Page 48 of The Forbidden Wolf

I bit my lip. “I don’t know.”

Ruby smirked as she lifted a diamond necklace from its black velvet box on the bed. “I would not wish for one in your position.”

“Ruby!” I laughed, swatting her playfully as I would Charlie, Evan, or Jayla.

“I’ve known the Alpha Heir since we were pups.” Ruby laid the necklace against my bare collarbones, and the weight of the cold metal sent a shiver down my spine. “He can be gruff, but he is a gentlewolf through and through. You’ve no need for a chaperone.”

“He’s going to kiss me,” I said. “There’s no way he won’t. Not after all this.” I gestured at the bags and boxes piled all around my room. “And whatever he’s spending on dinner at a restaurant where I need to be dressed like this? Oh, yeah, he’s going to expect a kiss. Bare minimum.”

“Would that be so bad?” Ruby asked, fastening the necklace. “Perhaps it would awaken your own fated mate feelings, and then you could just… allow yourself to be happy.”

“Perhaps,” I muttered, unsure if I really wanted to feel hopelessly enamored with someone I didn’t know very well. If that’s how love worked, then what did it even mean?

“Here.” Ruby placed a pair of heels in front of my bare feet. “Take a few minutes to steady your nerves while I send word that you’re ready.”

I nodded my assent, and Ruby slipped out into the hall. The unavoidable slamming of the heavy wooden door rattled me to the core. I smoothed my hands over the gathered bodice of my gown, trying to slow the rapid rise and falls of my ribs. Sebastian and I would mate. Not tonight. But soon. So I had better appreciate being able to fit in something like this while I still could. Although, given both our mothers’ struggles, it might take us considerably longer to get the job done than everyone hoped.

Strange coincidence, that.

I know, right?

One of many.

One of a few. Let’s not go crazy.

What if he’s right?

I paused, one shoe on and one shoe off. Do you think he’s right?

His wolf is very attractive, in case you didn’t notice.

I was a little busy. And that’s not what I asked.

I don’t feel fated. But…

But? I slipped my left foot into the second heel.

Something’s amiss. Trust me if you won’t—

The heels gave way beneath my wobbly legs, and I pitched sideways, catching myself on the nightstand before my knees could buckle. Rough paper interrupted the polished surface beneath my palm—Mateo’s card. I had forgotten all about it after Yara’s episode, and the creamy material had been expertly camouflaged on the ivory wood. I picked it up and unsealed the flap, trying not to feel too weirded out by the gesture. He probably just meant to assure me there were no hard feelings based on my father’s actions, but—

What the hell?

I stared at the face peeking over the edge of the envelope. The same face I’d just glimpsed in the mirror only kissed by the sun and faded by time. I ripped it out and clutched it with both hands, letting the envelope fall to the floor. My mother grinned up at me, easy and free, surrounded by a dozen or so friends around the same age, each one looking equally pleased to be in each other’s company. They were posed in front of a stone wall, dressed in the human fashion of the mid-1990s that I knew from the movies.

A handsome young man stood next to my mother with his chin hooked over her shoulder and one hand resting on her hip. His kind eyes drifted sideways toward her while every other pair looked straight into the camera. I swallowed so hard my ears popped like cannon shots. Mateo knew my mother alright. I turned the photo over, hoping for some sort of explanation, but the words scrawled on the back only made things more confusing—Children of Leto, 1994.

The hair on the back of my neck stood up. Chann and Marrak were the children of Leto. Minutes after tapping this card, Yara fell into a dissociative trance and claimed her daughter bore the mark of Chann on her left shoulder, which sounded like something you might say if you’d been part of a group called the Children of Leto. I turned the photo over and scanned the happy faces for anyone who looked like a twenty-year-old version of Yara or even Max, but no one came close to either.

The front door beeped and whirred as Ruby inserted her key card. The old-fashioned lock Sebastian had installed my first night to keep me from roaming had mysteriously disappeared during my recovery, and I was now free to come and go as I pleased inside the Plaza. Perks of nearly being slaughtered, I supposed.

As the door swung open, I quickly shoved the photo under the neatly folded edge of the comforter. I needed time to think before I shared that information with anyone. Based on their fashion sense alone, I had a feeling the Children of Leto were some sort of rebels. But did that mean they were a twelve-person grunge band or some sort of cult? I knew Damian would say the difference was negligible.

“Your Grace,” Ruby called, even though I’d specifically asked her not to refer to me with any absurd honorifics. “Your car is waiting.”

Chapter Nineteen

The black-and-white vintage Rolls Royce sped north on Third Avenue. Then it slammed on its brakes at 62nd Street. Then it sped up again. Then it slammed the brake again at 65th Street. It went on like that block after block after Upper East Side block. My mostly empty stomach gurgled queasily. My head throbbed from being thrown against the back of the stiff leather seat over and over and over and over. The only bright spots on this harrowing journey were the pesky lights once again flickering at the edges of my vision.

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