not taken any woman under arm or even to his bed. Instead, wanderlust had brightened Edmonton Connor’s eyes, but he tamped down the urge to travel because he had a pack to look after.

Now he’d been reduced to a feeble man who looked as old as he should be were he mortal. And for no apparent reason. Werewolves did not suffer mortal ailments. He’d not been physically injured. How to understand his failing health?

“I’ll contact Monsieur Hawkes and ask for a recommendation on someone who practices on our breed,” she said, and kissed her father’s cheek. “I’ll have him flown here as quickly as possible to look over the casualties in the keep and then I’m going to assign him to your bedside. I love you, Father.”

She took the case and left, blowing him a kiss as she closed the door behind her. She’d bring this to Natalie. She trusted the witch any day.




Chapter 3


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.




Chapter 4


They pulled up the female’s body to a rousing round of cheers. Her fingers twitched, and that was enough for everyone to believe she was alive and had a chance at survival.

Tryst carefully handed her off to the team who would take her inside the keep for medical care. Earlier, a helicopter had brought in a doctor, one of very few who treated wolves as a specialty, because he was a werewolf himself.

Forgoing the offer of a beer from Liam, who had dug alongside him through the morning hours, Trystan wandered off from the pack who whooped and high-fived. It was a time for celebration. All missing pack members had been accounted for. Some had passed, but he knew they would be remembered and mourned as heartily as they cheered the living.

Trystan never missed a reason to celebrate, but it didn’t feel right to join in this time. This was not his pack. Not his family. And though they encouraged him to participate, he thanked them and wandered off around the side of the castle where the avalanche had knocked out the glass wall. What had once been an outdoor stadium was now a sloping heap of snow.

Poking the ski pole here and there, he verified the tight snowpack and that it was okay to tread. Not that he’d fall far, or do much damage if the snow layers did shift. And really? It would be sweet to jump from the castle roof on a snowboard and shred this slope.

He shouldn’t think of capitalizing on the drifts after such a dire event, but his adventurous eyes were always keen for an excellent slope.

The weak sun hid behind white clouds and evening fast approached, with a noticeable drop in temperature. Tryst’s breath fogged before him. The avalanche had cleared the decorative frost from surrounding trees, yet in a wide circle where disaster had not struck, the world was still coated with white. Weird. And humbling.

He was hungry and tired, but most of all he wanted a few moments to sit quietly and close his eyes, to reconnect with the universe and ground himself in the now. It was the best way to boost his physical and mental energy.

Stuffing his gloves in a pocket, he shook his head to scatter the snow and ice that had frozen in his hair as he’d worked up a sweat. His clothing was damp from exertion, and as soon as he sat down it would begin to freeze, but he’d ignore that because right now he welcomed the silence.

Hiking down the side of the hill formed against the castle wall, he landed on the walkway to the stadium seating, which was now all under snow. The walkway hugged the back of the castle and led to a stepped area graduated to walk out across a vast courtyard. A single yard light glowed over the courtyard.

Someone was seated on the upper step, elbows back and propped behind her. He guessed female, because of the slender line of the long gray coat. A fur-lined hood crowned her head, concealing the side of her face, but he knew it was the Connor princess. The bad one, as Liam had intimated.

Naughty bad?

Tryst’s heart raced. He blew out a breath that fogged before his face. Yet suddenly his bravado fell. What did she know about him? Edmonton Connor had likely told her about his mixed-race heritage. Which meant Tryst had to play her carefully because he didn’t want to lose her respect.

Sitting down next to her, about two feet away, he scanned the horizon over the treetops. “We found the female. Was Sandra her name?”

“Yes. Rick just texted me that she is alive. That’s a miracle.”

“She’d been crushed against a stone bench, and had managed to work her way beneath it as the snow moved over her, so had the space beneath for air. So lucky. I think every bone in her body is broken, but she’ll heal. Women are so strong.”

“You say that as if it’s a fact that’s been proved to you.”

“It has been.”

He bowed his head, images of his mother coming to mind. Tall, dark, yet regal in the most macabre manner, his mother, Viviane LaMourette. The touched one, as some would whisper behind her back.

But he wasn’t about to divulge how it had been to grow up with an insane vampire mother who would have bitten him on more than one occasion had his father not been vigilant in keeping him safe. He would have given his mother blood, but it wouldn’t have rescued her from the wicked melancholy that relentlessly haunted her soul.

“It’s going to be a gorgeous night,” he offered. “In a few days the moon will be full and bright. I’ve always loved the moon for its bold white light. I bet its shine makes you look like a snow princess.”

She tilted back her head, and the hood shrugged down onto her shoulders to reveal glossy black hair, unpinned and falling straight about her narrow face. A pert nose, soft pink mouth, and porcelain skin competed against those harsh, ever-present sunglasses.

“Do you ever take those sunglasses off?”

“No.”

Too quick, that answer. Protective. And practiced. “It’s cool. You’ve got the whole Matrix thing going on.”

“Matrix?”

Tryst twisted to face her. “The greatest movie ever made? You’re kidding me, right?”

“I don’t see many movies. I’m too busy. And if I have free time, I’d rather read.”

“Seriously? That is so wrong.”

“Reading is good for a person. You learn things from books,” she said mockingly.

“I know, but reading is so … static. I’m the type of guy who has to be moving all the time.”

“Watching a movie for two hours doesn’t sound very active.”

“I agree with you there, but still, it wins hands down over books any day.”

She lifted her chin, but didn’t go so far as to sniff in disapproval. Yet Tryst felt her disdain for what she guessed must be his lacking education. Ah, well, he couldn’t win them all. The invitation to attend Oxford had been offered, but the idea of sitting in a mortal institution had been received with laughter from both him and his father.

“You don’t do anything fun, do you?” he goaded.

“Why do you care?”

“Why shouldn’t I?” he offered. “Fun is a necessity of life. And life, well, life is energy. The world responds to the energy you put out.”

“It that so? Sounds kind of New Agey to me.”

“To each his own.”

He sensed she couldn’t be that much of a stick-in-the-mud. A pretty woman like her must do things that made her happy. Otherwise, she wouldn’t be so beautiful. Tryst believed the way a person led their life was reflected upon their face. It was an unavoidable result of karma. And energy. He’d once fretted over the freckles covering his skin until his mother had said something about them being giggle marks. Every time he’d laughed as a baby a new freckle had appeared. It had changed how he viewed opposition and challenges. Mom did have her good moments, and he cherished them like diamonds.

“You don’t like me very much, do you?” he asked.

Again, the assessing head tilt. Tryst felt her gaze upon him, even though he couldn’t see it, and he liked her curious regard even if it wasn’t necessarily friendly. He loved when a woman looked him over and then decided to touch. Would she touch? Nah, she was one cool chick.

Didn’t mean he couldn’t play with her.

“Go for it, Lexi. I don’t bite.”

“What?”

“You were giving me the eye. I know.”

She scoffed. “You are conceited.”

“Yeah, but I’m also a threat to you in a way I can’t figure out. And that freaks you and surprises me.” He leaned closer and placed a hand next to her elbow on the step. Brushing his nose aside her silken hair, he smelled the faintest citrus sweetness. “You’re freaked, admit it.”

“Back off, Hawkes.”

He sat straight, propping his elbows on his knees and looking over the grounds before them. A wiser unaligned wolf wouldn’t risk sitting so close. Curiosity always trumped his wisdom. And who could refuse a challenge?

“Fine. I get it. You’re the princess. You get to be the choosy one. You always this defensive toward men?”

“Yes.”

That honest answer was refreshing, and also tossed a wrench into this challenge. Straightforward kind of chick, this princess. He’d never met one like her, and everything about her made him want to learn more, to delve beneath her monotone exterior and discover the brightness within aching for release. Lexi Connor harbored a bold and vibrant color inside her, and he would find it.

“My father told me …” she started.

Spine straightening, Tryst immediately sensed what she couldn’t quite say. Hell, the principal had told her about his mixed blood. Of course, if the man wanted to protect his daughter from a nonpack wolf he would use whatever weapon he had at hand.

“What did he tell you? About me?”

He wasn’t about to make it easy for her. For anyone. So he had a chip on his shoulder about his heritage. Anyone wanted to make a big deal about it? He knew how to throw a punch. He had a missing molar, too, because he could also take a punch.

Lexi sighed and smoothed a gloved finger along the seam of her leather pants. “He warned me to stay away from you because …”

“Because why? Because I’m a strong male who knows how to take care of a woman? Because I don’t mind getting my hands dirty to help another pack? Because I respect your father?” Feeling his ire, he flexed a fist.

“Because you’re a half-breed.”

Tryst pulled up his chin and released his fists. The principal had gotten his information messed up. “I’m full wolf,” he said, cautioning the growl on his tone.

“How is that possible? Your father is half wolf, half vampire, and your mother—”

“Is a vampiress. But I don’t have any vampire in me, trust me on that one.”

“Sounds impossible.”

“Yeah?” He couldn’t punch his way out of this one. Damn. “And are you offended by the idea I might have a touch of vampire blood running through my veins?”

“I—”

“You pack wolves are all alike.” He stood and kicked the toe of his boot against the stone step to shake off the packed snow, and to avert his growing anger. “You’re all so tightly knit and exclusive. New guy comes along and you feel threatened.”

“I didn’t say that I’m threatened by you. Nor did I say—”

“Yeah, whatever.”

He stomped up the steps, knowing if he didn’t leave her now he’d only give her a real growl. And he would never do that to a pack leader’s daughter. Any woman, for that matter.

Wow. She’d just strummed his chords and what an awful tune.

“I’m going to find something to eat, then get back to work shoveling out your pretty little castle, Miss Princess Trueblood.”

So maybe he didn’t have as good a handle on this challenge as he’d thought.

“Arrogant idiot,” Lexi muttered after the angry wolf who stomped inside. “The vampire thing definitely rubs him the wrong way.”

And rightly so, she figured. Vamps and wolves had been at odds for centuries. They honored an ineffable ceasefire at the moment, but there weren’t a lot of wolves who would embrace a vampire as friend. Her father was friends with Trystan’s father, Rhys Hawkes, but it was more a political relationship than an embraceable acceptance.

For good reason. Wolves didn’t go near vamps because if bitten by a vampire the wolf would develop an insatiable bloodlust, and werewolves did not drink blood or feed on humans. Ever. It was an abominable practice. And vampires avoided wolves because they knew the wolf was stronger and could beat the crap out of them with one fist tied behind their backs.

So a young werewolf who had been born of a vampiress and a half-breed couldn’t possibly be full-blooded wolf. Why did he believe that?

Of course, if he hadn’t a hunger for blood perhaps that led Trystan to such a belief. But the blood hunger could emerge anytime. Lexi knew well that, genetically, things didn’t always go as nature had intended in a wolf’s body.





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