CALYS

I wasn't used to parties. I might be a pack princess, but my pack didn't consist of fancy birds or powerful wolves. We were panthers, and that meant growing up outdoors – and fighting.

I was more at home in the woods of the Everglades than the red—carpeted ballroom of a first—class hotel. I preferred to be dressed for combat rather than a velvet gown so tight it felt like I wouldn't be able to breathe without bursting a stitch open.

I knew how to kill with a lipstick, an AK—47, and duct tape – separately. But ask me how to wrap a gift without a paper bag? Or – like now – figure out small talk with shifters I had nothing in common with?

"The party is to your liking, Princess Calys?" a noble from my fiancé's pack asked.

I smiled brightly. It was the best answer I could come up with. Warriors didn't lie, you see, and as the future alpha of our pack, my father had raised me to be one.

An awkward silence was born as the noble waited for my answer.

When it became clear all I was going to do was smile, my fiancé Pasquale Hernandez smoothly stepped in. "She is a very shy thing, my betrothed."

That was a big fat lie, and we all knew it. But then Pasquale was not a warrior by choice. Even when we were young, he was the only panther I knew who preferred to watch from the sidelines, using his brains to manipulate rather than clawing his way to victory. It was a good tactic, and I admired him for it. Maybe, when we were married, I could get him to teach me to be as patient as he was.

When the nobleman walked away, Pasquale told me in an apologetic voice, "I apologize for this, princess. I know you are not used to such gatherings, but it is what my pack expects." His voice was smooth and courteous, as perfect as his princely appearance. He was probably the only panther in the world to feel more comfortable with a shirt than without one, and the more formal, the better.

"You have nothing to apologize for. I am the one who is in the wrong." The more time I spent with Pasquale, the stiffer I became. I knew he had the makings of a Prince Charming, but honestly he felt more like a headmaster – the kind that hated people who talked using contractions. With him, I always ended up saying 'I am' and 'you are', and heaven forbid if I ever used 'gotta' or 'wanna'.

Pasquale's gaze strayed to the main doors, where guests came through like an endless stream. "I see some more of my friends arriving. Would you like to join me…?"

I shook my head. "You will only have to worry about me if I did. Please enjoy yourself with your friends. I am more than happy here."

"If you are sure?"

I nodded. "I am." So please go, I couldn't help but think guiltily, before I forget how to speak proper English.

When Pasquale left, I managed to survive for three point five minutes. Two hundred and ten seconds of not looking at the dance floor…where he was.

Alejandro Moretti.

The charming playboy prince from the Moretti werewolf pack, brother to the heir, and – for over a week now – my Cavaliere. It meant bodyguard and P.R. guy among other things, a champion that potential female alphas like me needed in order to rule a pack without any objection from the Panthera.

Tall, dark—haired, and possessing his pack's famous emerald—green eyes, Alejandro was one beautiful specimen. I should know – I had seen him naked. It was just once, but it was more than enough. No matter how hard I tried, I just couldn't make myself forget. The look of it. The feel of it———

I irritably pushed the rest of my X—rated thoughts away. I had to stop thinking of him that way. Especially now that I was engaged.

Especially now that he was like…that.

Yes, I had lost the battle. I was now looking at my bodyguard, who was anything but. Bodyguards were supposed to stick close to their charges. They were supposed to be single—mindedly focused on anticipating and eliminating threats, but the only threat Alejandro seemed to care about right now was not getting laid.

He was on the dance floor, a wicked smile on his lips as he flirted and danced with a female painter. Wait, I meant panther. The way she was so obviously panting after him had me distracted.

He was dressed completely in black, as was his usual. The way his hands were roaming up and down her slender body, however, made it obvious that he might not be dressed for long.

The thought had me sucking my breath in. I knew I had no right to be hurt, but I was.

"Princess?"

My lips curved in a relieved smile when Stefano suddenly appeared at my side. Tall, blond, and gorgeous beyond belief, Stefano Guidicelli was also an impressive warrior. He had, in fact, all the makings of a true alpha but because he was the bastard son of a jaguar pack leader, he had ended up becoming my father's right—hand man.

"You appear troubled." It was his way of asking if I was about to cry. Warriors were not supposed to cry, and he was basically telling me to go somewhere private if I was about to forget that lesson.

"I won't be troubled if we dance."

Without a word, Stefano took my hand and whirled me onto the dance floor. He had spun me so fast it made me laugh as I placed one hand on his shoulder while his other hand clasped my waist. No sparks flew as our bodies came close. From the very start, Stefano and I had always known his heart belonged to my younger sister. I was totally fine with that. Stefano, however, was still in denial.

"You do not need to force yourself to do this, you know." The words were deliberately vague, but because we had known each other for so long, his meaning was clear. Others who may have overheard him were likely to think he was referring to my engagement with Pasquale, but that wasn't it.