Ayda's POV

I felt his calloused hands spreading my thighs open, the rough grit of his cheek as he kissed a line from my navel to my core. I swallowed back a moan, fingers ghosting over my parted lips to keep the sound in. Embarrassed for him to hear me, for anyone to hear me—the Princess of the Emerald Lake pack—panting like a common whore in the throes of heat. His tongue, half-transformed, slipped between my delicate folds and lapped at my sweet virginal essence with the fervor of a starved man. He rumbled, like he was savoring the taste, like I was some finely aged liquor, fragrant and heady on his tongue.

Gentle he was no more.

I gasped, back bowing, as my nipples tightened from the chill of the room warring with the heat I could feel engulfing me. His grip was almost bruising; I could feel the flex of his tendons as he fought the change. Fought to not take me as a beast but as a man. He had my curling toes in the silk of his sheets, crimson like most of the room. A forbidden color. A royal one. So different from the pine, sage, golds, and juniper green of my bedroom at home in the sleepy mountains.

He kissed me, full of longing and want, hot against my sex as he folded me in half. The air left me in a hushed murmur, his thick fingers replacing where his tongue had been. One became two became three, working me to madness. A pressure, a rich pressure, was building. A white phosphorescent coil sparked to life within me. Lazily almost, his lips teased me, mouthing fruitlessly until they found that hidden little button that made me keen.

Goddess, tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, so overwrought by his skill. My hips canted up, rolling despite my best efforts to control myself. To be the presentable lady, I was raised to be. But, I couldn't hold on! I couldn't stay that quiet, naive girl anymore. So ignorant to the pleasures of the flesh.

To him.

I wanted more. To be more, to know more, to feel more!

More.

The sudden revelation crackling along my body added to the fire—the inferno—raging within me. I panted wantonly in the air, smothered by the smell of sweat, sex, and his spicy aftershave. Of bergamot and fig, of cedar and smoke. I felt his smile before I heard that rich masculine chuckle, the scrape of teeth where skin ran thinnest. A dark promise of things to come.

A shadow loomed above me, and through the flutter of my lashes, I could see the vague shape of him. Large and domineering, but the hand that cupped my cheek was tender as it wiped errant tears away.

I closed my eyes, nuzzling into his palm as he adjusted himself, the blunt press of him larger than I thought I could handle.

“Relax," he breathed across my lips before he bit me hard enough to break the skin of my shoulder, distracting me from the dull throb of us becoming one. It was too much; it was far too much! And not enough! And much too soon, as the coil snapped tightly in my gut and the howl of my wolf tore through my throat.

I burned until there was nothing left, until only embers of the dream remained, framed by encroaching darkness.

And the glow of his golden eyes…

***

A foot kicked me square in the nose right before the wailing began, loud enough to make the pigeons scatter from their perch near my apartment window. That's how I woke up from my nap on a frigid Thursday afternoon, trying my hardest to escape a cold snap that had blanketed the city in a foot of snow. With a baby kick.

My baby, August, was in rare form, chubby newborn arms flailing to help give his kicks enough bite through their blue booties.

Goddess above, how long had I been out for? A half-hour? Forty minutes?

More?

I winced, my hair plastered to my face with about an ocean's worth of drying drool. I'd been aiming for the couch but hadn't succeeded because here I was on the rug of all places. These double shifts were going to kill me. I sat up with a yawn and ducked out of the way of angry feet.

Coffee was sorely needed.

“But first," I scooped up August, knowing now the cure for grumpy babies was blowing raspberries on stomachs. Mission accomplished! He giggled with gums on full display, smacking me excitedly in the face as he babbled nonsense at me. “Oh, I see, Gus. Uh-huh. So that's how Mr. Tosi keeps getting wives..."

Gus continued to regale me with the sordid tales of our neighbors' love lives as I toed on my slippers and sauntered into the kitchen on a mission for caffeine. Ah ha, a cup! But blast, no coffee in the mug! I was out of stock until I went to the store tonight after work and dreaded what that would mean for the next five hours.

“Ne neh," Gus solemnly vowed, “Geh."

Which I guessed was his way of commiserating with dear old mom. I appreciated the gesture of comradery and kissed his cheek, which he graciously accepted with a gurgling coo and a honk to my nose.

“Why, thank you, your majesty! Here, a tithe to the young prince!"

It hurt to say the title, knowing that with my exile, my son would never know that side of his heritage, but I'd made my decision. But, it was better for the two of us in the long run. There was no way I was giving my son up just to be a bargaining chip between my father and that bastard who'd wanted another trophy to add to his collection.

Ignoring my mood, August grabbed his teething ring from my limp hands, gummy little mouth already gnawing away happily. It was worth it; I had to keep reminding myself of that. Seeing Gus' happy face made it all worth it. Speaking of gnawing…

My belly rumbled, irritated that I hadn't eaten before my impromptu nap. Well, someone had eaten, which made my cheeks flush at the memory of that Alpha all those months ago. The one that swept me off my feet and gave me this bouncing bundle of joy nine months later. I wonder if he still thought of me or if I was just another passing fling—a lost rogue in a city of thousands.

Ugh, Ayda, focus. Food first, wistful daydreaming later. I opened the fridge, searching for something that looked edible. Score, a half-finished pastrami sandwich! I leaned against the counter with August cocked on my hip, munching on my sandwich as I tried to figure out what else I had today. Grocery shopping, laundry—

My clock chimed, making me jump a little. Ah, right. I probably only had another ten minutes before my lunch break was over…

…Or, it was over fifteen minutes ago...

Shit! Giselle was going to kill me!

The next moments were a blur between feeding August and trying to find where I threw my skirt earlier. Was it under the sofa again? Ugh, I hope not…

“Goddesses Three, girl!" The door to my apartment smacked open, causing me to bump my head into the frame of the sofa with a yelp. I did have my skirt, however. “You've certainly made a mess of things since yesterday, haven't you?"

Henrietta Morningside was a woman who needed no introduction. She breezed into a room like sunshine through the gloom. Everyone in Eventide knew of her in some fashion or another, she liked to dote upon the lost and needy, and in a city like this, those types of people were never in shortage. Henrietta shuffled through the door with her cane, gaudy rings on gnarled fingers catching the light. “Sorry, I'm late! Now, come here, sweet girl! Hug your Nana!"

I practically threw myself at her, Gus happily chittering as he'd found a new nose to grab onto. Henrietta took it all in stride, whisking away her surrogate grandson to hem and haw at his clothes. Mentally making note of any alterations, she wanted to do for future presents.

“How are you?" I noticed the stiffness in her posture. “Something wrong?"

“Nothing to worry your little head about. I just had another showing, is all..."

Likely that wasn't just all. Besides being an impromptu babysitter, Henrietta also doubled as my landlord. She'd been trying to sell the building for longer than I'd been renting. She was getting on in age, and tenants were becoming more of a hassle than she cared to admit.

“Did it go well?" I was hopeful, even though my gut told me otherwise.

Henrietta sighed, putting August down in his high chair, and motioning for me to turn around. I could feel her fingers make the familiar twists to braid my hair back into a single plait.

“Alister—the man who's thinking of buying—he's mentioned some…concerns about some of the tenants."

“You mean that he doesn't want a pack less rouge with a baby out of wedlock ruining his future investments reputation?"

There was no point beating around the bush about it.

We both knew that what Alister was saying wasn't abnormal. In fact, every prospective buyer had been expressing similar caveats. I couldn't let Henrietta become destitute just because of my misfortune. Besides, I was already saving up enough cash to pay for a tribute to join a pack again. It wouldn't be the same as Emerald Lake—nothing would ever be like Emerald Lake—but I could at least secure a feature for myself and August. I'd be damned if I gave up now.

Henrietta finished my braid and spun me back around to face her. Her smile was wide enough that I could see that gold canine of hers that she was so fond of.

“Let's not dwell on tomorrow, yeah? Nothing is set in stone except yesterday, and today is always a present. Remember that, lovely. Now," she clapped her hands, rings clacking together. “Why don't you skedaddle on downstairs so I can spoil my grandson rotten, hmm?"

I said my goodbyes to the pair of them, locking the door behind me. Unlike others in the city, my commute wasn't bad. The salon was on the ground floor of the building, and it was easy enough to sneak into the back undetected.

Regina, one of the newer wolves, caught me clipping on my nametag. She was eating a gyro out of a brown paper bag, tzatziki sauce coating her mouth.

“Giselle is looking for you," she said in between bites. “We have a full FUBAR in the Pink Parlor."

The Pink Parlor was an exclusive section of the shop where wealthy clientele usually sat.

Shit.

My heels clicked along the floor as Regina shouted: “Good luck!"

“—Of course, I understand how unfortunate it is that our best hairstylist isn't in currently—“

By the time I moved the gauzy curtains of the Pink Parlor back, my boss Giselle Dubois looked as though she needed a rescue. She was caged in a circle of fourteen wolf shifters of high breeding; each woman built like an Amazon. I wasn't used to anyone making the ginger look tiny, but they'd managed to succeed with their superior height and heft.

All except one.

She was as tall as the rest of them, but she was made for matters of court more than a soldier's den. All lithe seductive grace and calculating hoarfrost eyes. A daughter any Luna would love to have called their own.

I made eye contact with her the same moment Giselle spotted me, “And there she is now! Ayda, come here!"

Giselle didn't wait for me to come to her; she grabbed my wrist with a steel grip and dragged me bodily across the slate floor. “Ayda, Princess Narcissa Onasis. Princess Onasis, our best hairdresser."

“Well, let's hope she's better at doing other people's hair than she is her own," a blonde sniped from the side of Narcissa's entourage, and the rest of the women laughed in chorus.

I curtsied despite the blush staining my cheeks, wanting to keep things professional.

“A pleasure to serve you today, Your Majesty." Better to be humble than to be arrogant. I was the one late, after all.

“Where were you?" Giselle hissed, low enough so I was the only one who could hear her as she followed my curtsey. “Never mind, I don't actually care. If you weren't such a savant and a genuinely good person, I'd send you packing for the stunt you pulled today!"

“I'm sorry," and this time my words were sincere. Guilt ate away at any lingering embarrassment. “I went to take a nap, and just…passed out. Babies take a lot out of you."

“Do not blame that perfect, adorable angel—“ Giselle moved her hand in the sign of the Goddess Hecate, a habit she had of doing before she cursed.

“—for your f*ck up!... Gus is good, though, right?"

“Just peachy with Henrietta."

“Good, but me and her—“

“—her and I—“

“Semantics! Me and her are going to have a talk about baby hogging. Again. I didn't buy this expensive bassinet for nothing!"

My throat felt tight, again taken aback by the kindness of those around me:

“You're the best you know that?"

Giselle moved out of her courtesy first, head bowed respectfully, but her eyes were on me when she said: “Remember, ladies, at Dubois' you're not just customers, you're family."

I nodded, rising from my courtesy: “Family."

“Right," Giselle clapped her hands, back to the unflappable businesswoman I was used to seeing. “Well, ladies, you are in wonderful hands now. Please enjoy the delights of our best of the best. And be sure to tell all your friends!"

Giselle couldn't get out of the parlor quickly enough.

Which left me alone with a small battalion of mean girls.

“Your Highness." I showed Narcissa to her chair, an obnoxious velvet number that looked like a knock-off of the temple thrones you'd see for the Goddesses.

“If you would please have a seat here."

“About bloody time," Narcissa leaned back in her chair, posed in a way as if she was expecting an audience with the Obsidian Moon royalty. “I was told your skills are one without parallel. I intend to see if the rumors are true." She gave me a once over, arching a brow like she wasn't impressed. “Shall we begin?"

Oh, I think we shall.

It didn't take long for me to get Narcissa's hair into the style she'd described. It was simple enough, though each member of her clique made the work feel infinitely longer thanks to their disparaging comments. It took everything in me not to shift, to bear my fangs in a sign of aggression. But then I thought about Giselle and the other women who worked at Powder, everyone who'd poured their all into keeping the shop open. Having a falling out with a powerful client like Narcissa, or Goddess forbid an actual physical confrontation, would be catastrophic. So I held my tongue, the last of her hair woven into a fake rose in line with the others that flowed down her back.

The room was blessedly silent for once.

Perhaps too silent.

I fought the urge to pet my goosebumps away as one of her entourage gave Narcissa a hand mirror. The pregnant pause weighed upon me fiercely until Narcissa put the mirror face down on her lap, long legs crossed at the ankles.

“Well done," the dusting of rose gold I'd added to her copper eyeshadow made her eyes heart-stopping quicksilver. She smiled thinly, a neat press of teeth to nude lips. “Subtle enough to appear natural, but bold enough to let those know I am not to be taken lightly. You've passed your test with flying colors."

She clapped hollowly, a sentiment shared by the rest of the group.

“I beg your pardon?"

“I want you," Narcissa rose to her full height, the sharp edges of her pewter gray gown exaggerating every dangerous curve she had as she stalked toward me. “Your skill, your hands. I require them for the most important event in the history of lycanthrope society," her eyes flashed full of greed and pride. “My wedding." She walked sharp fingers up my chest to crook an index under my chin. “I want you to be my personal stylist on the venture in one month's time."

No doubt to coincide with the first full moon of the new year. An ancient superstition, but one popular nonetheless. After all, who wouldn't want to gain Three Goddesses' Blessing?

Narcissa took my hesitation for wariness and pressed: “You'd be paid a proper wage of a million Orichalcum."

I…clearly hadn't heard her right, but one look at her smug face confirmed that—yes—she'd said what she said. With that much money, I would have enough to pay tribute to a proper pack. Joining would be no issue. This was the break I'd prayed for!

“Goddess above, yes," Narcissa tittered at my eagerness, motioning for her group to collect her belongings stored away in a hidden closet. “Of course, Your Highness, I would have to bring my son with me. He's only four months old, still breastfeeding, and I—“

“—Oh," Narcissa's eyes skimmed over my neck, now keenly aware that there was no silvery mating mark. “You're mateless—“

“—And with a child? Oh, the scandal—“

“—that's low-borns for you, like bitches in heat always—“

“—Sure you want a tawdry little minx like that in your party, Narcissa? We all know Sebas—“

“Quiet." There was pressure in the air, the temperature plummeting so sharply that it left my breath fogged as ice formed on the salon mirrors. The power of a wolf that had heard her calling. Her pack fell in line, some even bearing their necks in complete submission. She turned back to me, eyes glowing with feral energy. Wolf's eyes. “Your status as a single mother, though…ill repute, does not take away from your skillset. You will be my stylist and I will send for you in a week's time to start preparations. Is that clear?"

It seemed pointless to refuse her: “Yes, Your Highness."

“Good. Will this be your first time outside of Eventide City?"

That got my attention. I knew a woman of her apparent standing wouldn't be living in the city, but I imagined her having a manor in one of the surrounding lowlands. Narcissa made it seem like the journey would take at least a couple of days' worth by car.

“Your Highness?"

Narcissa held her arms out to shrug into her coat, the mouthy dirty blonde from before helping her. The back of the garment was embroidered with a silver birch tree with a stone well at its roots.

The Diamond Spring pack.

Though not particularly dangerous on their own, they had been making progress in gaining favor with the other more powerful packs in lycanthropic society.

Narcissa looked up, hands still fastening her bone buttons: “I do believe I asked you a question first. Well, will it?"

“No, I mean—“ I fumbled with what to say, how to lie about my standing, where I'd come from. “—that is to say—"

“It hardly matters. Just dress appropriately. Only the best for Castle Lykaia, understood?"

And that's when I realized I'd never asked her who her groom-to-be was.

“Your Highness," I said carefully. “Who is the lucky man?"

And she told me, over her shoulder on her way out, as if it was the most casual thing in the world:

“Prince Sebastian Lykaios of the Obsidian Moon Pack."

The most powerful pack in all of Capitoline.