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  Chapter 2

  Two mornings later, we flew out of Tristan’s private air field north of New York City on route to Clarissa’s wedding in Chicago. I’d packed way more clothing than I’d need over the course of two days, including the god-awful lavender polyester bridesmaid’s gown that my best friend had picked out for her small wedding party. I hadn’t said it out loud, but I was pretty sure she’d done it ironically. Clarissa’s sense of style and humor were both way too good not to see how horrendous the garment was.

  When the dress had arrived in the mail I’d pulled it out of its garment bag and nearly choked on my laughter. When Tristan had tried to convince me that it wasn’t so bad, I’d told him it looked like Little Bo Peep’s dress had fallen into a vat of purple dye, thrown up on itself, then gained forty pounds. “The skirt’s so big,” I’d insisted, “that you could put on a circus under there. Complete with elephants.”

  Tristan had laughed and told me there was nothing wrong with a big skirt. “All the better to slip underneath and finger you,” he’d said, which was reason enough to warm to the dress immediately.

  The good news was that for today’s journey, I got to wear whatever I wanted, so my selection consisted of a short black and white cotton dress and a pair of comfortable flats. Flammable polyester atrocities could wait until tomorrow.

  As usual Tristan was seated next to me on the jet, looking over some of his company’s financial numbers on a stack of papers that sat in his lap. I loved when he immersed himself in his mysterious work. It reminded me of his power, his status as one of the most successful men in America’s corporate world. Tristan was a mogul, a businessman responsible for thousands of employees and billions of dollars in assets.

  Ironically, that was the least impressive thing about him. The fact that he’d lived over two centuries, that his body could transform into a gigantic, fiercely beautiful wolf, and that he was in charge of a secret network of shifters and Valkyries—that was a whole other level of impressive.

  As I watched him work, I let myself breathe slowly, savoring the feeling of pure relaxation. Thanks to Tristan I’d largely gotten over my old fear of flying. For that matter, I’d lost my fear of most things because of my lover. We’d been through so much together that there was little that I found daunting at this point.

  Life was close to perfect.

  Which always scared the hell out of me.

  About twenty minutes into the flight, feeling a little stir crazy, I rose from my seat.

  “Where are you off to, lover?” Tristan asked, raising his chin and turning to look at me.

  “Stretching my legs. I need to use the little girls’ room,” I replied, giving him a wink before I grabbed my leather purse from its place on the couch behind us.

  “Just don’t get lost on the way.”

  “If I do, I trust that you’ll come find me. You do have an impressive nose on you.”

  Tristan smiled and returned his gaze to his work. “That I do,” he said.

  Slinging my purse over my shoulder, I took off for the luxurious bathroom at the back of the jet. It was larger than any I’d ever seen on a plane, complete with a double vanity that looked like it was made of marble. More than once Tristan and I had made love in the pristine white shower while the plane’s tail had bounced around from a particularly violent bout of turbulence. We’d had wild sex in every other possible corner of the jet—even once in the cockpit, after a particularly rocky landing. Apparently our membership to the mile-high club included every perk imaginable.

  When the bathroom’s automatic lights sprang to life I stared in the mirror, tidying my hair, which was half clipped back, the rest falling in brown waves around my shoulders.

  Not bad, but you could do a little better, I thought, trying not to be too critical of my face. I’d never thought of myself as particularly beautiful, though Tristan had managed to cure me of the notion that I was plain. I’d convinced myself during our time together that if I was really as dull-looking as I’d always thought, there was no way the sexiest man on the planet would want so badly to get his face between my legs. At least, that was my story…and I was sticking to it.

  I rifled around in my purse for a few seconds, hoping to come across a tube of my favorite lipstick. But instead, my fingers landed on a small, round metallic object.

  Confused for a moment, I wrapped my fingers around the cold mystery and slowly pulled it out of the bag, clenching it tightly in my fist.

  A sudden sense of dread swirled menacingly through my insides as an ugly thought took root in my mind, resurrecting a memory I’d hoped never to revisit. Wincing, I opened my hand to reveal the silver locket sitting in my palm. An antique, engraved with two swirling letters.

  E. D.

  Like a woman possessed by a fleeting moment of masochism, I clicked it open and stared at the image inside—a tiny portrait of a beautiful woman with bright eyes and flaming red hair.

  Some unconscious reflex made me drop my hand to my side, and the locket fell to the bathroom’s steel floor with a strange, heavy thud.

  “Elodie,” I breathed into the space around me like a huff of frosty vapor. Tristan’s former fiancée was staring up at me as though her tiny portrait had deliberately come to life and was clawing its way into my mind. “How did…?”

  I had no recollection of putting the locket into my purse, no recollection, even, of holding onto it after discovering it in Tristan’s old family home. When I’d confronted Tristan in New Orleans, it had only been to talk about his old journal, the ancient tome that recounted his entire sordid history—minus the many pages that had been torn out by someone else’s hand.

  All of a sudden I wished I’d thrown the silver pendant into the marshy waters of New Orleans, or better still, burned it into a mess of melted metal, never to open again.

  I reached down to the floor without looking, shut the locket quickly and slammed it back into my purse, vowing to dispose of it at my earliest chance. I never wanted to look at that face again. Never wanted to think about the life Tristan had once had, a life that had ended in torture and pain.

  A life that I’d hoped would never again come back to haunt either of us.

  I pulled myself to my feet and looked in the mirror again, breathing slowly, all too aware of how pale my face had gone.

  Why am I so upset about a dead woman? I asked my reflection silently. It’s not her fault things went badly for him. It’s not her fault my life has been so screwed up for so long. She was a victim, too.

  So why do I hate her so much?

  I wanted to slap myself for being so damned selfish. The fact was, Elodie Demarche had lost Tristan a long, long time ago. They’d never been able to follow through on their plan to marry. She’d died in childbirth. If anyone in this scenario had gotten the raw end of the deal, it was her.

  With a quick pinch of my cheeks and a deep exhale, I pushed open the door and headed back towards my fiancé, reminding myself that our life together was amazing, and I had nothing to be afraid of.

  By the time I sat down next to Tristan again, I’d managed to restore calm to my insides and put on a happy smile. I had no time for ghosts. No time for sorrow.

  I was not going to let a spectre ruin my life.

  He was still working intently on his numbers, so I amused myself by holding up my left hand and fixing my eyes on my ring as if to further drive home the point that my delicious fate was sealed.

  “I suppose I can’t wear this to the wedding,” I said, my eyes locked on the incredible work of art that sparkled on my finger.

  “What? Why not?” Tristan asked as he drew his eyes up from his work, a slightly hurt hue shading his tone. “I thought you liked it.”

  “Are you kidding me?” I asked, dropping my hand. “You know I love it more than anything I’ve ever owned. Hell, I’d marry this ring if I could.”

  “Ah, so now the truth comes out. I see where your affection truly lies,” he teased. “You want to run away with that di
amond bastard. Well, I’ll have words with the fucker later. No one steals my woman.”

  I laughed, turning towards him to see the amused smile on his amazing lips. The man was incapable of looking anything other than delicious, whatever his expression. Even when he flew into a rage, all I wanted was to tear my clothes off and ask him to take it out on me. One thing was sure; the fact that he’d committed to me for life had done nothing to diminish my attraction to him. If anything, I wanted him more than ever. We’d had more sex since he’d slipped the ring on my finger than ever before—which I’d always thought was physically impossible.

  To be honest, I was amazed that I could still stand up straight after the last few weeks.

  “Seriously though, if you love the ring, then what’s the problem?” he asked. “Why would you want to take it off for the wedding?”

  I let out a scoffing breath from between my lips. “You men are so naive. But I’ll try my best to explain it,” I said, pressing my index finger to my chin as if I was suddenly deep in thought. “Hmm, let’s see. For one thing, Clarissa would lose her whole damned mind if I showed up with this thing on.”

  “What? Why?”

  I rolled my eyes. For an incredibly worldly, experienced man, he really didn’t understand women, did he? “Look,” I began, “she’s super-laid back in almost every way, but if I turn up with you on my arm and this bling on my finger, she’ll think I’m trying to steal her thunder on her big day. And frankly, she’d have a point. I may as well walk in wearing a wedding gown and ringing a bell while I sing a song called I’m Marrying the Richest, Handsomest Man Ever and Oh By the Way, Look At All My Amazing Stuff, You Losers.”

  Tristan let out a laugh that told me he was beginning to get it. “Okay, fair enough,” he said. “So put it away for the wedding, then. Just make sure you wear it for the rest of your life, so the world knows you’re my woman.”

  I slapped his arm and let out a snort-laugh. “You do realize that it’s considered pretty Neanderthal-like to refer to your wife as your woman, right?”

  “Fine, then,” he said, easing towards me in his seat, his eyes narrowing. “Let’s just refer to you as my forever eternal lover who loves my cock with a passion unequaled in the history of humankind.”

  “So much better.” I gave him a quick kiss on the lips then went back to staring at the massive diamond surrounded by a circle of perfect, round rubies. “And in case you’re actually wondering how much I love it, let’s just say that someone would have to take a chainsaw to my hand to get it off me after tomorrow.”

  “Good. But let’s hope they don’t.” With that, Tristan gave my bare thigh an affectionate squeeze, which immediately pried my mind away from sparkly things. “You know, I’m looking forward to wearing a ring myself,” he said.

  “Oh?” I asked. “You’re into wedding bands? Funny, I never thought of you as the type.”

  “Who said anything about wedding bands?” he said, shifting his gaze very deliberately down towards his fly, which concealed a large, mouth-watering bulge.

  “Ah, I get it. So when I head to the jeweler I’ll be asking for an extra-large cock ring, then?”

  “Extra-extra-large, just to be safe. I wouldn’t want to cut off the circulation down there, if you know what I’m saying.”

  A laugh bubbled up in my chest. “Sure. I’ll make sure it’s diamond-encrusted too.”

  “That sounds like it would be painful, for one of us at least.”

  I chuckled again and looked up towards the front of the plane. The cockpit door was open, revealing the backs of two heads—Tristan’s usual pilot and a co-pilot I’d never met before today. “Hey, not to change the subject, but I couldn’t help but notice that Kara’s not up front. Where is she?” The Valkyrie was always along for Tristan’s flights. It felt strange to know she wouldn’t be greeting us outside the plane when we landed.

  “I…gave her a little errand to run,” he replied in a shady tone. “But don’t worry, it’s a quick one. She’ll probably be with us when we run off to elope in our special location.”

  I eyed him suspiciously. “An errand, you say?” I asked. “That sounds sketchy.”

  “It is. Totally sketchy.”

  “Okay, well, Mr. Mysterious, I won’t ask any more questions about who’s in the cockpit, or why.”

  Tristan reached a hand over and dipped his fingers between my thighs and under my skirt, slipping gently over my folds through my panties, which drew a hard gasp from between my lips. “There’s only one cock pit worth thinking about,” he said, his voice taking on the low, needful tone that told me how hungry he was to get his mouth on me. “And the only one who should ever find his way into its depths, for the record, is yours truly.”

  We landed in Chicago at one p.m. The rehearsal was to begin at five, followed by dinner at some restaurant near the hotel that Clarissa had selected for her guests. Fortunately for my sanity, she and James had taken on the services of an extremely thorough wedding planner. Which meant that I hadn’t had to help her pick out flowers, or write out a million addresses on envelopes, or whatever it was that bridesmaids were expected to do.

  The best part was that she’d also decided against a bachelorette party, which was the most massive relief of all. Much as I loved her, I had no desire to pretend to drool over oil-covered male strippers with a bunch of drunk women who were intent on almost cheating on their significant others.

  Since I’d met Tristan I hadn’t even been able to imagine finding another man attractive, regardless of how prominent his abdominal muscles were, or how handsome his face. That is, if you didn’t count my brief and all too horrifying moments of brainwashing by his cruel brother, Krane. A dragon shifter with a seriously manipulative streak, he’d tested me on more than one occasion. The man was dangerously charming, handsome, and he locked his female victims into his sexual spells with a scent that seemed entirely composed of some kind of erotic, mind-warping chemicals.

  Nothing had happened between us. But still, they were moments I preferred to forget.

  All I really wanted was to focus on Clarissa. To see my friend married and happy…so I’d get my turn to be selfish and run off to marry the man I loved.

  “So,” Tristan sighed when he and I found ourselves tucked into the back of the stretch limousine that was to take us to the hotel. “We have a couple of hours before the rehearsal. What do you want to do between now and then?”

  I shot him a look that said You know perfectly well what I want. I was actually impressed that we’d managed to remain relatively chaste on the plane. Maybe it was the presence of the new co-pilot that had kept us relatively reserved. But he was gone now, and we were enclosed in a dark, secluded space, all alone.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” I said nonchalantly, leaning back in the seat and parting my legs slightly. “What do you want to do?”

  “Naughty fiancée.” When he slipped his hand between my legs, I closed my eyes and gently pressed my hips forward against his touch, aware that the driver might very well figure out what we were up to. Then again, it probably wasn’t the first time passengers had done forbidden things in the back of his limo.

  “I wonder, future Mrs. Wolfe, how many times I can make you come between now and the rehearsal,” Tristan said, his deep voice dripping with sensuality.

  “Would you like to find out?” I asked.

  He answered by pushing my hair away from my neck and kissing it, his tongue stroking over my skin, seeking out my accelerating pulse. His lips sucked gently as if they were making a concerted effort to remind me what my clit would feel like in a few minutes if we both got what we wanted.

  I loved how consumed he was by my pleasure, how generous a lover he was. His entire mind focused on me, on ensuring that I experience the pinnacle of physical sensation, even as I begged for him to drive himself inside me. Tristan was like a sexual artist, a tantalizing creator whose sole goal was to paint orgasms across my mind and body.

  But right now, I wanted a
little privacy.

  “Excuse me,” I said loudly, drawing the driver’s attention.

  “Yes, Miss?”

  “How far is the hotel?”

  “Twenty minutes or so,” he replied.

  I looked at Tristan, my eyebrows raised. “That’s not very long,” I said.

  “Hey, driver,” Tristan called out. “There’s a five-hundred dollar tip in it for you if you take us the long way.”

  “Got it, Mr. Wolfe.”

  “And by the way, you might want to avoid looking in the mirror for the next little while.”

  “Understood.” The chauffeur pressed a button, raising the dark privacy window between his section of the car and ours.

  “Smart man,” I said.

  “He is,” said Tristan, dropping to his knees in front of me and pushing my skirt upwards until he’d exposed the tops of my thighs.

  “I wasn’t talking about him,” I purred, shoving my pelvis forward in invitation.

  “Best five hundred dollars I ever spent,” said Tristan and wrenching my panties to the side and pushing his tongue inside me.

  This was going to be the sweetest ride of all time.

  Chapter 3

  The hotel suite was amazing, as expected. Tristan had naturally insisted on booking the most expensive suite on the top floor overlooking the river. The rooms were massive, the windows looking out on the city in every direction. For a few minutes I stood and watched boats cruise by eighty stories below as the bridges lifted to greet them. I couldn’t help but marvel at how beautiful the city looked from the sky. Manhattan from Tristan’s penthouse had always charmed me too, in ways I’d never known from ground level. From so high up I almost felt like I was flying, soaring above the world like a bird.

  I wondered sometimes if this was how the raven shifters felt. Then again, they had control over their destinations. They could move around, their wings taking them from place to place and land on top of any building they chose. It had to be a liberating, beautiful sensation.