Page 68 of Her Wolf

Dona Cora

“They’re ready,” Finn murmured in Cora’s ear.

Her skin prickled, both because of his sudden proximity and his announcement. She spun to him, doing her best to keep a smile pasted on her face so he wouldn’t notice her hands trembling.

They’d converted the hotel’s ballroom into a mini club with a DJ stand at one end and a small bar at the other, and she and Finn had been about to step back onto the dance floor.

Not that Finn danced. He stood a few feet away, scanning the crowds so intently that she could see more than a few nervous faces close by.

She gave her hands a quick shake. Ana, who’d Finn had told to trail her like a puppy the whole night, noticed the gesture. “What’s wrong?” she asked above the music.

“I have to go,” Cora said, leaning in so she didn’t have to shout.

“Must I come with?” Ana asked.

“No. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Or never, depending how the meeting went.

Cora looked past Finn. “Where’re Lars and—?”

“Bailey’s meeting us there,” Finn said. “Not sure about Lars—he’s not answering his radio.”

“Is he okay?”

Finn turned, guiding her ahead with fingers to the small of her back. “I’ll keep trying, soon as we’re out of this noise.”

Noise.

If she hadn’t been feeling so nervous, she’d have smiled. Apparently, she and Finn had radically different tastes in music. She loved feeling bass vibrating through her body.

Finn seemed to tune it out.

From what she’d understood, Ana had said the guest list was close to two hundred. But there were over two hundred people in the hotel.

Maybe that had just been her guests, not Neo’s.

“And Neo?” she asked, glancing at Finn over her shoulder.

“He’s the one that radioed in.” Finn didn’t look happy about that. Then again, he hadn’t worn a smile since they’d left the villa.

She walked a little faster, swaying dangerously in her stilettos. A dining hall with deteriorating chandeliers housed twenty intimate cocktail tables. A buffet spread against one wall, serving a steady stream of party goers with everything from caviar to veal. The music was a subtle, soothing jazz — a stark contrast to the frenetic, almost tribal bass she’d been listening to in the ballroom.

They were just about to exit the dining hall when someone called out, “Princesa!” close enough—and loud enough—to make her flinch. She spun, and took a step back as a masked man hurtled toward her from the crowd. She was still standing there like a stunned rabbit when Finn appeared, hand out to block the person advancing on her with such determination.

“Is me!” came a voice muffled by a mask. It looked like a caricature of the devil; a wide open curving mouth with a forked tongue carved onto the lower half of one cheek, sharply arched brows, a chisel of a nose, and a pair of sharp, twisted horns. The man grabbed the edge of his mask and lifted. “Miguel!”

Cora’s shoulders drooped with relief.

Finn stepped aside as Miguel came closer. The man took Cora’s hand. “May your birthday be blessed, Princesa,” Miguel murmured, and looked about to plant a kiss on the top of her hand when Finn gently urged him away.

“We have somewhere to be, Miguel,” Finn said, briskly but not unkindly.

“Si, si.” Miguel gave her a warm smile, and then slipped his mask back on.

“Enjoy the evening,” Cora said, giving him a smile before following Finn from the dining hall.

Finn guided her up a short flight of stairs and down a wide passage. To the left, was the hotel’s front entrance, now sealed. To the right, the powder rooms and the den.

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