"Mother, head down, nudges me and I remember to curtsey, wobbling a little. I can’t blame it all on being out of practice. The new king is so handsome he’s knocked the wind out of me.
“Rise,” the new king says, and his accent makes me homesick for London. “Do you remain faithful to the pack?”I keep my eyes downcast as the three of us answer the ritual question. “Yes, my king and my pack leader.”“And do you submit to the word of your king and pack leader?”I can’t help but glance up, and heat floods my face as I find he’s looking at me while the three of us respond. When I tear my gaze quickly away, I still feel his willing me to meet it again. There’s a confidence about him that has nothing to do with his position, an aura that fills the space between us and makes the air heavy as I breathe it into my lungs.“Yes, my king and my pack leader,” squeaks from my throat. I can barely catch my breath; I wonder how many people have passed out in front of him.“Do you surrender your will for the good of the pack?”That’s the question that trapped my parents in their loveless, boring marriage. It’s the question that will lead to becoming Ashton’s mate.The question that will mean my expulsion from the pack if I don’t make my decision on the transformation, and soon. I can’t invoke the right again. My time is up.But to avoid the passive-aggressive wrath of my mother, I’m compelled to say, “Yes, my king and my pack leader.”The king motions my father forward, to the bottom of the dais steps. “As you would bleed for the pack, so would your pack shed the blood of your enemies.” The ancient creed, which always sounded so ruthless to my younger ears, is like a low, sensual promise in the king’s elegant voice. When he extends the royal signet ring for my father to kiss, I fixate on the veins on the back of the large, royal hand.I remember to curtsey this time, and somehow stagger away, our family’s tribute over. We move toward the doors to the grand ballroom, but whatever lies beyond them doesn’t hold the same fascination as the man I just bowed before, the man to whom I ritually surrendered my will.Did I imagine the way he seemed to focus solely on me as the three of us stood before him? Did he feel the charge crackling between us or did I invent it from a combination of nervousness and emotional confusion? I’ve never reacted so strongly to anyone at first sight. I can’t even decide if it’s a positive reaction or if he wildly intimidates me.The majordomo calls the name of the next family entering the throne room, and I decide it’s safe to take one last, quick look back at the king while his attention is on them. But the moment I turn my head, I’m caught.The king is watching me walk away.While we eat, Mother, Tara, and Clare fill me in on the new king. My first assumption is the most obvious one: the old king died. But he has a son, and that son is not Nathan Frost, current ruler of the Toronto pack.“Deposed,” Mother explains, subtly inclining her head and lowering her voice. We won’t be heard. Not over the clink of silverware, the laughing, and all the other gossip floating around. “He mated some ridiculously young thing, not much older than Clare, and installed her as queen. You can imagine how his children felt about that.”My sister, Clare, sits on my left. She’s the most beautiful of all of us, more regal looking, even, than Mother.It has been a point of who’s-the-fairest-of-them-all contention in the past.Clare’s ruby pendant earrings swing as she leans in. “And imagine how his children felt when they were removed from the line of succession.”I take a sip of my wine. “I still don’t understand how that leads to a random English guy coming in and taking over.”“Hush!” Mother warns sharply. “He is still your king.”Across the round table, my sister Tara doesn’t bother to lower her voice. “There was a power vacuum and the Greater London pack stepped in.”Her mate, Josh, leans over and whispers something to her, and she is instantly subdued. I hate it. He seems like a nice enough guy, but he was brought up in the same society as every other man in this ballroom, and by the law of the pack they have the final say over the members of their families.Except in one respect. My father’s word wasn’t as powerful as the Right of Accord.My eyes widen and I glance at Mother. “Are we under occupation?”“We were under occupation.” Clare’s husband, Julian, is as gorgeous as she is, with nearly identical honey blond hair. He has the same wry tone, as well. “Then everyone got over it.”“Not everyone,” Clare whispers, nodding toward a table near ours, but I don’t recognize any of the people seated at it. Our way of life doesn’t allow me to overlook them; I memorize who is seated near whom, taking in every face.“Oh, look,” Mother announces suddenly as a thrall waiter approaches. “Dessert.”Tara shoots me an expression that promises we’ll talk later.And we do. After dinner becomes drinks and dancing, my sisters and I leave for the restroom and “get lost” along the way, stepping into a windowed alcove to talk, unencumbered by their mates.“Look, Mother doesn’t want to talk about it and Father will never admit it, but Greater London is occupying the Toronto pack. King Victor made a huge mistake by taking his children out of the line of succession before securing a new heir.”“But why did the pack depose him? Because they didn’t like who he married?” Such a thing is unheard of in modern times.“Because he knew she had illegal dealings with the Manhattan pack,” Tara expl
He hugs me so tightly, I almost can’t breathe; his arms are rock hard at my back. Leaning down close, he says softly, “I was so afraid you wouldn’t come back.”Alarm bells go off in my mind. I step back from him and tilt my head, pretending to check my immovable hairdo to avoid looking him in the eye.“You’ve been gone for five years,” he says, suddenly pragmatic. “You might not feel the same way toward me that you did before you left.”How do you know what I felt for you? I almost snap.My memory drifts back to the day he knocked on my bedroom door, startling me with his presence in my house, startling me more with the announcement that my father signed a mating pact. Ashton and I barely knew each other; though we were both educated at the private academy all children of the Toronto pack attend, we weren’t friends. We barely spoke to each other before he approached my father.To this day, I’m still not sure what Ashton truly sought from our engagement. Maybe it was a rash decision ma
Nathaniel Frost, King of the Toronto pack, guides me smoothly from my fiancé’s side. It’s that easy for him to simply overwhelm me and render me helpless. It’s dizzying, almost exhilarating, definitely terrifying.“I haven’t tangoed often,” I manage to warn him as he pulls me far too close.“It isn’t my strong suit, either,” he quips, though his feet prove he’s lying as they somehow manage to avoid my clumsy ones. “Don’t expect any dips or fancy footwork.”I snort; I can’t help myself. “With all due respect, Your Majesty, that’s about ninety percent of the tango.”“You’re wrong,” he informs me. “And while we’re dancing, call me Nathan.”My mouth drops open. I quickly compose myself and try to shock my brain into remembering what, exactly, my body should be doing. Step, step, step, close. Step, step, step, close. Maybe all those dance lessons Mother forced us to take really were a practical choice. If Vivianne Dixon ever imagined that her daughter would be tangoing with the Pack Leader
“Please,” I whisper as his lips tease my jaw.“Grovel before your king,” he commands, and I fall to the floor with a cry as pain shocks through my knees. He offers me no comfort. “I said ‘grovel’.”He plants his shoe firmly on my shoulder and exerts steady pressure, until my burning skin meets the freezing marble. Then he strolls in a circle around me, every second of silence building my anticipation. What will he tell me to do next? What will he make me do next?And when, oh please, when will he make me do it? I can’t bear the wait, can’t stand the way the stone warms as it leeches the heat from my body.He kneels behind me and grips my hips, pulling them back, sliding my upper body along the floor with painful resistance. He grinds against me, still fully clothed, and I know my juices are smearing across the front of his trousers. He’s so hard and so big, and I’m totally at his mercy. Only a zipper and his self-control stand between us.He jerks a fistful of my hair and I let out a
Ryan, however, has changed. When I left, he was a chubby, baby-faced Black kid with a penchant for blue lipstick and metal band t-shirts with illegible fonts on them. He grew up into a broad-shouldered dad-type who, yes, is wearing a band t-shirt, but who is also comfortable cooking dinner at a stove with twelve burners.If they saw how people live outside the pack…“So, it’s a marriage of convenience, then? Just to dodge the Dave?” That’s a little depressing. “You know, I always thought you were gay, Ryan. I just thought you were afraid to come out.”“Oh, I am,” he answers without hesitation. “It’s not just a marriage of convenience for Hannah. She’s helping me out, too.”“And the fertility clinic helped us out, as well.” Hannah picks up her half-empty beer bottle and tips the neck toward me.“The gay dude and the asexual woman somehow had trouble conceiving,” Ryan says with mock regret.“Wow, I feel like an asshole for not knowing any of this,” I admit.“You’re the one who invoked t
“They are! I don’t even know what’s going on in the pack. I haven’t talked to anyone for five years. I come back and there’s all of this political scandal happening, and now my best friends are accusing me of being a spy or something.” This is too much. I rise from my stool. “You know what, I’m gonna pass on dinner. Thanks, though. You have a lovely home.”“Don’t be like that,” Hannah huffs.Ryan holds up a plate. “But it just got done.”I stop at the kitchen door. “Why do you even want me in your house if I’m so suspicious?”“Because you’re our friend, dummy.” Ryan puts the plate on the island. “But you’ve been gone for five years. You’re out of practice.”“Out of practice?”“The pack is a different now. If we don’t know who to trust, you don’t, either. And one stray word…” Hannah’s expression falls. “I’m not afraid you’re going to run out and betray us. I’m afraid that until you’ve been here longer than a week, you might get yourself—or someone else—in trouble without even knowing y
“…And that’s what they were talking about at the—Bailey!” Clare snaps, waving her hand in front of my face.“Sorry. Too many mimosas.” That’s a lie. I’m not even tipsy after two of them. I try to focus on what she was telling me. Something about renovations on her master bathroom. “You were saying something about how they couldn’t take a wall down?”“Are you okay?” Tara asks me with genuine concern.Do I admit to them that my head is all over the place after the ball? That I’m not sure where I belong in the pack? Because if my best friends don’t trust me after that, there’s no guarantee that my sisters will. Plus, their husbands don’t seem like big fans of the new king.And it’s impossible to feel like my sisters’ mates aren’t an invisible presence at the table with us.“I’m fine. I just…” I laugh and shrug. “I don’t really get the renovations thing. Or the domestic stuff. It’s not that I don’t care. I just can’t relate.”“Yet,” Clare reminds me. “Have you gotten an event planner? Lup
“It’s been great getting together,” I say, summoning up my best impression of our mother’s passive-aggression. “But I have to go.”I push my chair back and stand, and a crackle of energy pulls my attention to the restaurant’s doors.I feel him before I see him. It’s unnerving. But I look toward the door knowing that Nathan Frost will be there. And when our eyes meet as he enters, it’s clear that he feels my presence, too.Five years ago, I would ask my sisters if that magnetism were real or if I’m just imagining it. But I can’t do that now. I can’t trust that they won’t tell their mates on me.The maître d’ is leading Nathan in our direction. At least, the maître d’ is trying to lead; Nathan is actually a step ahead. It’s too late to avoid him. Our paths will cross.I don’t want to see my sisters’ reactions, so it doesn’t matter that I can’t tear my gaze away from Nathan’s. He doesn’t try, and I know I’m not imagining this anymore. I can’t walk away from the table because if I walk to