A mask for every lie

CHAPTER 2

A Mask for Every Lie

“You sure about this, kid?”

Gus, the bartender at The Crooked Moon, slid a black half mask across the counter and gave her the sort of look old men give stray dogs in the rain.

“Five hundred dollars is five hundred dollars,” Wren said, tying the ribbon behind her head. The mask covered her face from forehead to the bridge of her nose. It was the first time in her life she had felt grateful to hide.

“They told me you were banished.”

“I am. I’m just here as the help.”

Gus muttered something about people with no hearts, then pushed a tray of champagne flutes toward her. “Go on. Smile. Pretend it’s a funeral you’re getting paid to attend.”

“That’s exactly what it is.”

The bar had been transformed. Black silk draped the ceiling. Hundreds of candles floated in glass bowls. Wolves from three different packs filled the room in gowns and tailored suits, every face hidden behind lace, feathers or gold. On a small stage at the far end, Damien Blackthorne and Vivienne Cross stood under a banner that read Forever.

Wren kept her eyes on her tray. Pour, smile, step aside. For forty minutes, it worked.

Then the room went quiet.

It started at the door and rolled across the floor like a wave. Conversations died mid-sentence. Wolves turned. Even the music seemed to hold its breath.

“That’s Ironfang’s Alpha,” someone whispered behind her. “Kaelen Draven. I didn’t think he’d actually come.”

“I heard he doesn’t smile.”

“I heard he doesn’t need to.”

Wren glanced up, and her breath snagged.

He was tall, with shoulders built for carrying armies and a charcoal suit that looked like it had been poured over him. A black mask hid half his face, but the jaw beneath it was hard, and his eyes were a dark, burning gold that swept across the room as though he were counting exits. He did not look at anyone for long.

Until he looked at her.

It lasted barely a second. But her pulse stumbled, her skin went warm, and something deep in her chest, a place that had been silent for her entire life, gave one faint, startled knock.

It’s the champagne, she told herself. You haven’t even drunk any. It’s the stress.

She lifted her tray and kept walking.

She almost made it to the other side.

“Oh, careful!”

A heeled foot slid sideways into her path. Wren stumbled, the tray tipped, and an entire flute of red wine cascaded down the front of Vivienne’s silver gown.

The room gasped.

Vivienne looked down at the stain, then up at Wren, and her smile widened with genuine delight. She had set it up. Of course she had.

“You clumsy little thing,” she said, loud enough for everyone. “This dress cost more than you’ll make in your entire life.”

“You tripped me,” Wren said quietly.

“Did I? Funny. I don’t remember anything like that.” Vivienne tilted her head. “Kneel and wipe it up. And while you’re down there, apologize.”

A few people laughed. A few looked away. Nobody moved.

Wren felt the heat climb up her neck. She could fight back. She could throw the whole tray in Vivienne’s face. But Lily’s treatment, the debt and the envelope in her pocket all pressed down on her like stones.

She lowered herself slowly to her knees.

“Don’t.”

The voice was low and quiet and cut through the room like a blade through silk.

A hand closed around Wren’s elbow and drew her gently to her feet. She looked up and met burning gold eyes.

“Apologize to her,” Kaelen Draven said, without turning his head.

Vivienne laughed. “To the waitress?”

“To a person.” His tone did not change, and somehow that made it worse. “You tripped her deliberately. I watched you do it. Apologize, or I’ll have a conversation with your host about the kind of hospitality that happens under his roof.”

The silence stretched. Vivienne’s smile twitched. She wasn’t used to being on the wrong side of a room.

“Sorry,” she bit out, and walked away with her spine rigid.

Wren stared at the man still holding her elbow. Up close, he smelled like cedar and cold air.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know.” His eyes searched what he could see of her face. “Are you hurt?”

She shook her head, ridiculously close to tears. In eighteen years, nobody had ever asked that question and meant it.

“Well, well.”

Damien had come down off the stage, a glass in his hand and a smirk on his face. Wren’s heart sank. Even with the mask, he would know her. He had always known her.

“Isn’t this sweet? Wolfless has found herself a new master.” His eyes slid to Kaelen. “You should know what you’re protecting, Alpha. That one can’t even shift. She’s nothing.”

Wren went still.

Beside her, Kaelen turned, slowly, and something in the air changed. The candles flickered. The nearest wolves took a step back without knowing why.

“Say that word again,” he said very softly, “and I will make you swallow it.”

Damien’s smirk faltered, but pride kept him standing. “You’re a guest here, Draven. You don’t know her.”

“I know enough.” Kaelen’s gold eyes didn’t leave him. “I know she has more spine in her smallest finger than you’ve shown all night. I know she was on her knees because of someone with a lot more money than manners. And I know that if you step any closer, you’re going to find out exactly why they call my pack Ironfang.”

For a long, tense moment, the two men stared at each other. Damien blinked first. It was a very small thing, a flick of the eyes, a half step back. But three hundred wolves saw it.

“Enjoy your party,” Kaelen said, and steered Wren away.

*   *   *

The balcony was cold and dark, strung with ivy and moonlight. Wren braced her hands on the stone railing and tried to breathe.

“Your hands are shaking,” Kaelen said behind her.

“It’s just the adrenaline.”

“Is it?”

She turned. He stood a few feet away, the mask pushed up into his dark hair now, though the shadows still hid half his face. The full moon hung above him, huge and white, and she felt it in her blood like a second heartbeat. Her skin tingled. Her pulse was far too fast.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Names are what they take from you.” She tried to smile. “I’d rather keep this one.”

Something in his expression softened. “Then I won’t ask for it. But I’d like to know why a woman who looks at the moon like it owes her money is pouring champagne for people like that.”

A startled laugh escaped her. “How do you know that’s how I look at it?”

“Because I look at it the same way.” He stepped closer, slowly, giving her every chance to retreat. “Tell me to leave and I’ll leave.”

She should have. Every sensible part of her screamed that she was a banished girl with a debt, an enemy and nothing left to lose, and that men like him did not stay.

But the moon was in her blood, and for the first time in her whole life, someone had looked at her and seen a person.

“Don’t leave,” Wren whispered.

He lifted a hand and brushed his knuckles along her cheek, just below the edge of her mask, and the whole world seemed to pause.

“Then I won’t.”

Far below, a wolf howled at the moon, long and low and certain. And somewhere deep inside Wren Hartley, something that had slept for eighteen years opened one eye.