Page 3 of Arranged Wolf's Nanny
“I mean, why go for human girls in the first place? They’ve already got the damn humans on all our asses for the way they handle justice in their parts…”
Breathe in, breathe out. Don’t react. Don’t let your scent give you away.
“Ancient history now, I suppose,” Paul said, examining his nails. “And we certainly can’t have them corrupting good shifter girls like your daughter!”
“Those lovely human girls are a benefit of integration with the humans,” her father agreed, his voice silky smooth and deadly.
I’m not really here. I’m somewhere else, somewhere far away.
She glanced around the room, feigning interest in the old portraits of long-dead men, convincing herself that if she stayed still enough, the dozens of pairs of eyes on her body would slip away.
She had been raised for this. Raisedinthis. She could handle it.
“Yes, this session is likely to be rather dull compared with meetings past,” Paul said, wrinkling his nose in disdain. “I hear we haven’t even got…entertainmentbooked for the evening.”
Something dark flashed across her father’s eyes. “We have Felix’s good judgment to thank for that, I’m sure.”
Paul sneered, “Good judgment indeed. The whelp is giving us a bad name, the humans think we’re going soft—"
“Careful,” her father responded. “You don’t want them overhearing you badmouthing them. They may appear soft, but you know as well as I that they’re anything but.”
“They’re not even here,” Paul said, purposefully raising his voice and sweeping his arm around, drawing the interest of a few nearby males. “Showy bastards always have to make an entrance.”
Rosalia’s breath hitched as his statement drew a few chuckles, anxiety curling deep in her belly. Her father had assured her that the Eastern Alliance meetings rarely turned violent—not like those Cross-Atlantic ones with the European packs—but there was a dangerous thrum in the air. A decidedly sinister undercurrent that curled around her limbs, raising her hackles, bringing her wolf oh so close to the surface. If Paul so easily badmouthed another pack so early in the day, how badly would tensions rise once the debates had actually begun?
Her father seemed to agree, a dangerous note twisting into the smooth silk of his voice. “The Iron Walkers and the Green Mountain Pack are official allies now. I would not have you insulting them so readily.”
Paul rolled his eyes with a groan. “Oh, don’t tell me you’re worried about me insulting Felix? He’s as soft as a lamb.”
Her father cocked an eyebrow. “Even if that were true, it’s not the alpha I’m worried about.”
Paul swiped a glass of fizzing champagne from a passing waiter, downing half of it in one go, “Then who…ah. Reinhardt. Should have guessed you’d be scared of him. He’s the same kind of snake as you.”
He said it with a strange sparkle in his eye, watching her father carefully for his reaction.
Her father’s hand tensed against her back. “If I were you,” he said quietly, “I’d be scared of Frederick Reinhardt, too.”
Paul opened his mouth to answer, but a commotion at the entrance drew his attention, along with half the shifters in the room.
Rosalia turned, her father’s hand a burning weight against her. Several alphas had flocked to the door, greeting the male who had strode in, voices climbing on top of each other to get his attention. He was tall and broad with the sort of magnetic energy that demanded attention, and the easy stride of a male who was well aware of his own power.
But it wasn’t him her eyes were drawn to.
Behind him, immaculately dressed in a tailored charcoal suit, dark brown hair perfectly styled into artful messiness, stalked another male. A male with dark, watchful eyes that instantly took in the room around him, darting from corner to corner as if drinking in information and hunting for threats. He was handsome, almost painfully so, the masculine planes of his face chiseled with Germanic regality, but he wore his looks like they were a weapon of their own to be honed into whatever tool he needed them to be.
Rosalia got the distinct sense that he was attempting to blend into the crowd, to melt away and let all the attention fall to the male in front of him, allowing him to watch from the shadows and strike like a viper only when necessary. All the males around her, with their posturing and bellowing and snarling, seemed to diminish into squabbling puppies in the face of this true predator.
‘Could he not have at least worn a suit jacket,’ her father tutted, narrowing his eyes at the male in the lead, who wore only a white shirt and slacks, his dark blond hair pulled back into a bun. “Felix is the alpha of one of the most powerful packs in the country. You’d think he’d dress the part.”
“He can do what he likes,” Paul said. “At least Rick’s followed the dress code.”
“Rick?” Rosalia found herself asking, flinching slightly at the sharp look from her father.
“The one in the gray suit,” Paul replied, grinning at her. “Frederick. The one your father’s so nervous about. He’s the pack negotiator. Officially speaking, that is. Rather more blood on his hands than a negotiator ought to have.”
At Rosalia’s startled look, Paul laughed, “You really are an innocent little thing, aren’t you? How charming.”
Rosalia swallowed, glancing back at the Iron Walkers. There were about ten in their retinue, including Alpha Felix and Frederick. Other shifters buzzed around them as they slowly became the epicenter of the foyer’s activity, pulling everyone in with sheer gravitational power. She caught the Black Claws closing ranks out of the corner of her eye, and when she turned to Frederick, she saw that he, too, was watching them with a guarded, fierce expression.
