Marcus paces around the meeting room behind the library, feeling uneasy. There is still no word of Nicole, despite his staff's best searching. Everything they investigate turns up only the news that Nicole is dead, plain and simple. She isn't, Marcus can almost swear to it. He doesn't know how he knows – despite their other supernatural gifts, werewolves aren't psychic – but he just knows. Or, more accurately, his wolf knows. Marcus still isn't sure what to make of that.
"Are you ready?" Kent asks me. He's sitting at the kitchen table in my villa, drinking a cup of coffee from the fancy espresso machine on the countertop and scrolling through his phone. He hasn't even looked up, and I clear my throat impatiently. "What?" he asks, finally raising his head. "You look great. I told you that you would – you don't need me to approve your outfits." "Well, excuse me for being a little nervous on my first day a
Nine o'clock in the morning was nothing compared to the early shifts I had when I was an intern at the hospital, and I've always been an early bird, so I'm feeling bright and cheerful when I pull up in front of the Alpha's mansion the next morning. It's a truly beautiful building, I can't deny that. A little ridiculous for one family, but then again, I guess a lot of the staff do live and work here, too. It's a three-story brick home with a circular drive, a marble statue of a wolf standing in the middle of a fountain out front.
A week later, I'm woken up in the middle of the night by someone roughly shaking my shoulder. "Nicole, get up," Kent says frantically, shaking me relentlessly. "Hurry. It's Ty." I snap to attention immediately, throwing off my covers and scrambling for my robe, years of medical training having honed me to be instantly alert under these circumstances.  
I am, quite predictably, exhausted at the Alpha's mansion the next day. Fortunately, there's a lovely little staff kitchen on the same floor as my office, and it's always stocked with very good, very strong imported coffee. I lean back in the leather chair behind my desk, sighing gratefully as I inhale the rich aroma of hazelnut wafting up from my third cup of the day. Man, this coffee is delicious. I think they have it specially flown in from some fancy little cafe in Paris, Claire said.
Marcus checks his watch again. Lydia subscribes to the idea of being "fashionably late," a concept that Marcus personally cannot stand. His mother does it, too, and it drives him up the wall. In Marcus's view, a dinner reservation is for seven, you should arrive at the restaurant by seven at least, if not a few minutes before. To do otherwise is disrespectful to the establishment and the workers' time. However, he can't seem to get the rest of h
"How are we feeling this morning?" I ask, keeping my voice cheerful and light as I enter Ty's room. It's Saturday, so I'm off from my work at the Alpha's mansion today. I draw back the daffodil-patterned curtains to let the sunlight stream into the room and across the bed. Normally, a free Saturday would mean that I'd be looking forward to a day of takeout food and trash TV. Unfortunately, poor Ty is still in rough shape, and my evenings and weekends are devoted to his recovery for the foreseeable future.
Marcus drums his fingers on his knee, resisting the urge to also tap his foot. My god, he's not in the mood for this tonight. He doesn't know why his mother insists on hosting so many of these society fundraisers in their private ballroom; in fact, it seems insensitive to do so right now, given his father's poor health. This one is for some charity or another – Marcus believes it's for underprivileged werewolf youths in northern Scotland. Wolves went extinct in that country in the 1800s, if Marcus recalls correctly, and the werewolf population there was greatly affected.
"Marcus!" I shout, tripping over the last step at the bottom of the staircase. "Ouch! Damn it, we need to get that fixed. Marcus, where are you?""I'm in here, carina," Marcus calls back. He comes out of the kitchen with a raised eyebrow. "Just making your coffee. I think I've almost got this machine figured out, I swear."I burst out laughing. "It's been five years, honey. I think if you were going to get along with that machine, it would've happened by now."
"I'm so glad you chose a December wedding, darling girl," Jeanette says to me, looking a bit misty-eyed. She steps back from the mirror we're both looking in after adjusting my veil and clasps her hands in front of her."Me, too," I breathe, lifting a hand to touch my face. Jeanette slaps it away, playfully."What are you doing?" she exclaims. "You're going to ruin all of Maya's hard work. You look stunning, my dearest. Don't smudge your foundation, I beg of you. Are you nervous? A mimos
The biggest problem with waitressing is that Becki really freaking hates it, okay?It's miserable. People are so rude to you, all the time, and your arms ache after each shift from carrying around everybody's hot plates and their stupid trays of cocktails and wine and soda and god knows what else.And nobody is ever happy, either. They ordered a Cabernet Sauvignon, but all your restaurant sells is Merlot. Well. You'd think the entire sky was falling down, the way some people car
The dinner is sumptuous, one of the most elegant dinners I've ever had, even by Alpha-family standards. It's an old-school seven course dinner, with hors d'oeuvres circulating on silver trays along with trays of champagne while the servers set up for dinner.Then comes the soup, which is a crab bisque that I could eat all night long, even if there were no other courses. I make a mental note to tell Marcus that I definitely want it served at our wedding.Next are the appetizers - a sort o
A few weeks later, I'm at the villa, poring over paint samples. Jeanette has been very generous in helping me with ideas for a massive makeover for the villa, and I'm excited to make the place really my own.Well, mine and Marcus's, of course. He comes home in the evenings from his business duties at the hotel to have a glass of wine with me and talk over options. We've discussed decorators, but for now, I think I'd like to handle most of the decisions myself."You surely don't expect to
The next morning, Marcus and I are having coffee in the villa kitchen when my phone rings again. I tense up and check the caller ID to make sure it's not my father again, and I heave a sigh of relief when I see that it's Jack Darlington."Hey, Jack," I say when I answer the phone. Marcus raises his eyebrows at me in question, and I shrug. "What's up?""What's up is that I have some fantastic news for you," Jack says at the other end of the line. There's a rush of traffic and voices in th
A week later, I'm starting to feel like I've really settled into my new life full of possibility and hope. Things are so much easier now, and not just because I don't have to hide who I am anymore.As soon as Charles was taken away by police and chucked into jail where he belongs, awaiting his trial in the human court system, it was like a black cloud of despair and tension finally lifted from over my head.It's time for me to move on, into my new life, with my new family and friends.
"Do I look all right?" I ask Marcus in our bedroom at the villa. I'm staring at myself in the mirror, smoothing my navy blue dress over my hips. "I've never been to a Werewolf Council before; I'm not exactly sure what I'm supposed to wear.""You look fantastic," Marcus says, coming up behind me to tug my zipper all the way to the top of my dress. "Very professional. A real Alpha's Heir wife.""Fiancee," I say with a smile. I tuck a curl - now back to its original brown - behind my ear. M
"It's terribly convenient for you, Marcus, that your paramour owns an entire villa for you to move into at the drop of a hat," Liam grumbles the next day as he helps us wheel our suitcases to the elevators. "Some of us are going to be in this bloody hotel for the next decade, if the fire department has anything to say about it.""It's not the fire department's fault that Nicole's ex-boyfriend is a psychotic arsonist," Marcus responds, shooting me a wicked little grin. I whack his arm playfully.