Книга - The Billionaire Werewolf’s Princess

The Billionaire Werewolf's Princess
Michele Hauf


Fangs……and fairy dustRyland James is a wealthy philanthropist. He’s also a werewolf, and the son of the Fairy king. Indigo DuCharme seems like a typical socialite, but as she moves deeper into Ry’s world, something in her awakens – something she never could have imagined. She needs to accept her true nature if they’re going to have a chance at love…







Fangs...

...and faery dust

Ryland James is a wealthy philanthropist. He’s also a werewolf, and the son of the Faery king. Indigo DuCharme seems like a typical socialite, but as she moves deeper into Ry’s world, something in her awakens—something she never could have imagined. She’ll need to accept her true nature if they’re going to have a chance at love, and if they’re going to protect human children from the fae.


MICHELE HAUF is a USA TODAY bestselling author who has been writing romance, action-adventure and fantasy stories for more than twenty years. France, musketeers, vampires and faeries usually feature in her stories. And if Michele 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 and creatures she has never seen. Find her on Facebook, Twitter and at www.michelehauf.com (http://www.michelehauf.com).


Also by Michele Hauf (#ucb55dd12-1f56-5278-b0ae-28279fd7849d)

Her Werewolf Hero

A Venetian Vampire

Taming the Hunter

The Witch’s Quest

The Witch and the Werewolf

An American Witch in Paris

The Billionaire Werewolf’s Princess

The Dark’s Mistress

Ghost Wolf

Moonlight and Diamonds

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


The Billionaire Werewolf’s Princess

Michele Hauf






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


ISBN: 978-1-474-08208-2

THE BILLIONAIRE WEREWOLF’S PRINCESS

© 2018 Michele Hauf

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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


To Marcy V.

I’m so glad you persisted after that initial email to me.


Contents

Cover (#u488102c0-38d0-5abf-bfa7-06c6ae01ad40)

Back Cover Text (#u10241c7b-5dff-5560-bf29-3c18e9bc016d)

About the Author (#u0b20e7e9-d90b-529c-853e-7ec7c32d6418)

Booklist (#uae600ebe-e499-5a88-926f-21d784258e1e)

Title Page (#u9ef6aea1-7563-5c6a-bbcd-bfa177d63bcb)

Copyright (#uc66d3430-b025-5ffd-aef5-c9a07bc7215c)

Dedication (#ubc229a0d-ddd5-5e96-aa13-73e1fea1655d)

Chapter 1 (#u6b38cff4-954a-50fb-8a1a-0685ba6d4e3d)

Chapter 2 (#u4c2bf137-7ab7-5790-bc5c-c3023491bb17)

Chapter 3 (#u92333fd8-1bd2-540b-aaa1-30f913d438c2)

Chapter 4 (#ufb1a59bf-e5dd-532e-90e7-9607c1cd2058)

Chapter 5 (#ua25ef565-2134-5540-84d7-426ea9787942)

Chapter 6 (#u797908ca-cef4-5d81-bf37-54a68c2073bc)

Chapter 7 (#uf8e03065-0f2a-5aeb-94ee-eabc18d7e808)

Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 13 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 14 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 15 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 16 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 17 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 18 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 19 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 20 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 21 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 22 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 23 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 24 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 25 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 26 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 27 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 28 (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)


Chapter 1 (#ucb55dd12-1f56-5278-b0ae-28279fd7849d)

Paris

Indigo DuCharme’s chin wobbled as she held up her head and bravely looked over the busy ballroom. She stood at the top of a stairway that curled down to the marble dance floor. Her heart pounded so loudly she couldn’t focus on the waltz played by the orchestra. Her eyes threatened to tear up, but she blamed this on the brilliant glints from half a dozen chandeliers suspended above the dancers.

Clutching her pink tulle skirt with both hands, she toyed with the embroidered red poppies she’d added days ago. She’d also sewn a pocket in the skirt to keep her cell phone. She forced herself not to check her text messages again. For the sixth time. Or maybe the thirteenth time. Because...

He had jilted her.

The last text she’d read from him, ten minutes earlier, had the audacity to state: Sorry, hooked up with Melanie this evening. You and me? Sex was great. But never connected beyond the sheets, yeah?

Fingers curling into her palms, Indi winced as her perfectly manicured fingernails dug into her skin. Never connected? Beyond the sheets? She’d been dating Todd for over a month. They’d seen each other practically every day. She’d cooked for him. Shopped for him. Had sex with him and made sure he was a happy camper, meaning that she didn’t always orgasm but he did. All week she’d been planning her dress and hair for tonight’s date. The Summer Soiree charity ball was one of her favorites. And she looked...

...so pretty.

Indi had felt like a star when she arrived by limo two hours earlier. Todd always met her for dates; his work as a stock trader kept him at the office at all hours. Indi had glided out of the limo, her long, lush, poppy-red-and-pink tulle skirts floating about her legs. The beaded bodice hugged her like a dream and she had dusted her décolletage with fine glitter. Her blond hair was pulled up in a messy bun with tendrils framing her face. She wore a pink, cat-ears tiara, which she sold through her online business, Goddess Goodies. Her makeup was dramatic and sexy. Todd loved the smoky eye shadow and her dark matte red lipstick. Or so he’d said.

Had it all been a lie? Had she merely been a prolonged hookup? Who the hell was Melanie? And just how long could Indi hold off tears before she risked mascara running down her cheeks?

A waiter, wielding a tray of goblets shimmering with bubbles, appeared before her. “Champagne?”

Indi shook her head and forced a smile. She felt no mirth whatsoever. Reaching up to adjust the cat ears, she remembered how putting them on tonight had reminded her of the joy she’d felt as a kid. She’d worn cat ears for fun as a child, and then, after a few bad romances in high school, as a sort of confidence boost.

The cat ears had been the first of many luxury accessories she now offered at her online store. Goddess Goodies bought out-of-season and damaged designer gowns—sometimes they were donated directly from the designers. Indi refurbished them, and then rented them for the price of shipping and cleaning. As well, she sold some gowns outright for a pretty penny. Indi’s business was designed to boost confidence and empower women, and to give the opportunity to those who might not be able to afford a pretty dress for prom or an important event. Goddess Goodies was treading toward its first million-dollar year. And that should make her feel on top of the world.

It was difficult to celebrate her feminine power when her goddess had just been trampled on by an asshole. Would her love life ever catch up to the success she was experiencing in her business life?

“Doubt it,” she whispered, and sniffed back a tear.

Screw it. She grabbed a champagne goblet from another passing waiter’s tray and tilted it back. It was number five, or six, that she’d consumed since realizing Todd had dumped her.

“One more,” she muttered, and veered toward another waiter, her footsteps a bit unsure. “And then I’m going to blow this Popsicle stand.”

“Indigo!”

Dread climbed Indi’s neck at the sound of a familiar and falsely friendly voice. Sabrina Moreau, who hosted this ball, had never met a strand of pearls she didn’t like, or, for that matter, an older married man. She tended to wear both as if battle prizes strung about her neck.

“Bree,” Indi said, while sweeping another goblet of champagne off a passing tray. Her world wobbled, but she ignored the easy drunk that was riding her spine and up the back of her neck.

“That is the most gorgeous dress I’ve seen,” Bree cooed. “One of your creations?”

“Of course. It’s Gucci restyled. Mint green certainly is your color.”

Bree blushed, which only emphasized how terrible the pale green did look on her artificially tanned skin. “Jean-Paul likes me in green. Where’s your date? For as lovely as you look this evening, it can’t be solo. You always have a handsome stunner on your arm.”

“Todd is...” An asshole. And her heart split to even think that she’d thought she could love the guy. Had she thought that? No, not love. Certainly not so fast. But she’d invested a lot of time in him over the past month. “We broke up. And you know me, I’d never miss a ball, especially when I’ve got the dress.”

“Oh, sweetie. That’s so sad.”

Tell her about it. Tightening her lips seemed to keep the tears at bay. Why had she stopped to talk to Bree? She needed to be out of here. Away from the too-happy glow of crystal chandeliers and laughing couples. Now. Someplace dark and quiet so she could lick her wounds.

“How old are you, Indi?”

Indi quirked an eyebrow at that delving question.

“Well, you know what I mean. We’re not getting any younger, are we? Time to wrangle one and get him to put a ring on it. Am I right?” Bree rubbed Indi’s forearm and patted her on the shoulder. “Do you want me to fix you up?”

“No.” Because she was no longer in the market for rich assholes who liked to spend weekends on their yachts while working all hours and making business calls between kisses and—oh, yeah—between orgasms that never quite pleased her. “I’m good, Bree. Really.”

Not really.

Where the hell was the exit?

“Well, if you need—”

Indi’s tolerance level dropped out the bottom of her Swarovski crystal strappy heels. She turned and fled from Bree’s prying questions, suspecting she might look like Cinderella fleeing the ball. It was near midnight. But she couldn’t wear the false smile anymore.

And tears had started to spill without volition.

Aiming down the hallway toward the front doors, she suddenly stopped and spun, thinking an escape out the back would be much easier. The paparazzi always lurked out front. And while she was no A-list celebrity, she didn’t want to risk photobombing any shots with her distraught tear-streaked mug. She could walk down the street and hail a cab.

Weaving through the coat-check area and then down a darkened hallway, she passed a few waiters who informed her she wasn’t authorized to be in this area of the building. Flipping them off, Indi mumbled something about not feeling well and needing to be away from the crowd. Finally, escape loomed ahead.

Pushing the back doors open, she wandered through what must be the loading area. Filing around a parked truck that smelled of diesel fuel, she clutched her skirt so it wouldn’t skim the ground. She’d spent last Saturday afternoon adding the red chiffon poppies to this dress to give color and interest to what had been a crop of beaded green leaves growing up from the hem.

Finally making the cobblestone street, she looked both ways. La rue Joséphine was to the left; that’s where all the cabs would be parked. Yet the promise of bright streetlights and neon revealing her tears to all made her turn to the right.

She’d walk a bit. Even if her heels were much too high for a comfortable stroll and the uneven cobblestones made walking with some decorum a joke. She inhaled deeply, as she thought it would help, but instead, the sudden influx of stale air only increased her tears. And she started to sob. The champagne made her head swim.

Who was she kidding? She was drunk. Which was probably why she hadn’t toppled over yet. The drunkeness was counterbalancing the wobbly-heels-to-ground ratio. Ha!

She wandered by a homeless man sitting on a piece of cardboard. He cast her a wide-eyed look.

“What?” she said testily. “This is Paris. Haven’t you ever seen a woman in a ball gown wandering the streets in the middle of the night?”

She just needed to find a quiet place to break down and bawl. Loud and long. To let the goddess who had been standing at the top of the steps feeling so pretty and special exude the pain of such a sharp and cruel rejection. And then she’d find her way home to curl in on herself.

At the very least, Todd could have texted her before she’d left for the soiree tonight. The bastard!

“Melanie,” she muttered, and wandered forward. The woman sounded high-maintenance. And like she’d go down on a man on the first date.

What was wrong with her? She was a nice person. Reasonably pretty. Not too big and not too thin. She had always agreed to whatever Todd wanted to do. She ate at the restaurants he’d chosen, and she even wore the tight red dress that pushed up her tits to her throat when he’d asked her to. What had she done wrong?

“Wasn’t I good enough for him?”

Tears spilled down her cheeks. Indi pushed forward, wandering mindlessly, then turned down another, narrower street. She knew this neighborhood from girls’ nights out with her BFF. Maybe?

Pausing, she thrust out her arms to balance as her heel wobbled in a crack between cobblestones. Where in Paris was she?

“Who cares?”

Unable to fight the call to release her hurt, Indi released her tears, loudly.

* * *

Ryland James stood in the center of a dark, quiet street in FaeryTown. The sword he held in his right hand curved like a scimitar, and was bespelled to kill faeries. He’d found it in a tree years ago, guarded by a dryad, and had claimed it as his own. Of late, Sidhe Slayer was the whispered title he’d been hearing about himself.

He didn’t need a label. Someone had to stop the collectors who snuck in at midnight from Faery through this, a thin place insinuating FaeryTown. It was smack-dab in the middle of the eighteenth arrondissement of Paris. The collectors arrived in pairs and, if they could get past him, would seek the first human they could find and assume control of that person’s body, then steal a human baby and take it back to Faery.

Not on his guard.

Checking his watch, he noted four minutes until midnight. FaeryTown was normally bustling this late at night, but when Ry walked onto the scene the residents scattered, shuffling behind doors and peering out windows to witness the slaughter.

Lifting his chin, he sniffed the air. His werewolf senses were attuned and he picked up the usual odors of faery presence and very little from humans. FaeryTown overlay this part of Paris. Humans could walk through and would never know faeries occupied the same space only on a different dimension. Humans hadn’t the ability to see faeries, such as he did.

The sudden sound of a human voice—crying—alerted Ry. He swung about to spy a woman in a fancy pink gown wandering along the brick wall that fronted a human-owned bakery, yet the faeries, in their altered dimension, used it as a dust den that lured in vampires addicted to their ichor. Hair pulled up and looking like a princess, the woman choked out tears and sobs. He noted the sparkly ears on her head. And the streaks of mascara running down her cheeks.

Why was he seeing her now? When he focused on the FaeryTown layer of this area, he saw only the sidhe and their ilk. Any humans present slipped away into the background. She was so vivid. Almost as if she treaded FaeryTown herself. But she wasn’t faery. Even though her gorgeous breasts sparkled above the pink fabric. That wasn’t faery dust, just glitter that women loved to dust all over themselves. No, she smelled human—coppery and tinged with the earthy presence of skin and bone and yet also a delicious overlayer of perfume and soft woman.

Ry shook his head. He shouted at her. “Hey! Get out of here! You can’t be here right now.”

She dismissed his worry with a swinging gesture of her hand and plopped down to sit on the curb. Her skirts fluffed around her, the hem edged with dirt, and...she was missing a shoe.

She should not be able to see him.

She sniffed loudly, then muttered, “Can you call me a cab? I seem to have gotten lost. My phone is here—” she patted her fluffy skirt “—somewhere...”

“I don’t have time for that.” Two minutes until midnight. Gripping the enchanted sword firmly, Ry swung it behind him, pointing toward the main street that edged the border of FaeryTown. “Get out of this area. It’s not safe. I’ll call you a cab later.”

“He dumped me!” she announced.

Ry winced at the woman’s utter lack of recognition for the imminent danger. There was no way she could be in FaeryTown unless she also had the sight or had somehow gained admittance. Humans couldn’t simply enter FaeryTown unless they could see it. And it appeared that she was merely wandering the streets...

Why was this gorgeous princess wandering about alone?

“Listen, Princess Pussycat,” he hissed. “Bad things are going to happen. Right now. So run!”

As he spoke the final word, the fabric between Faery and the mortal realm glimmered. The gray night sky above a two-story building tore and shimmered along the edges of that tear.

Ry swore. The woman on the curb still sobbed, her head caught against her open palms. He felt a moment of compassion for her. What asshole would be so cruel to such a pretty woman?

But really? Things were about to get rough.

Swinging his sword arm, Ry prepared as the first of the collectors entered this realm. The creature’s body was long and wispy, barely holding the form of a human. It was black, so black it was like peering into a void in the shape of the creature. And yet it sparkled with so much faery dust it was as though that void formed a black hole speckled with stardust.

Not about to become enchanted by the sight, Ry swung toward the approaching collector. It floated nearer, and when it spied him, it stretched its maw wide to reveal a piranha row of vicious teeth.

“What the hell is that?” the woman called.

“I don’t know how you can see this, but you need to listen to me and run!”

“I lost my shoe.”

“Mademoiselle! I’m serious!” He swung the sword but missed the collector.

It soared high, the wispy tail of its form spilling black, oily fog over Ry’s head. He swept the substance aside to keep an eye on the creature. Out the corner of his eye he again saw the fabric between realms glimmer. Always, they arrived in pairs.

“This is crazy,” the woman said. She stood and wobbled. Drunk? Had to be. “I need a cab. I can’t find my pocket. My skirts are tangled... Hey, that thing is swooping toward you!”

Ry averted his attention from the crazy lush sight of the most gorgeous woman he’d ever seen to the sparkling black void that aimed for his throat. Its curved, sharp talons wrapped about his throat. Gagging, Ry stumbled backward. Slipping his sword arm back and thrusting the tip up, he managed to stab the thing, but not in the substantial main body, instead only in the wispy tail. It released him and, with a twist of its misty shape, soared toward its approaching partner.

“That way!” Ry pointed down the street. “Go!”

“What are those things? And why are you so angry with me? Can a girl get a break?” She now stood in the street not ten feet from him. “I have only ever tried to please people. And what do I get? Dumped at the ball. Todd is such an asshole.”

“Fuck Todd!” Ry said hastily.

“Right?”

One of the collectors took note of the woman. She wouldn’t have time to get to the street and out of FaeryTown.

Ry raced for her, grabbed her by the arm and shoved her between the dust den and another brick wall. She screamed and landed on her hands and knees, which he regretted, but only so long as it took for him to turn and dodge the lunging collector.

Now he was angry. And the twinge of a shift crawled across his scalp. His werewolf did not like these nasty things from Faery. Ry’s upper body, of its own volition, shifted. T-shirt tearing at the seams, his shoulders grew wider and his head assumed wolf shape.

Growling, Ry marched toward the collector and led it back to the center of the street. He swung his sword repeatedly. When it shot upward into the sky, hovering above him, Ry positioned himself below, waiting. In his peripheral vision he could see the other collector approaching the alley where he’d shoved the woman.

The creature above him dropped like a rock. He thrust up the sword, and it pierced the collector’s heart. Ichor spilled over Ry’s fur and wolf-shaped head and down his arms and paws. Without a death scream, the thing dissipated into black faery dust.

But the next sound sent a chill up his spine. The scream was not that of annoyance, drunkenness or a jilted woman. It was of fear—and pain.

The collector slashed a razor talon across the woman’s décolletage. She fainted. And the thing turned to gnash its teeth at Ry as he approached. Sword thrusting as he ran, Ry caught the creature as it lunged toward him. More black dust and the eerie, quiet dissipation of the collector in the air before him.

On the ground was a scatter of pink fabric. A sparkly rhinestone shoe peeked out from the fluff. The woman’s chest bled where the collector had scratched her.

Shaking off his werewolf with a seamless shift back to human shape, Ry bent over her. “Damn it, how did you manage this?” He touched two fingers to the side of her neck. The collectors’ bite was deadly to humans, but he wasn’t sure about their talons. The things were literally bags of floating poison.

He felt a heartbeat, but it pulsed and then slowed. Quickly.

Instinctually, he knew. “She’s going to die.”

And that did not sit well with him. This was his beat. He was responsible for any and all who got in the way of his efforts to keep the collectors off the streets. And she was an innocent. Just like those he was trying to protect.

Lifting her into his arms, Ry rushed down the street, deeper into FaeryTown. He knew no more collectors would arrive tonight. There were never more than two nightly.

“Sorry to make your night worse, Princess,” he said as he turned, heading toward the faery healer he had once or twice used for his own injuries. “We’re going to have to talk about how you were able to breach FaeryTown.”

She moaned in his arms and muttered something about Todd not deserving her.

“Todd’s a jerk,” he said. “Any man should be proud and honored to have your company.”

Unless she was a pill. Hell, even the pretty ones could be tough to deal with. But damn, she smelled great. Sweet and soft, like something he wanted to taste.

Giving his head a shake to chase away that random thought, Ry kicked the door to the faery healer’s home. This was not a situation he wanted to be in right now. Standing on Hestia’s doorstep? She wasn’t going to be happy.

“To the devil with you!” a voice hollered from behind the door.

To be expected. They had a history.

But the woman in his arms would soon be history if he didn’t hurry. Ry kicked the door again, and the chains on the other side broke, the door slamming inside against the wall. He rushed across the threshold and down the tight, narrow hallway to the healing room where Hestia helped so many of her afflicted species. He laid the woman on the bed of leaves and vines that immediately coiled and twisted to embrace her arms and one exposed shoeless foot.

Ry turned to the fuming faery behind him. Her skin tone was a shade of cotton-candy pink, which she accented with a green slip of a dress. She was tiny, compared to his hulking height, and yet her annoyance hit him like a punch to the gut. If violet eyes could ever burn with the flames of hatred, hers did.

“I know, I don’t deserve your help after the last time,” he began. “Please, Hestia, she’s an innocent. Got caught between me and a collector. See that scratch on her collarbone?”

The healer bent to inspect the woman. She then licked the wound with a snake-long tongue. Shaking her head, she announced, “She will die.”

“No. You can heal her. I know you can. Do this, and I promise I’ll never ask for another healing from you again.”

Hestia looked him up and down. Lately, with his battles against the collectors, he took on a lot of injuries that challenged his innate ability to quickly heal. And she knew it. And the last time they’d spoken? She had nearly died to save him from a fatal wound. And she might have thought he cared for her more than he really had. It had been a fling. Apparently, though, she had thought differently.

“You willing to pay for this?” she asked. “Lots of mortal realm euros?”

Money meant nothing to him. And he had far too much of it. She could ask for untold riches and it would be like handing over a few bills to her.

“One million,” she said.

He nodded eagerly. “I’ll send a courier with the cash as soon as the banks open tomorrow.”

She eyed him cautiously. For as much as she hated him—and had every right to—she had to know he was good on his word. But she tilted her head and asked, “What does this one mean to you?”

“Her? I hadn’t met her until five minutes ago. I don’t want an innocent to die because she got in my way.”

The healer nodded, then pointed over his shoulder. “Very well. Go stand out in the hallway. It will take some time.”


Chapter 2 (#ucb55dd12-1f56-5278-b0ae-28279fd7849d)

The beautiful man with impossible muscles—he wore an oddly tattered shirt that revealed oh, so many tight, bulging muscles—held a sword and fought weird black creatures that flew in the air about him. In the middle of Paris.

And as Indi was lying there on the ground, watching with her mouth hanging open, she thought, for a moment, the tall, handsome man...changed. When he looked at her, his head was shaped like a wolf’s.

The eerie image made Indi scream, and she pushed herself up abruptly. And hit her head on something above her. Dropping her cheek back onto the hardwood floor, she groaned.

That had been a weirdly detailed dream. Very real. Almost as if she could smell the strange black creatures’ ozone scent and hear the man’s sexy voice as he had bent over her. Prodding her. Asking if she was okay.

Eyelids flashing open, Indi darted her gaze about the room. She was lying on the floor? Not a familiar floor, either. She didn’t have hardwood in her home. And...what had she hit her head on?

Rolling to her side, she realized she still wore the ball gown. The beaded leaves on the bodice crunched as her body turned on the wood floor. Above her stretched a flat piece of wood, supported by a table leg...

“Why am I lying under a table? Oh...”

It hurt her brain to talk. Had someone taken it out, rolled it across the ground like a pétanque ball, then shoved it back in through her ear? Mercy, what a bender. Champagne hangovers were the worst!

But this didn’t look like her friend Janet’s floor. And Janet had moved to New York two months ago.

Where was she? And how had she gotten here?

“When I got up this morning I couldn’t figure why you were under the table,” a male voice suddenly said.

A pair of bare feet, with a slouch of blue jeans hanging over them, stopped but a foot from her face. Indi placed both palms on the floor before her and craned her head up as far as she could manage, but her neck ached, so her line of sight only stretched as far as his crotch. Not a terrible sight to wake up to. Just...unexpected.

She dropped and rolled to her back.

“You insisted on crawling under there after I deposited you on the couch last night,” he said. He bent to display two mugs. “Coffee?”

Heartbeat suddenly racing, Indi inhaled deeply a few times to calm her panic. But really, she should be panicking. “Where am I? Who are you? I, uh...”

“My name’s Ryland James. I don’t know your name. You were buttered when I found you last night.”

Buttered? Hell yes, she’d been so drunk.

“When you found me? What the hell? What did you...?” She winced. No, she was still dressed. Which didn’t mean much. If the man had had his way with her while she was inebriated...

“You stumbled onto a strange scene,” he said, sitting on the black leather sofa and setting one coffee cup on the floor near her shoulder. “I wanted to bring you home, make sure you were safe, but I didn’t know where you lived. And...after a bunch of wild-and-craziness you passed out. For the night.”

She closed her eyes and slapped a palm to her chest. Wild and crazy? Seriously? She’d let that bastard Todd get to her that much? And now she was lying on the floor in a strange man’s home.

The coffee smelled deceptively good. But from experience, she knew if she drank any she’d get sick. Hangovers were never kind to her.

She spoke her fears. “I need to get out of here.”

“I can drive you home if you’ll give me your address.”

“I don’t think I should do that. I can hail a cab.”

“Suit yourself. I’m not going to hurt you. I just wanted to make sure you were okay after...”

Indi skimmed her fingers over her chest and throat. Something hurt. She winced at the slight pain and felt the rough line of skin along her collarbone. Had she been cut?

“It should heal more quickly than you expect,” the man, Ryland, said. “I tried to get you out of there, but you were, well...”

Buttered.

“Sorry. Some guy broke up with you?”

She’d told him that? What had happened last night?

“He dumped me at the ball. And I was feeling so pretty.” She sniffed, feeling all the emotions well in her gut again. Oh, she couldn’t do the ugly cry in front of this handsome stranger!

Turning and crawling out from under the table, she managed to bump the coffee cup and topple it. It soaked into her skirt.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

A strong hand helped her to stand by grabbing her upper arm. And when she swayed near his chest, Indi smelled fresh, outdoorsy aftershave on him. Or maybe it was his innate scent. Like wild captured yet never tamed. The man was handsome. Long dark hair, trimmed mustache and a beard that was short and hinted at the dark hairs that might grow on his chest. And so many muscles in the biceps she clung to.

Indi had never been one to let opportunity pass, but...

She also wasn’t stupid.

“Thank you for, uh...” She wandered to the door, tugging up her wet skirt and realizing a long piece of it dragged behind. The outer tulle layer had torn, and the hem was blackened with dirt. One of the chiffon poppies dangled from a thread.

“Oh, God, you must think I’m the worst case. I was...upset. And yes, he broke my heart. I have this tendency to get attached, too—” What was she doing? She didn’t need to detail her pitiful emotional failings to a stranger. “I needed a good cry and...”

She turned, thinking Ryland looked like the man she’d seen in her dreams. He had been. She’d never forget such a handsome face. And those brown eyes pierced her with intensity. “Last night.” Peering intently at him, she asked, “Did you change?”

“Did I, uh, what?” He set the mug on the table and approached her.

Indi backed up until her shoulders hit the door. She slumped. Her head was spinning and she predicted the hangover would play revenge on her soon. And she did not want the guy to witness that.

“Change,” she muttered, though she wasn’t sure why she’d asked him that. How could a person change? Yet she had seen something odd last night. Maybe? “Were there flying creatures?”

He bent before her, and long brown hair spilled over his chest and the T-shirt that he wore inside out to expose the seams. Earth-brown eyes studied her for a pitiful moment. “I think you might still be a little drunk, Princess Pussycat.”

“Princess...” She reached for the top of her head and felt the cat ears sitting up there, but at a tilt. “I’m not drunk. Not anymore. And my name is...”

She should leave. Right now. Before things got weird.

Indi turned and grabbed the doorknob, hoping the door wasn’t locked and that he didn’t have plans to toss her in a dirt pit in his basement. It opened. She exhaled and dashed across the threshold.

“I hope you feel better!” he called after her. “And I hope the guy who did that to you gets his just. No woman deserves to be treated so poorly.”

Indi paused at the top of a stairway that led down to the building’s entry. She lifted her skirts and imagined she must look a nightmare to him. A kind man who had only wanted to ensure that she was safe last night.

“My name’s Indigo,” she said, then took the stairs, hands firmly clutching both railings for support.

By some strange luck that she was not accustomed to, a cab was parked curbside. Indi climbed into the back seat, gave the driver her address in the eighth arrondissement, then flopped down, hugging the seat as if it were a life raft. Shoving her hand in her skirt pocket, she was relieved her phone was still in there. She checked her texts. There were none.

Had she expected to hear from Todd after his night with Melanie?

Oh, that she could even think of him again. Stupid, stupid, stupid!

She needed to talk to Janet. To spill all the details of her horrible, terrible, no-good very humiliating night. She’d call her when she got home.

Ten minutes later, the cabbie offered to help her to the front door, but Indi said she’d manage. She paid him with a scan of the credit card app on her phone and then meandered up to the house.

Her head wasn’t quite so spinny now, but her limbs felt heavy. As if she’d run a marathon. Exhaustion hit her hard as she opened the front door and wandered inside. She could only think to lie down. Right. Now.

She eyed the alpaca rug before the white velvet couch and stepped down into the sunken living room. Dropping the phone on the couch, and then falling to her knees, Indi collapsed onto her stomach on the soft, inviting rug. She curled her fingers into the fur and closed her eyes.

And then she fell asleep.

For a very long time.

* * *

Ry strolled into the small office he kept in the fourth arrondissement. His secretary, Kristine, blew him the usual good-morning kiss and handed him a full and steaming mug of coffee.

“How’d hunting go last night?” she asked while focusing on a spreadsheet she had opened on the laptop before her. Her long purple nails clattered on the keys.

“It was...” Ry sipped the coffee and winced. He could never get her to add even a smidge of cream to the wicked black concoction she brewed. “Different.”

That got her attention. Turning on the swivel chair and crossing her legs, she dangled a very large pink vinyl high heel and eyed him through a flutter of thick false lashes. She didn’t need to speak. He could hear her thoughts plainly.

“A human woman stepped onto the scene while I was slashing through collectors.”

“Oh, mon cher. That is not acceptable. How did that happen? I thought FaeryTown wasn’t something we humans could even access.”

“Exactly. Not unless you’re wearing an ointment to see the sidhe. I’m not sure how she saw me or the collectors, but she did, and...” He sipped again. He probably shouldn’t tell Kristine everything. But then, she was a confidante, and he trusted her with the information about his nature. “She was scratched by one of them. Would have died had I not rushed her to a healer. By the way, I need to send Hestia a million-euro check.”

Kristine sighed. “Really? The old girlfriend? I’ll take care of that.”

“She was not a girlfriend. More a—”

Kristine put up a palm. “Nope. Don’t want you to mansplain that one to me. So, what happened after that big adventure?”

“I took her home with me, and she spent the night on the floor under the coffee table.”

“Ryland Alastair James.”

He winced at the admonishing tone. “I put her on the couch, but she wouldn’t stay there. She was drunk and...the healer drugged her with some wacky faery stuff. I’m surprised she could even stand to run away from me this morning.”

“You let her run away? Without making sure she got home safe? Who are you?”

He sighed heavily. Kristine knew him well. Normally he would never allow a woman to run off like that without seeing to her safety. But she had been freaked by him. And he’d not been given an opportunity to explain the cut on her chest, which might have been a good thing, all things considered.

“She’ll be fine,” he said. “And both collectors are dead. No babies stolen last night.”

Kristine crossed her arms, and her dangling foot increased in bobbing speed.

“I don’t know her last name, so it’s not like I can look her up and check in on her. She was dressed fancy and I think she’s probably well-off.”

“Doesn’t mean she made it home safely.”

“I accept your admonishment, and confess I’m worried about her, too. But there’s nothing I can do now.”

“Can’t you track her down with your sniffer? Didn’t you once tell me you werewolves can smell a peppermint candy five miles away?”

“She wasn’t wearing peppermint. She smelled like champagne and roses.” And not just any kind of rose perfume. She’d smelled like fresh-from-the-garden roses.

“Was she pretty?”

“Does that matter?”

“No, but she’s going to stay in your brain until you know what became of her after she fled your place. Fled! Seriously, Ry, what did you do to her?”

“I offered her coffee.”

Kristine chuckled and turned back to her work. “Only you can manage to simultaneously slay weird faery marauders and hook up with a pretty young thang.”

“We didn’t hook up. I set her on the couch and...in the morning I found her under my coffee table.”

Kristine raised an eyebrow in judgment.

“And that’s the end of this conversation. Did you compile research on the Severo Foundation?”

“I did. And I’ve a report for you. I’ll print it up and bring it into your office in two twitches. This is a good one, cher. You’ll want to donate to them.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Indigo,” he muttered.

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

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

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

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

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

Because his truth always managed to fuck things up.

* * *

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

“Ah, really?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s ten at night?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Was it possible she’d imagined it all?

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

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

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

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

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


Chapter 3 (#ucb55dd12-1f56-5278-b0ae-28279fd7849d)

The next day

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

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

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

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

“I can,” Ry said.

His thoughts flickered back to that day he’d first discovered he was different. Not quite the werewolf he’d always believed he was. And then his mother had confirmed it, and his entire world had been tipped off its axis. The time had been seventeen minutes and twenty-one seconds past three in the afternoon. Not a good time. Not something a seventeen-year-old man should have to experience.

“Get me a phone meeting set up with Pilot Severo,” he said. “I want to send him funds and would also like to be a part of the international project, if possible.”

“Perfect.” Kristine typed as they conversed. Multitasking, as usual. Something Ry appreciated but could never manage himself. “It’s morning in the States. I’ll give them a ring in another hour.”

“You don’t have to stay late, Kristine.”

“You know I don’t mind. And I want to finalize the donations for the upcoming charity ball. You know the full moon is this weekend? You heading out to your castle?”

“I, uh...” Ry winced as he considered that this full moon would be different from the previous one. He had a new commitment that wouldn’t allow him to leave the city. To escape from the possibility of being seen in his shifted form. “I don’t think I can.”

“You can’t stay in the city. Not unless you hook up with that new girl fast. And by fast I mean in the three days before the weekend. Don’t you need to have sex before the full moon to keep the werewolf at bay? You up for that challenge?”

“Always.” He cast her a charming smirk. “But I don’t think I’ll see her again. She ran out on me so quickly. I do have some solutions available.”

“Uh-huh. But even if you do find a woman to have sex with the day before and after the full moon, there’s still the night of the full one, mon cher. Don’t you need to wolf out no matter what?”

“That I do.”

“Maybe FaeryTown can go one night without you.”

“If I miss one night of patrol, then a baby could be stolen from his or her crib, never to be seen again. Do you think that’s fair for me to put my needs before one so innocent?”

“But you’ll wolf out during the full moon. In Paris.”

“That’s something I’m going to have to deal with. I don’t see any other option, Kristine. Text me the appointment after you’ve talked with Severo. I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon.”

He left the office in the wake of an unenthusiastic “sure” from his secretary. He knew she was right. She knew she was right. A werewolf shouldn’t risk staying in a populated city on the night he was called by the moon to shift to his half-man/half-wolf shape. And while he wasn’t a wild and crazy beast intent on destroying or maiming humans in that shape, he didn’t need to be seen loping about the Parisian streets with tail wagging and tongue lolling. That was inviting trouble for him and every other werewolf who needed to remain a myth to all humans.

Yet if he went to his private property in the countryside, as he did every night of the full moon, then FaeryTown would be left unguarded for the collectors to come through.

As he strode down the sidewalk and angled for his parked Alfa Romeo, Ry wished the choice was easier. But then, nothing good ever came easily.

* * *

Indi slept until three o’clock the next afternoon. She decided to mark it off as the worst night of her life. Getting dumped, being chased by a creature and then being sort-of kidnapped by a man she didn’t know.

But it was the memory of that mystery man that compelled her this afternoon. Pouring herself a cup of coffee, then dousing it with creamer, she curled up on the couch, wrapped a light summer blanket about her bare shoulders and pulled the laptop up to browse online.

“Ryland James,” she said as she typed in his name.

Not expecting to find anything more than a Facebook page, she was surprised when the first page of Google spilled down a whole list of hits. And the image bar featured some paparazzi shots of the man wearing either a tux or a well-tailored business suit, and in all of them he was either facing away from the camera or had his hand up to block his face.

She clicked on the first entry posted by a dishy entertainment channel. A photo showing Ryland James leaving what looked like a nightclub with a hand blocking his face was captioned Parisian Billionaire Camera-Shy.

“Billionaire?” she whispered. “What have you stumbled onto, Indi?”

She scanned the article and it mentioned that Ryland James was a philanthropist who gave away billions but was noted as media-shy, and while he was occasionally seen with a date, no woman could ever be pinned to him as a long-term relationship. He was always the talk of the party when he arrived, and socialites listed him as their BILF—B standing for billionaire—on their social media pages.

“I was rescued by a billionaire?” She couldn’t help the incredulous tone. But at the same time... “Why have I never heard of him before?”

She was a socialite. She participated in all social media and liked to know who was who and what they were doing with whom and for how long. Of course, she’d never followed the philanthropy hashtag before. As a trust-fund baby, she’d grown up, admittedly, with a silver spoon in her mouth. But now that she was on her own, she was perfectly happy to create her own riches. And was doing a great job at it.

And yet.

“Why would a billionaire be out in the middle of the night wielding a sword and chasing weird monsters?”

Because that was what she’d witnessed. Much as she didn’t want anyone to hear her say it out loud, she had seen exactly that. Monsters. Big, black, sparkly monsters that had sort of faded out in a long wispy tail of darkness. And a tall, muscled, handsome man who had swung a sword like a Viking marauder.

“And I woke up under his coffee table. If only I had known he was rich, I would have stayed for breakfast. Ha!”

No, she wasn’t the gold-digging type. Generally, a man’s checkbook did not influence his attractiveness. And hadn’t she given up on rich, self-involved men because of the extremely humiliating dumpage from Todd?

“For sure. No more rich businessmen.”

Scanning through a few articles on him, she didn’t learn much more, other than that he had been wooed by major modeling agencies and had refused contracts from all of them. Was known for driving a black Alfa Romeo down the Champs-Élysées at top speed. And could be rude to reporters when they pushed him for information. A rumor that he’d once dated Lady Gaga could not be confirmed. However, according to a tabloid, they had been in the same New York concert hall on the same night and both had left in the same limo.

Teasing her tongue along her upper lip, Indi double-clicked on the one photo that showed his face. The man was so freaking gorgeous. He wore his long dark brown hair loose, yet in other pictures it was pulled back behind his head. Always, the shirts he wore strained across strapping biceps and pecs. And the mustache and trimmed beard framed some seriously kissable lips.

“Billionaire or not, I most certainly need to thank him. And ask him the burning questions. Today. I do remember where he lives.”

Now to figure out what to wear when thanking a man for saving her life, while also wanting to enhance her assets without looking desperate. But she had just been dumped. She really should go into mourning for a bit.

“He’s not worth it,” she muttered, dismissing Todd with the breezy apathy she should have had the other night. But if she hadn’t been so distraught she would never have had a few too many drinks and wandered the streets, and she would never have run into Monsieur Sexy Billionaire.

“Not chasing after another rich man,” she said, confirming her drunken decision to forgo them. “But I do need some answers.”

Grabbing her half-empty coffee mug and heading down the hall to her bedroom, Indi tore off her robe and entered her closet to stand naked, perusing the possibilities. She owned a lot of clothes, and she wouldn’t apologize for the extravagance. Shopping was in her blood. Her closet had always been bigger than her bedroom since she could remember, even from when she was a toddler. Dressing up made her happy, just as wearing cat ears gave her confidence. Besides, her job required she seek out vintage, and off-season, designer clothing. If she happened on the perfect item of clothing for herself, she would never deny that want.

She touched the red dress. “Too aggressive.” And it was the one Todd had always asked her to wear. “Never going to wear that dress again.” It was Betsey Johnson. She’d gotten it off the rack during a discards sale. “I’ll make a few adjustments to it, then sell it on the site.” She pulled out the pink lace number. “Too summer-wedding.” A white pantsuit with navy pinstripes was what she called her power suit. “Too businessy.”

The blue sundress with a fitted bodice and full skirt would look great with some rhinestone heels.

“Or some stop-him-dead-in-his-tracks gladiator sandals.”

Decided, Indi went about getting on her A-game.

An hour later, she stood before the door to Ryland James’s apartment. At least, she hoped it was his place. When she’d fled the other morning, she was pretty sure she’d walked down four flights of stairs. This was the only apartment on the fourth floor.

She knocked and someone called out from the other side of the door to “hold on.”

Primping, she quickly pushed up the girls. A lather of her pistachio-almond moisturizer over her décolletage, and some soft heather eye shadow along with pale lips, had given her a summery look. She liked to wear her hair pulled up, and today she’d gone with a bouncy ponytail high at the back of her head, with long strands teased out to frame her face.

Why she was nervous was beyond her. It wasn’t as though she intended to throw herself at the man. She was getting over a breakup. And she didn’t do rebound guys. That was crazy waiting to happen. But she did have good reason to return to his place today. And that reason was what made her anxious.

The door opened to reveal a man a good foot taller than her, wearing loose jeans that hung low on his hips to reveal gorgeous cut muscles that veed toward his crotch. He wore no shirt, so she followed those ridges upward, over abs of steel and pecs that might have been formed from stone. Indi finally met the man’s piercing brown gaze. His smile beamed.

And she lost all means of rational communication.

* * *

The prettiest pair of blue eyes gazed up at him. Blue? Maybe more like blue violet. They emulated jewels, for sure. For a few seconds Ry forgot his name. Not that he needed to know his name. A guy should remember a thing like that. But...ah, hell, what was going on in his brain?

“Princess,” he said. “Minus the pussycat ears. I didn’t expect to see you again.”

“Oh.” She looked aside.

He immediately picked up on her sullen expression. “But I’m happy to. I just wasn’t sure you’d remember, uh...things.”

She shrugged and offered him a straight smile. “I remember more than I probably want to. And I remembered where you live. I hope you don’t mind that I stopped by. I wanted to talk to you, and I didn’t have a phone number, so...”

“I’m glad you stopped by. Come in. I was warming up some nachos in the oven. You hungry?”

“I, uh...maybe? If I’m interrupting your meal—”

“Not at all. I left work early today and felt like bumming around home, catching up on some reading for business projects. Come in.” He grabbed his T-shirt from the back of a chair and pulled it on. “Have a seat on the sofa. Uh, unless you prefer under the coffee table?”

She gaped at him, then shook her head and nodded a grinning acknowledgment to the dig.

Ry took in her gorgeous pale skin, which was exposed from shoulder to neck to cleavage, and then her pretty knees and down to those very sexy sandals that wrapped thin leather straps up to her knees. Up along the soft blue dress. Her breasts rose from the low-cut top in a sensual yet not-too-blatant invitation. And he couldn’t stop looking at her mouth, pursed and the palest pink. And were those lashes for real? So thick and black and...

She paused and looked over the coffee table. Offering him a smirking grin, she sat on the sofa. “I can’t believe I slept under your table.”

“Me, either. Couldn’t have been too comfy. You look like you’re feeling one hundred percent better,” he said as he wandered into the kitchen to peek into the oven. Another ten minutes and the cheese would be melted. “How are you feeling?”

She turned and looked over the back of the sofa. “Good. Not quite a hundred percent. Still a bit tired. I guess I went on a crazy bender. Slept on my floor when I got home, too. Apparently, when drunk, I’m a floor sleeper.”

“Does that happen often?”

“The drunk?” Her laugh was soft but she waved off the levity with a gesture. “Not usually. But champagne goes straight to my head. I shouldn’t have had that fifth goblet.”

Ry whistled and wandered over to sit on the arm of the couch. “Believe it or not, wine is my bête noire. I can’t handle the vino.”

“Really? A big guy like you? It must take quite a few bottles to get you wasted.”

“Try one glass. I’m not sure what it is, but it lays me flat. And I can drink vodka and whiskey like it’s juice. Weird.”

He didn’t normally reveal himself so boldly like that, but he’d sensed her need for reassurance. The woman had lain under his coffee table all night.

“You must have thought I was a case,” she said. “And when I got a look at what I looked like when I got home? I can’t believe you didn’t think I was a homeless person.”

“Wearing a designer gown and diamonds? The homeless are never so stylish.”

She laughed. “Yeah, I guess. But they weren’t diamonds. I never go for the splash when rhinestones will do.” She leaned an elbow on the back of the sofa and pulled up a knee, catching it with a palm. “I needed to come see you because I don’t think I ever thanked you. You were so kind to make sure I didn’t lie abandoned in some dark alleyway. I can’t imagine what would have happened to me if you’d walked away. So, thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I’m not much for leaving a helpless woman in a dangerous situation. I hope you weren’t too freaked to wake here in the morning.”

“I was, but that’s to be expected. And speaking of dangerous situations, I do have questions.”

This was the part Ry should have foreseen, but still it had snuck up on him. Questions. Always questions. And they were never easy to answer. “Like what?”

The oven timer went off and, thankful for a moment of respite, he rushed over to pull out the nachos. He’d made a whole pan of chips with jalapeños, tomatoes, onions, shredded chicken, black beans and heaps of cheese. His favorite comfort food. A guy could never find good nachos in Paris.

“You have to share these with me,” he called over his shoulder, and was surprised when she answered from close by.

Indigo leaned over the pan of steaming nachos and inhaled. “That smells heavenly. Last time I had something like this was when I visited a girlfriend in the States. You can’t find good nachos in Paris.”

“Exactly. I use pickled jalapeños on them. That’s the secret recipe.”

She rubbed her palms together. “Dish me up!”

Could he get so lucky that she’d forget she’d come here with questions? With hope, maybe she would.


Chapter 4 (#ucb55dd12-1f56-5278-b0ae-28279fd7849d)

It had been a while since Ry enjoyed the company of a woman so much. And since he’d felt so comfortable with one. Usually his dates were high-maintenance, slipping into the bathroom every half hour to check their makeup, texting or doing God knew what on their ever-present cell phones. He had yet to see Indigo glance at her phone.

They both sat on the sofa, facing the slanted windows that lined the east side of his flat from the floor, where they rose vertically about six feet up the wall, then angled at forty-five degrees to the top of the high ceiling.

Indi’s hand rested on her stomach and she’d slouched down and declared, “You’ve ruined me for any other kind of nachos. I am your servant for life. Pay me with melty cheese and those fabulous pickled jalapeños.”

“I have never seen such a pretty, petite woman put down the cheese and chips with such gusto. I promise to call you next time I have a nacho craving.”

She met his fist with her own. And Ry tilted his head against the back of the sofa and slouched down as well. He’d had a couple of beers in the fridge, and the now empty bottles sat on the coffee table. An evening sharing brews and junk food with a pretty woman? This was a hell of a lot easier than doing the fancy-restaurant thing and then trying to figure out if he should suggest a museum or a boring concert. And how to read a woman regarding whether she was on board for sex or if she was the sort who had a three-date minimum or even longer.

But he reminded himself this wasn’t a date. The woman had been dumped by her boyfriend. And Ry did not do the rebound-guy thing. No way. He didn’t need that kind of baggage to sort through.

He wasn’t sure what was going on besides that he was warming to Indi fast and hoped they could get to know each other better. As more than friends, if that appealed to her. It did to him. When she decided to start dating again, he wanted to be tops on her list of potential dates.

Indi suddenly sat upright, turned to face him and asked, “Now about what I really came here for.”

Ah, hell. The fun couldn’t have lasted forever. Ry sat up and set the empty plate on the table, then prepared to face the tough questions.

“This is going to sound strange,” she began, “but...why do I feel as if I was drugged the other night?”

Because she had been. “You did say champagne goes straight to your head.”

“True, but I’ve been on a champagne bender once before. This was different. The aftereffects have been exhausting. I’ve slept like Sleeping Beauty minus the beauty part. I didn’t even get up until three today. It’s like I’m fighting to come back from an illness, or something. And I still don’t feel right. Tired and achy. Usually after a bender I puke, pass out, then wake with a headache. But a few hours later, I’m good to go. You didn’t... I mean, I don’t think you would. You seem like a nice man. But... I have to ask.”

He picked up on where she was headed. “I did not roofie you, Indi.”

“Oh. Right. I mean, it’s never happened to me before, so I wouldn’t know what to expect. I’m sorry, but I had to ask.”

“Understandable. Let me see if I can help you to sort out things.”

Ry shoved a hand over his hair, then pulled it back and held his hand at the back of his head. How to explain this to her without going into so much detail she’d develop even more questions... Could he trust her with the details? She already knew some things, so he’d only get caught if he tried to twist them into something they had not been.

“And while you’re at it, what were those black things?” she asked. “I saw them. They were...creatures. Totally black and creepy and yet weirdly sparkly.”

Ry blew out his breath and dropped his hair. No way around this one. And lying never felt right to his soul. He’d have to give her the truth. Some of it. She seemed smart and capable of handling such information. And if not, she could run away from him again, and he wouldn’t go after her. She’d just think she’d met a totally whacked guy with a weird way of looking at the world.

“You were drugged,” he said. “Or rather, you were treated with a complex healing process that involved herbs and some...” He couldn’t say faery magic. No human was that open-minded. “And I’m sure that was what has you feeling so blown now.”

“Herbs? What the hell?” She pressed her palm over the base of her throat. Today there were no signs she’d even been injured by the collector. “I remember something about getting cut. Maybe from the creature’s claws? Then you picked me up and carried me... And then I draw a blank. Ryland, please. I know this is crazy, but I need to fill in the blanks so I don’t think I’m going nuts.”

“You’re not nuts. At least, as far as I know. I don’t know you well.” He winked, but she didn’t return the playful vibe.

Right. She was worried, and he had no right to keep her in the dark.

“There was a creature,” he confessed. “Two of them. I was there to slay them. Which I did. Because if I had not stopped them they would have entered the mortal realm fully and done some terrible things.”

Indigo thrust up a palm between them. But she didn’t speak.

Ry felt compelled to clasp her hand and give it a reassuring squeeze, then he set it on her leg. “This is going to be tough to hear, but you have to keep an open mind. Okay?”

She nodded. Winced. Closed her eyes tightly. Then opened one eye and nodded again.

“First,” Ry said, “I need to know if you’ve been in that area of the eighteenth before. At night?”

“A lot of times. I used to party there with friends a few years ago. Janet and I did the Club Rouge for her going-away party this spring. Why?”

“No reason. Well, yes, there is a reason. That particular section of Paris is a strange place. Actually, it’s called a thin place. Two worlds overlap.”

She didn’t react, but her attention grew fierce. He was jumping deep, but something about the woman made him feel as if she wouldn’t be satisfied with anything but that dive, so Ry continued. “Do you know about faeries?”

“You mean like the little twinkly ones I see in my garden?”

He bent to level their gazes. “You see faeries?”

She shrugged. “Not all the time, but I have. And just that you’re asking about it means that I don’t have to say to you ‘don’t think I’m weird.’”

“I don’t think you’re weird. You’ve seen actual faeries before?”

“I guess so. Out of the corner of my eye. I believe in faeries. Just like I’m sure all the other mythical creatures exist in the world. Not that I’ve seen anything but a few faeries. I’ve have never run in to a vampire, but until something is disproven, I keep an open mind.”

Ry’s exhale released a lot of tension. “Good. Because those black sparkly creatures were from Faery.”

“Really?” Her response was so enthusiastic Ry leaned away from her. Would it have been easier if she’d laughed at his fantastical suggestion and walked out on him? Much less to explain that way. “But those creatures were big. The same size as you. Can faeries be all sizes and shapes?”

He nodded. “Basically. They are a species, and within the species are hundreds, probably thousands of breeds.”

“Cool.”

So far, so good. Time to hold his breath and do the free dive to the deepest depths.

“That part of Paris you were in last night is called FaeryTown,” Ry said. “It’s where the realm of Faery overlaps the mortal realm. It’s always been there. Humans aren’t aware of it. They walk through never knowing that faeries are all around them, living, existing, doing drugs.”

“Drugs?”

“Rather, the faeries sell their dust to—” Er, she probably didn’t need to know about vampires and their addiction to faery dust right now. “Anyway, I saw you sitting on the curb, and you could see me.”

“I did see you.” Her eyebrows narrowed. She was starting to think too much.

Ry jumped in for the save. “At that moment, I realized I shouldn’t have been able to see you, so I figured that you had somehow breached the fabric between the two realms and were actually in FaeryTown. And since you say you’ve seen faeries in your garden, then maybe you have the sight.”

“Is that an ability to see faeries?”

“Yes. I have it. And that’s what allows me to enter FaeryTown and to interact with its inhabitants.”

“Which is why you were there with a big sword and hell gleaming in your eyes?”

“You did see those black things flying above me.”

“I did. Not nice?”

“The nastiest of the not nice. I can’t allow them to enter the mortal realm, so I go there every night to slay them.”

“Every night?”

“At midnight. One or two collectors come through from Faery.”

“Collectors? That’s what you call the black sparkly things?”

“Yes. And while you don’t need to know everything, just know that it would be a very bad situation if one got through to this realm. Meaning, they pierced the borders of FaeryTown and completely entered the human realm.”

“Uh-huh.” She rapped her fingers on her leg a few times, then tilted her head at him. Her big blue eyes were so deeply colored they were almost violet. Faeries had violet eyes. But she wasn’t faery. He’d sense her faery nature if she was. And she had bled the other night. Red blood. Faery blood was clear and sparkly.

“So you’re like Batman, then?”

“Batman?” Ry crimped his eyebrows. “I just fell off this conversational thread.”

“Well, I, uh—” she tapped a finger against her lip and squinted one eye shut “—kind of sort of...googled you.”

“To be expected.”

“I know you’re a famous billionaire philanthropist. That’s totally Bruce Wayne. And then you fight the bad guys at night?” She shrugged. “Batman.”

“I, uh, would never call myself that, but whatever works for you.” Probably more like wolfman, but he was trying to avoid that branch of conversation right now.

“So...” Indigo placed her hand over her throat again. “One of those things, a collector, scratched me. I think?”

“Yes. And they are deadly to humans. By the time I got to your side, your breathing was shallow. You were going to die.”

She gaped at him.

“I carried you to a faery healer and she saved your life. She owed me one. Well, not exactly, but I wasn’t going to take a no from her because of our history.”

“Your history?”

“It’s not important. Hestia agreed to heal you. I didn’t watch, but it took about twenty minutes. And whatever she gave you—the herbs or faery magic she worked on you—must be what’s making you so tired and feeling as if you’ve been hit by a truck.”

“That was how I felt yesterday. Only a small car this evening. So a real live faery healed me? Kept me from dying?”

He nodded.

“And then you carried me here to take care of me?”

“I wouldn’t call letting you crawl under a table taking care of you.”

“I was probably delirious.”

“Close.”

“Okay, so faeries exist and they are doing some bad things in Paris, and you go out nightly with your sword to make sure it doesn’t happen.”

“I try my best.”

“What are these collectors doing? Killing people?”

“No, uh...” He winced.

“Ryland.” She touched his leg and it sent such a shock of intense desire through him that he sucked in a breath. But now was no time to kiss her. Even if the compulsion was screaming for just that right now. “You seem like a smart man. Doing good for others by giving away your money. Avoiding the celebrity because that’s not you. I did creep on you online. Don’t hold that against me. Anyway, you don’t seem like a man prone to flights of fancy.”

“I never take to fanciful flight.”

Her smile was so cute, curling the corners of her lips like a heart. “I think I can believe everything you’ve told me. I want to, anyway. It’s the best explanation for my worst night ever. But you have to tell me everything. Please?”

“I don’t know what else there is to say. As for what I’ve told you, I would normally never tell things like this to anyone. Well, I tell Kristine.”

“A girlfriend?”

“No, my secretary. She knows me inside and out. And she knows that this realm is populated by more than merely humans.”

“You keep saying human like it’s something you’re not.” She dipped her head to meet his gaze. “Are you a faery?”

“I thought you wanted to hear about the collectors.”

“I do, but... Okay. Tell me.”

He hadn’t dodged that one and knew the bullet would ricochet around to hit its target soon enough. Stalling for time had never been his thing. He always liked to come right out with it. Unless it related to revealing his true nature.

“Collectors have only recently been infiltrating this realm,” he said. “I know because I got curious after a news reports about stolen infants.”

“I remember that a few weeks ago. Such an awful thing. Something like three newborn babies taken from their cribs.”

“Right. Do you know about how faeries take human infants from their beds and replace them with changelings?”

“I’ve only read about such a thing in faery tales. That’s something that really happens?”

“It does. Or it did. It’s been almost thirty years since any major baby thefts have occurred and changelings were left behind. Related to Faery, that is. But it’s started again. Only this time, the faeries have decided not to leave a changeling in the human baby’s place. They just take the baby and run.”

“What do they want the babies for?” She pressed fingers to her lips. “Oh, my god, do they eat them?”

“No. Faeries have a thing for half-breeds. Unless its half demon. That’s a long story. But suffice, they raise the humans in Faery and when they are grown, breed them with their own. It’s not like a breeding farm. Some are treated as family. But it’s how things have always been done.”

“That’s fucked.”

“Gotta agree with that assessment.”

“It sounds like human trafficking.”

“When you put it that way, it is similar.”

“You’re protecting innocent babies. That’s so honorable.”

“I try. I’ve gone out every night for the past two weeks. Each night I slay one or two collectors. They often come in pairs, sometimes just the one.”

Ry stood and paced to the windows that looked out over the city. Twilight was creeping up and the streetlights below fought with the remaining daylight. The sky was a hazy azure-and-gray violet. Behind him, he heard Indigo shift on the sofa.

“You don’t have to buy everything I’ve told you,” he said over his shoulder. “But it’s the truth. And...” He turned to face her. “You can’t tell anyone about this.”

“Who would believe me? I’ve got enough problems without adding crazy faery lady to the list. And I do believe you. Can I just say it’s kind of cool to know you? I mean, you really are Batman.”

“Call me what you want. But I’m not a superhero. All I want is to stop innocent families from having their precious children stolen.”

“I wish there was a way I could help you. I’m glad you trusted me to tell me.”

She walked up beside him, and when he sensed she was looking up at him Ryland met her gaze. The outside light gleamed in her eyes and gave her skin a soft matte texture that looked finer than the most expensive silk. He wanted to kiss her. He should kiss her.

“One last question,” she said. “And this one is the most important.”

“Shoot.”

“When I was hiding out in the alley, watching you battle the collectors with your sword, I saw something.”

“Like what?”

“I saw you change. Briefly. Your whole body bulked up and your face... Ry, what are you?”


Chapter 5 (#ucb55dd12-1f56-5278-b0ae-28279fd7849d)

“I should have kissed you when I was thinking about it,” Ry said.

Indi’s jaw dropped open. The man had been... “You were thinking about kissing me?”

He nodded. Smirked. A sexy move that crinkled the corner of one eye. “Just now.”

Indi forgot her question. Had she asked him something? The man wanted to kiss her? “Then why are you standing there staring at me?”

His smirk curled to an outright grin. And as he leaned forward, kiss forthcoming, the delicious aura of him surrounded Indi with a fresh, outdoorsy gush of man and might. Overwhelmed by his stature and the sudden glee that invaded her core, she could but remember to close her mouth as his lips touched hers and one of his hands slid across her back to firmly take her in hand.

This was a slow and focused seduction of her senses that lifted Indi onto her tiptoes to taste his lips, his teeth, his tongue. He clutched her tighter and deepened the kiss. The move made her feel safe and owned, yet also alive and sensual. The man knew how to hold a woman.

Gliding her hand up his chest, she slipped her fingers through the ends of his long hair and clutched at it, inadvertently pulling him closer to her, into her, if possible.

She sighed against his mouth as he tilted his head to change their angle. And when his other hand slid down her hip and over her ass, Indi couldn’t resist lifting a leg to hook at his hip. And then the other leg. He held her there, wrapped about him, sinking into his taste, his smell, the hardness of his body and the gentle control of holding her.

Something perfect about this moment. But she wasn’t going to analyze right now. Now was for pressing her breasts against his chest. Her nipples hardened and the man who held her groaned into their kiss. It sent an erotic hum through Indi’s system. She rocked her hips forward, wanting the sensations to travel deep, and knew she was growing wet. Just from a kiss. A stunning, all-consuming kiss.

All of a sudden, Ry broke their connection and said, “Whew!”

Indi realized she’d actually jumped into his arms and decided that had been a bit forward, so she disengaged from him. With reluctance. Tugging at her ponytail and stretching her gaze along the floor, she couldn’t prevent a giddy grin.

“I think I forgot my name,” she confessed. And then when she looked up into his eyes, and he delivered her a waggle of eyebrows, she lost it and broke into a giggle. “Seriously, that was some kind of powerful kiss.”

“I could give you another one. Unless that one was too much to handle?”

“Oh, I can handle a lot. Bring it.”

Ry’s smile collided with hers. And with a giggle, Indi again jumped up to fit her legs about his waist. He reached around and cupped her derriere, all while diving deep into her.

Had she come here to make out with the man? It hadn’t been her intent. She’d had questions. That had been answered. Most of them. Yet the flexing of his pecs and abs against her torso enticed her to abandon her previous worries and simply fall into the moment.

Hot and firm, his mouth. And he knew exactly how to kiss her. She clung to his wide biceps as he opened her mouth in a deep, lush takeover. He wanted to be inside her? Yes, yes, and oh, baby, yes, please.

“You are some kind of delicious, Princess Pussycat.”

“I like when you call me that. But it reminds me of my tattered dress that will never get clean. How could you have thought me a princess when I must have looked like—”

The next kiss was immediate and urgent. And it felt like the admonishment it had been meant to be. She’d been going down the route of complaining and putting herself down, and Ry stopped her. Bless him.

Clutching at his hair behind his neck, she curled it around her fingers and felt her toes curl within the strappy gladiator sandals. Had a kiss ever been so sensual? Targeted to her very core? Every part of her reacted to every part of him. And if she could get any closer to him she would, but she was already clinging to him for all the sweet, hot contact he would give her.

When they finally parted, she lingered in his arms this time, enjoying the feel of his warm chest against her torso and she hugged him. She wrapped her fingers about each of his biceps. So strong. Then she remembered how he’d wielded the sword as if a Viking warrior.

And those creatures. Collectors. From Faery.

Indi slid down from the embrace and tugged at her skirt. “You’re very sneaky,” she said.

One of Ry’s eyebrows lifted in question.

“That was a well-timed kiss. And the follow-up kisses distracted me from the question I asked you. But I can’t forget. What I saw that night is seared into my brain.”

She gave one of his biceps a squeeze, feeling the strength in his pulsing reaction. She felt sure many men who worked out were as solid and pumped as him. But did they wander about a place where faeries and humans overlapped carrying big swords? And did they...change?

“What are you, Ryland?”

He stepped back from her, swooping a hand over his hair, a devastatingly sexy move that spilled the brown locks over an ear and forward against his neck and under his jaw. Indi’s fingers wiggled, anticipating another glide through that delicious darkness.

And yet he looked down at her with an expression she couldn’t figure. Challenge? Or an intense anxiety that he tried to bolster with silence?

“Are you a faery, too?” she prompted, unwilling to ignore her curiosity. “Because, you know, I am on board with all the faery stuff. Apparently.”

He was the last example of what she’d expect a faery should look like. But then, those black sparkly things had never been in her mental catalog of what should and shouldn’t be a faery. The few she’d thought to see in the backyard garden had been no higher than her index finger and had looked human and had sported glittery wings.

He exhaled heavily, one of those disapproving sighs that could go either way. Resignation or acceptance.

Indi dared to meet his gaze again, and this time he nodded and shoved his hands in his front pockets. Walking to the windows, he stood there for a while. The streetlights beamed and, while the sky was yet light, the moon was nearly full. It hung above the distant spire of the Eiffel Tower. A pretty picture. Made even more intriguing by the silhouette of the handsome yet seemingly troubled man standing before her.

“Ryland?”

“Just Ry, okay?” he said softly. “That’s what all my friends call me.”

She was relieved he had added her to his friends list. But after that kiss, and the following one, and then the next one, she had been hoping for something a little more than merely being friends.

“The things I told you,” he said, still facing the window, “about FaeryTown and what I’ve been doing, have to be kept in strictest confidence.”

“Of course. Like I’ve said, no one would believe me anyway.”

“I’m not sure why I told you. Well, I had to. You were there. And for some reason beyond my ken you could see Faery. And, of course, if you believe in faeries, then you should understand there’s a whole lot of other sorts out there that are best believed as only myth.”

“Like vampires and witches?”

He nodded and turned to her. “Does that freak you out?”

Indi gestured calmly with splayed hands. “Do I look freaked?”

Now he narrowed his gaze at her, and there was that growing smirk again. “You don’t. But maybe you’ll go home and have a real good think about everything we’ve discussed and then the freak will pounce on you.”

She shrugged. “Possible. But I’d like to fall on the side of me being a smart woman who can rationalize and decide for herself what is real and what is not. Show me a faery? I believe. Tell me vampires exist? Next time some guy flashes fangs at me, I’m going to guess it would be wise to run. Not sure what to do if I ever meet a witch, though.”

“You wouldn’t know it if you had met a witch. Or a vampire, for that matter. Unless he flashes his fangs at you. And then? How would you know if he’s real or one of those poseurs that dances in the clubs and has a weird fetish?”

“Exactly. The world is filled with oddities. But what about mermaids?” she asked suddenly as her thoughts drifted. “Do they exist? Oh, please, tell me they do, because I so want to see one of those someday.”

“They do, but you’d never want to meet one. They’re vicious.”

“Seriously? Have you met one? How do you know about all these creatures, Ry? If you’re not a faery...?”

“I’m part faery,” he said suddenly. And before Indi could ask for clarification, he added, “But mostly werewolf.”


Chapter 6 (#ucb55dd12-1f56-5278-b0ae-28279fd7849d)

He should not have stopped kissing her. Because then the question had been asked.

Ry had a thing about the first kiss. A man could tell a lot about a woman from that kiss. Awkward and graceless? There was always room for improvement. Sloppy and aggressive? Nerves could be the culprit, or just an overzealousness with which he didn’t want to deal. Firm and accepting, yet also the woman jumped into his arms and wraps herself about him like she was made to fit his body?

Mercy.

His heart was still thumping from that incredible contact. And he wished his erection would chill. Because there were more important matters. Like his confession about being part faery, part werewolf to a perfectly human woman. He never did that. And on the one occasion he had told all? He’d known her for months, and her name was Kristine, and he trusted her implicitly with his secret because she knew all too well that secrets could be painful.

He’d known Indigo for less than forty-eight hours. Didn’t know her last name. Wasn’t even sure she believed in faeries or if she was playing along with him until she could laugh at his stories later. Who was this incredibly compelling woman who had loosened his lips so much that he’d laid it all out there like that?

That was it, wasn’t it? That kiss of hers had loosened him up.

And now?

He wanted more from this woman. And for some reason, his better judgment had abandoned ship and decided he needed to tell all.

“Werewolf?” she said. Her voice was soft and awe-filled. Or was that fear? She stared up at him, hands clasped together below her chin. It looked like wonder in her gaze, but he could be wrong. Could be disgust. “And faery?”

With a heavy sigh, Ry knew he wouldn’t be able to push her out the door and send her on her merry way now. The deep dive had occurred. Now to surface without sustaining too much damage.

“Sit down,” he said.

She sat immediately. Eagerness lifted her chin, and yes, that was weird awe in her beaming gaze. “That’s what I saw,” she said. “I thought you changed to something like a wolf. Your head and shoulders and chest...they were—”

“I didn’t realize it happened. In the moment, my anger and the fury at trying to destroy the collector overwhelmed and I briefly shifted. You shouldn’t have had to see that.”

“Why? It didn’t scare me. I mean, from what I recall. Still kinda fuzzy from that whole adventure. And sore.” She pressed a hand to her back and arched it forward. “I wonder if I could talk to that faery healer. Ask her what she did to me, and how long it’s going to take to feel better?”

“Give it a few more days. You went through a lot the other night. And I’m sure I shoved you less than gently to get you out of the way.”

“You were trying to protect me.”

“A lot of good that did. You almost died, Indigo.”

“There is that. I have no memory of a near-death experience, though. But let’s talk about you. Come sit by me. Tell me about being a werewolf. And a faery! Please?”

In for the dive, Ry sat next to Indi and pressed his palms together before him as he summoned the strength and downright calm to put himself out there. He didn’t have to tell her all. He would never do that. Because he didn’t know her. But she knew too much. Enough that leaving her hanging would only push her away from him, and could likely result in her telling others his secret.

For once, Ry wished he had a vampire’s skill of persuasion. They could change a human’s mind, convince them they’d never been bitten. Or that they had never seen a werewolf shift halfway while battling vicious critters from Faery.

“Okay, here goes,” he said.

She wiggled expectantly and leaned forward.

“I was born werewolf. My mother was a werewolf, and my father...” This part he didn’t need to go into detail. “It’s a twisty thing. My father was a faery, but my mother was married to the pack leader. She had an affair. Leave it at that. So I’m half-and-half, but I have more werewolf tendencies than faery. I don’t have wings,” he said quickly as she opened her mouth to speak.

“Oh.” Her shoulders dropped. “I was going to ask about that. Do you have a tail?”

Her fascination disturbed him on a level he couldn’t quite measure. Such a question made him angry, and a little humiliated. But why he felt that way went back to being ousted from the pack because he was part faery. Too many bad memories.

“I don’t have a tail. In my were shape. Were means man. Werewolf means half man, half wolf. Like you saw the other night. Though I didn’t shift completely. If so, my clothes would have split and fallen off and...you would have known for certain you’d seen a werewolf.”

“Your clothes fall off? Is it like an Incredible Hulk thing?”

“Incredible...?” Ry couldn’t help a chuckle. “What’s with you and the superheroes?”

She shrugged. “I like comic-book heroes. Anything wrong with that?”

“Nothing at all. Not like the Hulk. When I shift to werewolf my body grows a little taller, more muscular and hairy, and my head takes on wolf shape, as do my legs and feet and hands. I’m mostly man but a lot of wolf.”

“And you’re naked?”

“Uh, yes?”

“Sorry, I like to have all the details. Helps me to picture it better. And then you run around naked in the city?”

“I never shift to werewolf in the city. Not completely, anyway. It would be foolish and asking for trouble. We of the paranormal ilk know the only way we can survive in the mortal realm is to keep our truths hidden.”

“Wow, I suppose so. That’s got to be tough. Trying to survive in a world that doesn’t believe in you. And if they did, they’d think you’re a monster. You’re not a monster, are you?”

“Do I look like a monster?”

“Not now you don’t.” But she wasn’t completely on board with believing otherwise, he suspected.

“I’m not a monster, Indi.” He clasped her hand and rubbed the back of it along his cheek. She smelled so good. And he didn’t scent fear in her. Interesting. “I am a man first and foremost, who happens to have a proclivity for nature and running about as a wolf, especially on the night of the full moon. I also shift to wolf shape, which is exactly the creature you know as a wolf.”

“Four legs and a howl?”

He nodded.

“That’s so interesting. Do you have wolf friends?”

Despite the odd and uncomfortable questions, at the very least, Ry could be thankful she was open and not screaming right now. “Wolf friends? You mean who I run about with in the forest?”

She nodded.

“Yes. And no. Most werewolves live in packs. I haven’t been in one for a while.” Not by choice, either. “When I shift I do it alone. I own some property a couple hours out of Paris that is wooded and has a lot of acreage. If I encounter another of my species while shifted, we might have a tussle or just avoid each other. We’re protective of our property.”

“Alpha?”

“Yes, but I’m considered a lone wolf after leaving my pack.”

“Why did you leave?”

“That’s not something I want to get in to right now.” He pulled up her hand again and this time kissed the knuckles. “Any more questions?”

“Well, tons! I mean, how does the whole faery thing work in? If you don’t have wings? You can’t fly?”

“Can’t fly. Don’t have the desire to fly. I have a faery sigil on my hip that allows me some weak faery magic and the sight that I’ve already explained to you. And I do dust when I come.”

“You what?”

Ry smirked. That was always an interesting one to explain. And it only happened with a forceful orgasm. Something he tried to avoid when with women. Otherwise, how to explain the sudden glitter explosion? The jacking off when he got home thing was getting stale, though.

“When faeries have sex,” he explained, “they put out dust when they orgasm. I, uh, do that.”

Indi’s jaw dropped open, so he pushed it closed and then she caught his hand with hers, thumbing the side of his hand as she stared at it.

“A werewolf,” she said in that awe-filled voice. “Who would have thought? You’re not even Batman, you’re Wolfman.”

“I don’t like that term. Just call me Ry.”

“Ry. Ryland James. The billionaire werewolf who fights crime. What compelled you, a werewolf, to fight the bad faeries?”

“As I’ve explained, they are stealing human children. Isn’t that reason enough to want to stand up and make it stop?”

“You’re amazing. So selfless. And your philanthropy. You’re quite the package, Ry.”

And his own package was starting to harden again. She hadn’t dropped his hand, and each time she stroked her thumb over his skin he grew a little harder. He’d love to kiss her until she begged him to strip her bare and have sex with her on the sofa. But she might like that. And he was in a weird place. A little freaked that he’d spilled all to her.

Could he trust his instincts right now?

“You probably need to give what I’ve told you a good think,” he mused.

Pulling out of her grasp, he tapped her lips and pondered another kiss. That was the easy way out. Now was no time to press the easy button.

“I need to repeat how important it is to keep this information about me quiet,” he said. “If the paparazzi and tabloids ever got wind of this—”

“Oh, never. I promise.” She made an X-ing motion over her chest. “I swear to you. I won’t tell.”

He could almost believe her. “The photographers for those trashy rags have their ways. They find out I have a new friend? They’ll go after you.”

“Why?”

“Those bastards are always trying to dig up something on me. Can’t accept that I don’t do interviews and that there is nothing to tell. Except that there is a lot to tell. Which is why I avoid the press like the plague.”

“And that only makes them go after you all the more?”

“Exactly. I’d rather battle hundreds of collectors than face down one hungry tabloid reporter. They’re ruthless.”

“I’ve seen that. I myself am a socialite.” She beamed, but it wasn’t one of those entitled poses, but was rather sweet actually. “I attend a lot of balls and social events. I’ve never been in the spotlight like a celebrity, but I do understand. You can trust me, Ry. We don’t know each other that well, but we’ve been through something together. And... I want to know you better.”

“I’d like to get to know you better. Can we go out on a date? Something official? I mean, if you can handle dating someone who isn’t human.”

“I’d love that. And you seem very human to me. How about this weekend?”

He winced. “Can’t. Full moon.”

“Oh.” Her shoulders slumped, but then she perked up. “Oh? So you and the full moon...?”

“I have to shift on the night of the full moon. Which is going to be an issue this month. I’ve only been slaying the collectors for a couple weeks. This weekend will present a challenge. I normally leave for my cabin on the night before the full moon. There I have the freedom to shift without worry of being caught out. But I can’t leave Paris this weekend. I have to be in FaeryTown at midnight to stop the collectors.”

“But if you shift to werewolf in FaeryTown, will humans see you? You said they couldn’t see FaeryTown, so...” She offered a hopeful shrug.

Ry hadn’t considered that. Could he shift in FaeryTown? Of course, he wouldn’t be seen by humans. But he risked the chance of his werewolf leaving FaeryTown for regular Paris. And would that wild part of him be satisfied with a romp about the city? No trees or fields? No long stretches of human-free acreage to let loose and howl in?

He’d have to figure this out within the next few days.

“It’s something to consider. Can we make the date for next week? Sunday maybe? Because the day before and after it’s full I also...have needs.”

“Like what?”

The days before and after the full moon? He also wanted to shift, but that compulsion could be squelched with sex. A lot of it. How to work that out this weekend? “Another one of those things you don’t need to know about.”

“You certainly are a man of mystery. But I’m glad you felt comfortable enough to share some of those secrets with me. You can trust me, Ry. Sunday?”

“Later in the day, after I’ve returned to Paris.”

“Maybe we could do a late-afternoon picnic?”

“Sounds like a plan.” He grabbed his cell phone from the coffee table and handed it to her. “Enter your info for me so I can call you. I don’t even know your last name.”

“I’m Indigo DuCharme.”

“Of course. A princess wouldn’t have any other but a romantic name. We’ll figure things out Sunday morning when I give you a call.”

“I can’t wait. In the meantime, I’m going home to—”

“Google werewolves?”

She bowed her head, because he’d hit it right on the nose. “Maybe.” Indi typed in her name and phone number, then also put in her address.

“What you read online will only be fiction,” Ry explained, feeling the need to do so. “Although some writers do get a few things right. Just take it all with a huge chunk of salt, okay?”

“Deal. I imagine it may be weird for you to have someone asking you questions about yourself, but I’m going to warn you that I may have many more questions on Sunday.”

“It is weird, but I’m not feeling so nervous about this as I was when you initially asked me. Maybe we both need a few days to let this sink in. If by Sunday you’re not on board with me, then I’ll understand.” He took the phone from her.

“Sounds like a plan.”

Indi stood. He’d just given her an opportunity to leave. And while he wanted her to stay for a few more kisses, Ry guessed her brain was humming with so much new, strange and curious information that she would need to be away from him for awhile, take it in and give it a good think.

She thrust out her hand for him to shake. Really? They’d gone beyond that silly gesture.

Ry pulled her in and bent to kiss her. The woman’s body melded to his as if fitting into a mold. And as his hard-on gave him away, Ry delved deeper into the kiss to grasp her sweetness just in case he might never see her again. Parting from her happened with a sigh from them both.

“Sunday is so far away,” she said, walking to the door. “It’s going to be a long week. Thanks, Ry, for being honest.”

“Thank you for not freaking out. But if you freak later, you can call me and we’ll cancel plans.”

“No canceling. And besides, my BFF is always on call for my freak-outs.”

“No telling the BFF about me.”

“Right. I can tell her I met a handsome man, though. She’d never forgive me if I kept that one to myself.”

Another kiss sent her on her way. And Ry waited in the doorway, listening as her footsteps sounded down the stairs.

What had he just done? Revealing himself to a woman he barely knew? Something was wrong with him.

“Or maybe it’s finally right.”


Chapter 7 (#ucb55dd12-1f56-5278-b0ae-28279fd7849d)

Days later

After slaying the two collectors in FaeryTown, Ry hopped in the Alfa Romeo and headed out of Paris. For reasons that were innate, the full moon always seemed to pull hardest at him around midnight. The witching hour? More like the wolfing hour. Even though, rationally, he knew the moon would hit its peak fullness around 2:00 a.m. this month. Other months it could be fullest during the day, but no matter, his werewolf waited until midnight to clamor for release.

But he could hold it back with the knowledge that soon he’d let out his werewolf and it would be free to run. The drive to the cabin was one of the prettiest trips when he managed it during the day. His night vision was excellent, and as he neared his property, he spied groups of deer in the ditches and the paralleling forest.

Ry pulled up the long curving gravel drive to his place and left the car out front. He’d considered having a garage built to protect the Alfa, but he wasn’t so hung up on material possessions, and while he kept it maintained, he wasn’t owned by the upkeep of it.

He unlocked the front door and tossed his duffel bag to the floor. It was cool and quiet inside. He didn’t bother to close the door because he immediately began to strip and toss aside his clothes.

Nothing felt better than a four-legged lope through the forest. And it was rare he got farther than the front doorway when he came here for two or three days of quiet and relaxation.

Shifting was immediate. His limbs loosened and shortened and coalesced to that of a gray wolf, which, when standing next to a natural wolf, would be perhaps six or eight inches taller and longer, but not much bigger.

Strutting out into the night, the wolf loped around the fieldstone walls and then raced toward the grassy field spotted with wildflowers. When he reached the forest, he let out a long and rangy howl that was answered by another natural wolf many miles off. He would ignore the howl. It was merely a property marker, not an invitation.

Charging through the forest, the night crisp against his fur, the wolf reached the small clearing that was lit like a stage with cool white moonlight.

And as the beast soared into the wild grasses and, briefly, all four limbs were off the ground, again the shift overtook Ry and his body lengthened. His legs grew and tight, furred muscles wrapped about his burly chest. He landed on legs similar to a man’s, yet his feet were powerful paws with claws that could dig into the ground for propulsion, or kick and kill with a slice of those sharp weapons.

Head growing and yet remaining in wolf shape, Ry stood tall. He thrust back his shoulders and arms, and lifted his chest. His lungs deflated as he let out a howl that mastered the night and laid claim to his territory.

And with a sniff of the air and a tilt of its ear, the werewolf tracked a nearby fox. He took off toward the small creature, the invigorating rush of adrenaline, and the release after a month in human form, quickening his strides.

* * *

The website had been updated. The bills were paid. And the new product samples had been delivered an hour earlier. Indi looked over the many assorted boxes that she’d received from companies vying to be featured by Goddess Goodies’ new self-care line. While she’d thus far stuck with adding a few hair accessories and one pretty moonstone necklace to the website, Janet had suggested she branch out to a few more female-centric items. Books on self-care. Healthy teas. Crystals. And...why not a vibrator? Self-pleasure was a big part of being a happy, gorgeous goddess. So Indi had agreed to at least consider the vibrators.

And the research could prove interesting, if not also satisfying.

Chuckling at what her job description required, Indi stood up from the boxes she’d unpacked and stretched. She’d been working all morning. Her office was the front living area at the side of the house. It was walled on the curved side with windows and sat up two short steps from the main sunken living room. A dressmaker’s dummy, currently wearing vintage Alexander McQueen, was her main project. While she employed a staff in a small warehouse, and they managed the bulk of the sewing and online orders, she did choose a few gowns to revamp because she loved the process of redesigning what had been a gorgeous piece to begin with, and she was an excellent seamstress. Home economics had been a favorite course in high school, and she’d taken fashion, textiles and business in college.

It was Saturday and the sun was high in the sky. She tried to keep her weekends free and not work too much. And she did have fresh peaches in the fridge...

Stripping away her clothes, Indi walked away from work and into the weekend.

Later, she floated on an inflatable lounge chair in the pool behind her home, eyes closed and one hand clasped about a peach sangria. No swimsuit. Nudity was her thing. Her shrubs were tall enough that she didn’t worry about nosy neighbors.

Indi wondered what Ry was up to. She’d told him she had intended to give the news about his nature a good think. But she’d been so busy the past few days she hadn’t taken a moment to look up werewolf online.

The man was a werewolf.

Half werewolf. And half faery.

And why was she not überfreaked about that? Shouldn’t she be worried that he was mentally disturbed and that to date him could put her in a dangerous situation with a psychopath? It was a stretch to go there with a man who had only been kind to her, but she had to consider the psychopath possibility. The world had gotten less kind and more strange. And that was just the humans.

Yet at the same time, she had seen those black sparkly faeries. Collectors, he’d called them. And she had witnessed Ry partially shift. His entire head had changed to a wolf’s head. Despite being drunk that night, she would never doubt her instincts, which confirmed everything he’d told her was true.

Now to decide where she stood with all this information. Could she date a werewolf? Because he’d intimated he’d wanted to get to know her better. What was different about him than any other man?

“Besides that he can change into a wolf,” she muttered. The sun beamed across her skin, glistening in the water droplets. “I wonder if he has sex with other wolves. As a wolf? Would he have sex with me as a wolf?”

Because those were the squicky questions that needed answers.

But she was rushing far ahead of herself. First things first. Ryland James was an amazingly sexy man that she wanted to date. And their first date was already on the calendar. He was also, seemingly, very kind, philanthropic and concerned for others. The man was keeping babies safe from abduction. It didn’t get any more honorable than that. He really was a superhero.





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