Chapter Four

The International Peace Gala was full of people pretending not to be afraid of one another.

Sebastian had been watching them for nearly an hour. Humans posed beside vampires and smiled for the cameras. Witches murmured with government officials from behind raised glasses. Lycan representatives shook hands with men who had spent the last six months insisting that supernatural influence had grown too powerful. Everyone was dressed beautifully, and everyone was lying beautifully.

He stood near the bar with a drink he had barely touched, half listening to two politicians preach cooperation while one kept glancing at the vampire standing three feet away. He was bored. Bone-deep bored.

Then the ballroom doors opened, and he turned without knowing why.

Everything inside him stopped.

The woman who stepped into the room wore maroon, a shade so deep it looked almost black beneath the chandeliers. The dress clung to her figure and left her back completely bare, one long, smooth line of skin that made his mouth go dry. Her hair was gathered in a loose bun, a few soft strands falling around her face, as though she'd stopped caring about perfection somewhere between the mirror and the door.

His wolf woke so violently that Sebastian's fingers clenched, cracking the stem of his glass. He barely noticed. His heartbeat changed. His senses sharpened until the entire ballroom dissolved beneath a single, deafening instinct.

Mate.

He went utterly still. After nine hundred years—

There was no doubt in it, no room for mistake. The woman across the room was his. His first reaction wasn't desire but disbelief, and beneath it rose a certainty so old and so primal it felt like coming home.

Finally.

She scanned the room, and her eyes found his.

The bond drew tight between them. Liana stopped walking, her brows pulling faintly together, as though she'd forgotten where she was going. She looked at him like someone trying to place a face she should have known. She had no reason to — and yet she did, and it went through him like a blade.

Then a man approached her with a smile, and she turned away. The pull stayed.

Go to her, his wolf growled. Sebastian ignored it. For the first time in centuries, patience had become a struggle, so he watched from across the room instead as a minister, a diplomat, and a reporter closed around her. She handled every one of them with polished grace, but he noticed the small tells: the glance at the time, the way her smile vanished the moment someone turned away, the way she slipped toward the drinks table when she thought no one was watching.

Interesting.

She reached for a glass of champagne, and someone called her name. She turned, and her gaze collided with his again. This time she caught him watching. Instead of looking away, she raised her eyebrows as if to ask whether he had a reason for staring.

Sebastian lifted his glass in a small salute.

She shook her head, fighting a smile, then turned back to the drinks.

He set his glass down and crossed the room.

By the time he reached her, she was studying the champagne as though it required her full attention.

"Is the champagne all right?" he asked.

She glanced at him.

"I'm trying to decide."

"About the champagne?"

"Whether it's worth finishing."

"And what's the verdict?"

"I'm leaning toward no."

He looked at her glass.

"That's a shame. I was about to ask you to get me one."

She laughed, caught off guard.

"You have a whole bar behind you."

"I know. I thought I'd save myself the trouble."

"By asking a complete stranger?"

"Worked, didn't it? Now you're talking to me."

"I'm beginning to regret it."

"Already?"

She finally turned to face him properly, and he had to resist the urge to look at her bare back again. Up close, she was even more distracting.

"You do this often?" she asked.

"Do what?"

"Walk up to women who are minding their own business and annoy them?"

"Only when they look like they're having a worse time than I am."

She glanced around the ballroom.

"So you admit you're having a bad time."

"Terrible."

"That's unfortunate. It's a very expensive party."

"Does that usually help?"

"Not in my experience."

He smiled. There was something refreshing about the way she spoke to him. No nervous compliments, no careful deference, no attempt to impress him. She seemed more interested in deciding whether she liked him than in figuring out whether she should.

"Sebastian," he said, holding out his hand.

She looked at it before taking it.

"Liana."

"I know."

Her eyes narrowed slightly.

"Then why introduce yourself?"

"Because I was hoping you'd do the same."

"That makes absolutely no sense."

"I'm aware."

She laughed again, and he found himself wanting to hear it once more.

The orchestra began another song. Sebastian glanced toward the dance floor, then back at her.

"Come dance with me."

She looked past him at the crowded floor.

"You don't even know if I can dance."

"I'll take my chances."

"What if I step on your foot?"

"I'll survive."

"You sound very sure of yourself."

"Would you prefer a nervous speech?"

"No." She put her glass down and offered him her hand. "I think I'd find that worse."

He took it, smiling as he led her onto the floor.

His palm settled at the small of her back, against bare, warm skin. She drew a quick breath, then looked up at him. For a moment, her expression betrayed her surprise at the contact. Then she recovered and settled into the dance.

Sebastian had danced with queens, diplomats, and women who had spent entire evenings trying to get his attention. None of them had ever made him forget where he was standing.

"So," Liana said, "how many people have you offended tonight?"

"Personally or professionally?"

She laughed.

"Oh, so there are categories."

"There have to be. Otherwise I'd never keep track."

"I'm sure you've got a very complicated system."

"You have no idea."

She shook her head, smiling.

"I can see why people find you intimidating."

"People find me intimidating?"

She gave him a look.

"You can't be serious."

"I don't spend much time wondering what people think of me."

"That must be nice."

"It has its advantages." He guided her through a turn. "What about you? How many people have you had to pretend to enjoy talking to tonight?"

"Do you want the honest answer?"

"Obviously."

"Every single one."

He laughed, genuinely this time.

"That's impressive."

"It's exhausting. You have no idea how many ways people can ask the same question about my father."

"Let me guess. Whether he's going to support the new restrictions?"

Her expression shifted.

"Among other things."

"And what do you tell them?"

"That it depends on what they're asking for, and whether they've bothered to read the proposal they're complaining about."

Sebastian looked down at her, amused.

"You actually say that?"

"Not in those exact words." She leaned closer, as though sharing a confidence. "I'm usually much more polite."

"I'd pay to hear the unedited version."

"You might regret that."

"I'm willing to risk it."

She studied him a moment.

"You really don't care what people think, do you?"

"I care what the right people think."

"And who are the right people?"

He met her eyes.

"Still figuring that out."

For some reason, that answer made her look at him a little longer than before.

They continued around the floor. Liana was a better dancer than he'd expected, though she occasionally lost the rhythm when someone passed too close or something caught her eye across the room. Sebastian liked that she didn't pretend otherwise.

When the song slowed, she glanced up at him.

"Can I ask you something?"

"You just did."

She gave his shoulder a light shove.

"You know what I mean."

"Go on."

"Do you actually enjoy these things? The galas, the speeches, everyone shaking hands and promising to change the world?"

"Not particularly."

"Then why come?"

"Because sometimes it's useful to hear what people say when they think they're being diplomatic."

"And what have you learned tonight?"

"That most people are much better at choosing their words than choosing their company."

She laughed against his shoulder.

"That's awful."

"It's true."

"Unfortunately, I think you might be right."

He glanced at her.

"You don't seem surprised."

"I've spent enough time around politicians to know that a smile doesn't always mean someone likes you."

"Does that include your father?"

She lifted her head.

"Careful."

The warning was playful, but there was a spark of challenge in her eyes.

Sebastian's mouth curved.

"Noted."

"Good."

He wanted to kiss her. The thought came so suddenly and so completely that he nearly missed a step. His wolf paced beneath his skin, demanding he close the last bit of distance between them.

He forced himself to stay present, listening as she told him about the tedious speeches she'd endured before escaping to the drinks table. He found himself paying attention to details he'd ordinarily have forgotten before the evening ended — the way she wrinkled her nose describing one particularly pompous minister, the way her eyes brightened when she spoke about something she actually cared about.

Eventually, she tilted her head, studying him.

"Wait. How old are you, exactly?"

He raised an eyebrow.

"What brought that on?"

"You mentioned centuries earlier. I assumed you were exaggerating."

"I'm nine hundred."

She stared at him, then burst out laughing.

"I'm sorry," she said, still smiling. "I know I shouldn't laugh, but you said that like you were telling me your age was thirty-two."

"Would thirty-two have been more believable?"

"Marginally."

"I'm relieved."

She looked him over again, this time with open curiosity.

"So you really have been around for nine hundred years."

"That's generally how aging works."

"Don't start."

He laughed, and she grinned, pleased with herself.

The music carried them through another turn. Her hand rested on his shoulder, his palm still at her back. Neither seemed particularly interested in putting more distance between them.

"You know," she said, "I thought you'd be much more difficult to talk to."

"I'm devastated to hear I've disappointed you."

"Give it time."

"I will."

She glanced toward the crowd.

"I should probably go back before someone starts looking for me."

"You could."

She looked at him again.

"You're not going to tell me I have to stay?"

"Would that work?"

"Not a chance."

"Then I'd be wasting my breath."

Her smile returned.

"At least you're learning."

The song ended. Neither of them moved immediately, and when the orchestra began another, Liana glanced down at her feet and shifted her weight.

Sebastian noticed.

"Your shoes hurting?"

She looked up, surprised.

"A little. How did you know?"

"You've been trying not to put weight on your left foot for the last few minutes."

She glanced down as though her heels had betrayed her.

"I knew these were a mistake."

"Why wear them?"

"Because apparently being the President's daughter means suffering for the sake of a dress."

He laughed.

"That's a terrible tradition."

"Finally, something we agree on."

He looked at her a moment, then nodded toward the terrace doors.

"Want some air?"

Her gaze lingered on his face before she answered.

"Actually, yes."