Wicked lessons with the rakish wolf

A man of power

*Ethan*

The she-wolf in red captures my attention the moment she enters, as if she were the Lycan Queen herself. I'm surprised to find myself noticing her, given that there's nothing particularly striking about her appearance.

From my secluded spot on the balcony of the Full Moon Club, I frown in disapproval. The Twin wolves, why on earth did Lupo decide to rename this age-old establishment? He didn't stop at the name; he's changed nearly everything. And I’m not fond of it, not one bit.

I'm especially displeased that she-wolves are now permitted to enter, to become members, to roam freely, just as the she-wolf in red is doing at this moment.

Her hair is a cascade of deep brown silk, held aloft by pearl combs. It's not striking or unusual. It should have made her blend into the crowd. Yet, she stands out.

It's her demeanor: the graceful curve of her neck, how she holds her shoulders… light, as if untouched by burden. Her gown embraces her figure in such a way that it leaves men longing to take its place. Her ample bosom is tastefully showcased, ensnaring glances that should have been directed at her face. I wager that come morning, many will remember the she-wolf in red, yet none will recount the exact features of her face, though they'll confidently sketch her silhouette in the air with their hands.

I'm acquainted with most she-wolves of the high packs, but not her. She's likely one of the wealthy commoners Lupo has drawn to his club, or perhaps she hails from the Western Isles, rumored to be as wealthy as Croesus. She certainly has the air of someone accustomed to life's luxuries.

In the main salon, she spoke only to a servant before slipping into the private chambers reserved for the she-wolves. I nearly followed her, but this nagging curiosity about her is irksome.

Perhaps it's just the result of my recent boredom. My partner in mischief, the Alpha of Silverpine, has wed Miss Faye Grace, leaving me to my solitary revels. Not that I need a male companion when I have plenty of female ones.

But occasionally, it's refreshing to engage in a stimulating conversation.

Someone with a sharp wit who can appreciate my bawdy humor. The she-wolves I'm usually with are all too similar, cooing, sighing, and whispering salacious nothings. Enjoyable, yes, but predictably so.

They rarely differ. Their hair, eyes, and figures may change, but fundamentally, they are identical.

They provide excitement in my bed but are excruciatingly dull beyond its confines.

However, the she-wolf in red seems far from dull.

I'm aware of a very exclusive, she-wolves-free card game happening down the corridor. That's where I was headed before I stopped to overlook the crowd and caught sight of her.

She has captivated me since that moment. She lingers in my thoughts, a rarity for me. Typically, once out of sight, these she-wolves are out of mind.

Admittedly, it's not the most gentlemanly attitude, but I frequent the company of she-wolves who neither expect nor, perhaps, wish to be remembered. I steer clear of those on the main floor, save for family friends' events like weddings or tonight's affair. I attend mostly to maintain appearances, when I opt not to be disagreeable. It's something that pleases my mother and affords us a few moments to reconnect.

Earlier, I had glimpsed her wandering with Bill Grimley, her second mate. She had once been married to my father… a regrettable episode.

I dismiss those recollections, pushing them aside. They're not the kind I care to revisit. But the she-wolf in red...

I would very much like to explore her every inch.

*Rosalind*

I am acutely aware of being watched. A gaze zeroes in on me, sending little shivers down my skin. The hairs on the nape of my neck stand on end.

Yet, outwardly, I show no sign of disturbance, even as my heart pounds like a regimental drum heralding the call to arms.

I've caught whispers of an Alpha Agency inspector milling about, but apparently, he's a guest, not on the hunt for me. My stay in Blackrock City hasn't been long enough to sound any alarms or arouse suspicion...

"Champagne?" comes a deep voice from behind me.

I would relish a glass, but I must stay alert and focused. I turn to refuse the footman's offer and am taken aback.

The man offering me a flute is no servant. The essence of a high rank, entitlement, and privilege exudes from his every pore, each finely tailored seam, and the luxurious fabric that adorns his impressive frame. His blue eyes scrutinize me, prompting a familiar quiver in my nape. So, he is the one who has been watching. His penetrating gaze unsettles me, stirring a fear that he can see right through me.

Yet, if he could, he'd summon that lurking inspector instead of extending a glass of champagne. His eyes wouldn't be exploring me, sizing up every curve and contour as if imagining how they'd feel in his grasp.

If I were to guess, I'd place him as an Alpha, wearing power and influence as naturally as his own skin.

An Alpha will suffice.

I flash him a sultry, enticing smile. "I find myself quite parched, and I do appreciate a man who can satisfy my cravings. Thank you."

Grasping the flute's stem with my gloved hand, I ensure our fingers graze, holding the touch for a beat. His eyes widen just so, and the corner of his mouth lifts in a subtle curl. It's almost imperceptible to an untrained eye, but I've honed my ability to notice the minutest details. Bodies and expressions often betray truths that words do not.

I clink my glass to his. "To an intriguing evening."

Sipping slowly, I observe him over the glass rim, matching his evaluative glance. Never have I been so captivated by a man. Most are quick to fawn once they've gained my attention, but this one remains measured, discerning. He promises to be a challenge, and if my assumptions about his rank are correct, it's a challenge I eagerly embrace. I lick my lips, a surge of satisfaction washing over me as I catch his eyes deepening with interest.

He lacks my finesse in feigning indifference.

"Isn't it rather inappropriate for a gentleman to approach a she-wolf he's unacquainted with, lacking an intermediary for introductions?" I inquire.

"I am, if nothing else, a purveyor of the scandalous," he replies.

I tilt my head slightly. "Should I be concerned? Is my reputation in jeopardy?"

"That depends on the state of your reputation. Given that you arrived without a chaperone or escort, I gather it's of negligible importance to you."

So, he had noted my solitary arrival and has been observing me for quite some time… nearly forty-five minutes, in fact. It's a promising sign that I've captured his attention for so long. "I'm a widow; chaperones are unnecessary for me."

"My condolences for your loss, though it seems you've finished mourning." He says.

His gaze momentarily lowers to the ample curves of my bust. My face may lack the allure of classical beauty, but that often works in my favor, for a wandering eye rarely detects the cunning in mine. "It's been two years. He met a tragic end to a tiger's fury in the jungles of the east. A horrific affair." I shudder for effect, allowing the tremor to accentuate the movement of my chest.

Men are so readily swayed. Shame eludes me… I learned long ago not to lament the measures needed for survival. "Let us not dwell on such morbid thoughts."

I take another delicate sip of the superb champagne, my hand quivering just enough. "What I require is a diversion. I've enjoyed our conversation, but I'd like to explore the gentlemen's salon. I hear it will soon be off-limits to she-wolves. I'm curious about what we're being excluded from."

"I shall escort you," he offers.

"Is there not a mate who might object to your attentions toward me?" I ask.

He shakes his head. "No mate to speak of. No fiancée, no lover. I've little desire for permanent attachments."

"Having had a husband, I now share your sentiments." I say.

He extends his arm. "Shall we, then?"

My hand finds its place on the firm muscle of his offered elbow. Clearly, he is a man of action, not one to idly lounge. I barely reach his shoulder; he is impressively tall, robust, and broad. Yet, it's more than his stature that exudes power. I suspect even if he were of lesser height, his presence would still dominate. He has a way of eclipsing everything in his vicinity. I wonder if I have ever encountered a man who radiates such absolute authority.