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“It wasn’t that long ago,” she said, smiling.
He took her hand in his and brought it up to his lips. “It seemed like an eternity to me.”
Mischa walked her to what appeared to be a very old library table that had been set for three. She sat down in the chair offered and his hand lingered on her shoulder before trailing off. He was the most fascinating and sensual man. Her belly was doing Olympic level gymnastics.
There was a bottle of wine from which Mischa poured two glasses—one for her and one for Valentin.
“Aren’t you having any?” she asked Mischa.
Valentin laughed. “Don’t you know his deep, dark secret? He hates wine.”
Simone laughed. “You don’t,” she said to Mischa.
“I do,” he said holding up a long-neck bottle of beer. “I’m strictly a beer and whiskey kind of guy.”
“But you have a vineyard.”
“I have a profitable business.”
She looked at Valentin. He nodded. “I’m afraid it’s true. The only things he knows about wine are the things we made him memorize. We list him as the master vintner, but nothing could be further from the truth.”
“How can you live at a vineyard and not love the grapes, the vines, and the wine?” she asked.
“I love money. These vines have made our pack a boatload of it.”
“Mistress, I once heard a rumor that we are not the only vineyard that has a beard for our head winemaker. There are those that whisper your knowledge, nose, and palate are second to none. We would welcome your expertise.”
“Oh, I would love…” she turned to Mischa, “would you allow me to be part of the winemaking?”
“I’m letting you keep a damn lynx for a housecat,” he grumbled. He must have seen her smile start to wane. “Of course, you can be involved. I do want you to be happy.”
She was able to begin to relax. Valentin was a good beta to his alpha. Their strengths and weaknesses seemed to dovetail nicely, and it was easy to see theirs was a true working friendship of long standing. Simone found herself becoming involved in the conversation, which included discussions about wine, imports, exports and dire wolves.
“What does your dire wolf look like?” asked Mischa. “Would you like to go for a run after supper?”
Simone blushed and ducked her head, her hand coming up to finger the medallion. She thought about lying to him or trying to evade the subject, but she suspected he was far too intelligent, and she had never been a good enough liar for that to work.
“I can’t. Or rather, I’ve never been able to shift,” she mumbled.
Silence filled the room and began to squeeze the breath out of her.
“Come again?” he asked.
Simone couldn’t look him in the eye so just shrugged.
“I asked you a question, Simone. I want an answer. What did you just say to me?”
“That I’ve never been able to shift.”
“Does your father know this?”
“Of course, he knows. Everyone at the vineyard knows. I’m broken somehow. My parents always told me it would happen in its own time. Well, I’m twenty-three, and it hasn’t happened yet. No matter how hard I try or what method I use, I can see her in the dim recesses of my mind, but she will not come forward.”
“Well, that’s not ideal,” said Valentin.
“It’s more than not ideal,” growled Mischa.
Trying to hold back her tears, she could feel the food and wine she’d consumed roiling around in her gut. She felt as though she might throw up. Without asking permission, she pushed back from the table and ran from the library and up the stairs, praying she would remember which door it was that led to her room.
