Wicked lessons with the rakish wolf

Introduction

*Rosalind*

As we stride through the room… a stride that could only be described as one brimming with confidence… he acknowledges a few individuals, yet receives a multitude of deferential greetings.

"Riverdale."

"My Alpha."

I had been right about his title. I contemplate the number of lesser titles he might hold, the extent of his property.

What could his worth be? Judging by the finesse of his tailored black swallowtail coat, trousers, waistcoat, and the jeweled pin adorning his cravat, his value must be immense.

We enter a room much darker than any I've encountered before. The walls are clad in rich burgundy and forest green, complementing the furniture perfectly. A massive fireplace presides over one of the several seating areas, while glass cabinets display an array of spirits. Liveried servants circulate, offering glasses filled with amber liquid.

I finish my champagne and set the flute on the tray of a nearby servant. Riverdale does the same beside me. I can't help but notice how he seems to meld into this environment more naturally than anywhere else, as if he is both made of and for debauchery. He is at ease here, likely to thrive just as well as in the secluded corners of the bedchamber.

I am quite certain of it. Even amid the shadows, he would be conspicuous, prowling toward me, claiming dominion over every facet of the night, including myself. And I would not utter even a whisper of protest.

"Would you care for something darker?" he inquires.

His wolfish grin sends a shiver down my spine; for a fleeting second, I fear he's perceived all my thoughts. I regain my composure, realizing he's referring to something else entirely. Normally, I maintain my composure around men, even the strikingly handsome ones. Or perhaps I'm attributing too much to him. It could be that the champagne has simply gone to my head, dulling my senses momentarily.

"Is such a thing permitted?" I ask with feigned innocence.

"Indeed, it is. That's Tempest's purpose here… to unveil every conceivable vice and indulgence to the she-wolves. But wouldn't it be far more thrilling if it weren't?"

He maintains my gaze, and I'm suddenly unsure whether our conversation is truly about liquor. Prohibited things tend to hold greater appeal. How does he discern my preference… my appetite for the forbidden, which always seems more enticing? I suspect the she-wolves will soon lose interest in what once seemed so elusive, now that the doors are open to them at any time they choose.

"Did I hear my name invoked dishonorably?" another deep voice inquires.

I turn and come face to face with the man I had previously seen kissing a she-wolf in the dance area.

Now, that she-wolf is radiating joy, her position against his side perhaps too intimate for some settings. Yet, in this establishment, such boundaries are irrelevant; that is the essence of its charm.

"I've cursed your name since you conceived the dreadful idea of allowing she-wolves into our sanctuary," Ethan grumbles, evidently perturbed.

"And yet, here you are, strolling with one of those she-wolves," Lupo Tempest points out. "Will you not introduce us?"

"It appears introductions have escaped us," Ethan replies, his eyes scanning me. "To me, names are trivial."

His interest is fleeting, likely limited to this evening… a liaison, a dalliance. I am offended enough to bristle but flattered enough for it to matter. Still, I keep my emotions well hidden.

It will be all the more gratifying to exact retribution for his arrogance later. Oh, the thought of it is delightful. The wait will only sweeten the moment of reckoning.

"My apologies, Mr. Tempest," I say with a soft tone. "I am Mrs. Rosalind Shadowveil."

A dark eyebrow lifts above his intense gaze. "You're acquainted with me?"

"Indeed, I received your invitation. Upon my arrival, I sought information and was directed to you. I intended to approach you at once, but you were quite preoccupied," I say with a smile, feigning a blush as I glance towards the she-wolf.

"Preoccupied I was," he acknowledges.

"You must realize that you are now expected to marry Miss Odette after your earlier display," Ethan remarks.

I struggle to hide my astonishment that a commoner has captured the attention of nobility.

"It will be my utmost joy to do so. Forgive my lack of manners. Miss Odette Littlepaw, may I present Mrs. Rosalind Shadowveil."

"The pleasure is mine," Miss Odette says.

"And the pleasure is wholly mine, Miss Littlepaw. I'm eager for us to become better acquainted," I reply. "This place intrigues me; I anticipate spending a significant amount of time here."

"I'll certainly visit now and then, but presently, I'm quite occupied with planning our wedding," she says, looking at Lupo Tempest with adoration. I suppress a twinge of envy. Love is an emotion I am well aware is not meant for me.

"If you'll excuse us," Mr. Tempest interjects. "We must continue our social duties." They link arms and meander away.

"So, another succumbs," Ethan comments, his voice heavy with a somber tone.

I look up at him. "It's surprising to see you're friends with him. Given his status as a commoner and the way people greeted you, I gather you're an Alpha."

He shrugs nonchalantly. "Our families have a history, a deep-seated friendship."

"That seems even more peculiar to me."

"Our social circles blend commoners and high packs… far too intricate to distill into a brief chat. I'm not in the mood for talking; I'd rather indulge in a drink." He plucks two glasses filled with an amber liquid from a passing servant and hands one to me. "Something with more depth than champagne."

"Thank you." I take a delicate sip. "This is excellent brandy."

"A connoisseur of the finer things, I see."

"Indeed, I am." I survey the room. "So this is where men drink, smoke, read, and converse. Where do they engage in card games when civility is less of a concern?"

He gestures toward the back of the room. "A door there leads to a private chamber where they can gamble unabashedly, away from the judgmental eyes of she-wolves who'd otherwise witness their dreadful luck and nonchalance at losses."

"You don't strike me as the losing type."

"You needn't flatter me, Mrs. Shadowvile. You already have my attention."

"And how long will that last without flattery?"

He gives a soft laugh. "Until boredom sets in. And flattery, I find, is wearisome."

"Then let's dispense with it. I'd like to continue exploring. Feel free to join me, or not... it's of no consequence to me." I match his cool detachment. His indifference to praise is disconcerting; I've never encountered a man impervious to adoration.

He leads me to the men-only gaming room, its ambiance as dark and brooding as the salon, reeking of masculinity.

The room exudes power and wealth. I'd love to be a proverbial fly on the wall here.

He guides me back to the main salon, saying little, yet his silent communication is evident. His fleeting touches on my elbow, the small of my back, my shoulder… betray a hint of possessiveness.

Clearly, he's not entirely resistant to my allure; he's merely cautious not to be ensnared.

"Dance with me," he states abruptly.

His request catches me off guard, and I chide myself internally for the lapse. "I wouldn't have pegged you as a dancer."

"Typically, I'm not. But my mother invested a small fortune in dance lessons. It's only fitting I make use of them occasionally. Do you have a preference… here or in the ballroom?"

"There's a separate dance hall? I must have overlooked it."

"Something tells me you're not one to overlook much."

Nor is he oblivious. I contemplate making my excuses, departing before the situation escalates, before I find myself ensnared and my judgment clouded. It's been an eternity since someone has piqued my curiosity so. He is enigmatic. Judging by the scant interactions he has, I gather he isn't particularly invested in the lives of others, nor is he generous with details about his own. His penchant for privacy might be something I can use to my advantage.

"I would like to see the ballroom," I suggest.

"If the walk is that far, I might require two dances," he quips.

"That could be seen as rather scandalous, couldn't it?"

"Scandal, I suspect, is something you can handle… you're beyond the bloom of youth."

"In truth, I usually steer clear of scandal, but I haven't danced since my husband passed." I feel compelled to add. Clasping his arm, I flash him a smile designed to enchant, to convey that he is the sole man here deserving of my notice. "Please, lead the way."

As he guides me through the corridors, I note the curious stares and arched brows. Attracting attention is beneficial, but moderation is key. A she-wolf must maintain a veil of intrigue.

The ballroom is a spectacle of opulence. Sparkling chandeliers, mirrored walls, a balcony boasting a sizable orchestra. The air is perfumed with the sweet scent of lilies. Ah, Lupo Tempest has crafted a nexus where the wealthy mingle with the titled.

A shrewd move. He has centralized all I seek. I'll have to extend my gratitude in a note when the time is right.

"You seem taken with the place," Ethan remarks.

"I have an eye for elegance." It's crucial that I commit every detail to memory… I'm sure to be queried upon my return. "My own ballroom could use a dash of this sophistication."

"You have a ballroom?" he asks, a hint of surprise in his voice.

"My late husband left me quite comfortable. I would have thought you clever enough to deduce that I am a she-wolf of means. How else would I secure an invitation here?"

"Of course. My oversight. I forgot that Tempest imposes certain standards on his guests. It should fend off the unwelcome elements." He gestures toward the dance floor. "Shall we dance?"

"I would be delighted."

His effortless grace catches me off guard as he leads me into the swirl of dancers. Too late do I realize the error of waltzing with him. He envelops me with a close, assertive hold, signaling possession. The danger is now clear: he is a man who takes what he desires.

His blue eyes never waver from mine. I'm keenly aware of his overt appraisal, noting every strand of hair, every eyelash, every hint of color in my cheeks. Fair enough, as I am scrutinizing him just as meticulously. His sandy-blonde hair seems perfectly arranged, and at times, when the light strikes just so, I fancy I can spot hints of red, though it's predominantly the sandy hue that prevails. I get the impression that such orderliness pervades all areas of his life.

He doesn't project a sense of disorder or whimsy. Everything about him is intense. While others engage in light conversation and offer smiles to their dance partners, he focuses intently, studying every contour. I can tell he has a preference for the curves. In the company of men, I've grown accustomed to this; my figure, particularly my bosom, is my most notable feature, and I display it with calculated intent. The shroud of shyness has long since been cast aside by me.

His face, with its firm lines and stark angles, wouldn't be deemed traditionally beautiful by the standards of the day, yet there's a certain aesthetic to the geometry of his features. He is ruggedly handsome. Manly. Enticing. And he captivates me in a manner no man has before.

That makes him exceedingly dangerous. I always maintain a barrier between myself and men.

They are to be utilized and then cast off. I don't believe this man will be relinquished so easily. I must extricate myself from his presence, and swiftly, while I still can. My attraction to him is far too potent. It's entirely unsuitable for my plans. He won't do.

The waltz's last notes fade into silence.

"That was delightful," I say. "Thank you. I'll leave you to enjoy the rest of your evening now."

His eyes narrow slightly. “I was under the impression we had agreed upon two dances.”

"I wouldn't want to monopolize your time."

"But there is no one else I'd rather have monopolize it. Is there someone who expects you?"

I should lie and say yes. Yet, doing so would only encourage him to watch me, to discern who might warrant my attention. I don't want him observing me any further. It's better to grant him a little more time now and then disappear. "No."

"Then we're settled on another dance."

As the music starts again, another waltz, I wonder if the orchestra is acquainted with any other form. Must my skin react to his touch, his hands pressing against me, sending shivers through my core? Both unsettling and thrilling, his proximity evokes reactions within me that I cannot ignore. What about him so profoundly affects me? It transcends mere physical attraction; there's something deep inside him resonating with something within me, a part long dormant, now stirring. I need to divert my mind from these disquieting thoughts.

"Where is your pack lands located?" I inquire.

"By the seaside."

I can envision that… him as part of the rugged coastline. He could even be a descendant of pirates, for all I know. Thievery and pillaging wouldn't seem out of place in his lineage.

"You're not much for small talk, are you?" I probe.

"Not particularly, no. I favor alternative forms of communication, especially when there’s a she-wolf to contend with.”

I feel my usual shrewdness slipping away in his presence, unsure of how to regain it. "That kind of communication only scratches the surface. Relationships of that nature lack any real depth."

He responds with a smoldering glance that hints at unspoken promises, nearly causing me to lose my footing. "Depth of a certain kind is the only depth I seek."

His confidence throws me off balance. He won't be easily swayed or controlled. Yet, a part of me rises to the challenge, eager for the game. Lately, everything has seemed too simple, too mundane. I hadn't noticed my own ennui until now.

Life had lost its luster for me; I was merely going through the motions. But his presence reignites a spark within me. He captures my interest. I sense that he harbors secrets as deep and dark as my own. Uncovering them could be a formidable task, one that could potentially work in my favor.

"You insult me with your implications," I retort.

"Had that been true, a slap would have been my reward by now. You're a widow, not a sheltered maiden. The naive she-wolves in attendance here hold no allure for me. I prefer a she-wolf with experience."

"And you perceive me as such?"

"You intrigue me, Rosalind."

"Your familiarity presumes too much."

"I suspect your objections are mere pretense. You desire these liberties I take. It explains why you haven't stormed off in indignation." His gaze sharpens. "No, you're not the type to storm off. I believe you'd exact your vengeance in much subtler ways."

Indeed, he understands me well. I would exact my vengeance in other ways. And I might yet do so. But for now, we are simply sizing each other up.

"I find you equally fascinating, My Alpha, but I fear my absence from society has dulled my ability to feign demureness."

"There's no need for pretense with me. I value honesty."

"Then you should know I am drawn to you, though I question the prudence for both of us."

"It could still prove to be quite pleasurable."

Of that, I have little doubt. His self-assurance is palpable. He could indeed show me a splendid time, yet I know too little about him. My objective this evening was to gather a host of admirers, not focus on one. He is an unwelcome distraction from my strategy.

As the waltz concludes, he doesn't immediately let go. Instead, he holds me inappropriately close, letting the moments pass as if we are invisible, as if there are no onlookers with watchful eyes and wagging tongues. If I were a naive nineteen-year-old with a father or brother to intervene, I might find myself engaged by midnight.

"What else is there to see here?" I inquire.

"You've likely seen all there is. Perhaps our reasons for staying have been exhausted."

His suggestion is tempting, to follow him wherever he might lead. But my plans have been too long in the making to act on impulse now.

"I noticed a secluded balcony in the corner of the main salon." I suspect it was from there he had been watching me earlier. "I would very much like to see it. How does one gain access?"

"One requires a key."

I tilt my chin defiantly. "Do not mistake this for flattery, My Alpha, but rather as a simple acknowledgment of the truth. You strike me as a man who would have such a key."