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“Better now that you have graced us with your shining light.” He kissed her hand. “Would you do me the honor of taking a walk with me?”
Shining light? Nick thought sourly. The vampire can’t be just handsome, titled, and rich? He has to be fucking Shakespeare, too?
And his wolf was growling again. Thankfully nobody heard.
“Um, well . . .” Calla caught her brother’s eye and he nodded. “All right. I suppose a brief stroll would be good exercise.”
Rolan’s smile was pleased. “Very good. Shall we?”
Anxiety joined the party along with the slow burn of anger. Possessiveness. The vampire was gazing at Calla in naked interest, as though she was the reason he’d come tonight—not stuffy politics. He was more than happy to leave his colleagues behind to enjoy a “stroll” with Calla.
She threw Nick an apologetic look as they walked away, which mollified him a little.
“I invited him,” Tarron said ruefully.
“What?” He rounded on the vampire.
“I asked him to come because Rolan has been intereste
d in Calla for ages, but the timing has never been right. I thought they’d make a good couple.”
“Well, I don’t fucking think they would,” Nick snarled.
“To clarify, however, I invited him before I got wind of something going on between you and my sister.” He pinned Nick with a glare of his own. “I’m not that manipulative or dishonorable.”
“Good to know.” Fists clenched, Nick looked away, still pissed.
Tarron’s voice grew hushed. “You wouldn’t blame me if you knew how truly sad and alone she’s been these past few years. I just wanted to help.”
“Understandable,” he replied evenly. “But she doesn’t need his help—in any way.”
“Try that attitude on her and you’ll get not an inch further than I ever do. Trust me on that. If she digs her heels in, you’re done.”
Dammit, the man made too much sense.
“Come on. I’ll introduce you to more of the guests.”
That was the very last thing Nick wanted to do—socialize while Calla was alone with the fanged Casanova. But he gritted his teeth and endured while Tarron made more introductions, and he answered curious questions about what his team of shifters did to protect citizens. That, at least, was a subject he could warm to, and that part wasn’t so bad.
“Nick, this is Ivan Cardenas, from Barcelona, Spain,” Tarron said in introduction. “Ivan is an old acquaintance we haven’t seen around here in some time. He’ll be joining the discussion in the dining hall later with the other leaders.”
“Hello,” Nick said, shaking his hand. “I’m sure that will be a fascinating talk, won’t it?”
Cardenas chuckled. “I’m sure it will. It’s good to meet you.”
“You, too.”
Nick was grateful when the Fates intervened and Tarron was pulled into a debate on whether blood banks were sufficient to feed their population, or covens should be allowed to feed on death row inmates or some shit. Nick excused himself and nobody noticed when he found a corner, held up a far wall, and finished his beer.
Except for one man. “Haven’t seen you around,” a voice said idly.
Nick eyed the dark stranger standing in the shadows. Reaching out with his PreCog senses, he found the walls surrounding this man to be nearly impenetrable. That bothered him more than he cared to admit. “Can’t say I’ve seen you, either. You know Calla or her brother personally?”
“Not really. You could say I’m gate-crashing.” His smile was feral. “Friend of a friend. You know how it is.”
Something about the man put him on edge. “I’m Nick Westfall, com—”
“Commander of the Alpha Pack. Yeah, word gets around. Nice gig if you can get it.”
