‘Don’t worry,’ Alexander murmured. ‘There’ll be many others here who aren’t werewolves. You won’t be the only one.’ He paused. ‘But you’ll be the only one who looks so spectacularly beautiful.’
Mallory plucked self-consciously at her dress and the magicked butterflies fluttered at her touch. She was aware thatshe was already drawing curious glances from other guests, though she was certain that was more because of who she was with rather than what she was wearing.
Reminding herself of the reason she was there, and unwilling to appear romantically involved with Alexander, she stepped slightly away to put some air between them. He immediately stiffened but before she could explain herself, a tuxedoed werewolf approached them. ‘Alexander MacTire! This is the first time I’ve seen you wearing a kilt at one of these shindigs!’
Alexander responded with an easy grin. ‘I thought I’d make an effort.’ He waved at the other man’s outfit. ‘After all, I’d hate to be mistaken for a waiter.’
The werewolf roared with laughter and turned to Mallory. ‘And who is your glorious date?’
‘A curious companion rather than a date,’ Mallory replied swiftly. ‘I’m Mallory.’
The wolf bowed. ‘Alisdair Bartonwich, at your service.’ He smiled. ‘You’re not a wolf.’
Alexander snorted. ‘Well spotted.’
‘My old friend here is terribly rude,’ Alisdair said. ‘I’m going to ignore him and focus on you because you are far more beautiful and considerably more interesting. So you’re not a wolf, you’re not a witch and you’re not a druid. That much is obvious.’ He sniffed the air. ‘I can’t smell any magic.’
Mallory curtsied and the hundreds of butterflies flapped and shimmered. ‘That’s because I don’t have any.’
He stared at her. ‘You’re a squib?’ He turned to Alexander. ‘I knew you were a maverick, but this is definitely new. No wonder we’ve never met before tonight.’
‘Now who sounds rude?’ Alexander asked.
Alisdair bowed again. ‘Forgive me. You usually have more powerful women on your arm.’
Mallory felt a stab of pain. She didn’t need another reminder that she would never be right for Alexander MacTire, but here it was all the same.
Alexander only barked out a laugh. ‘Oh, Alisdair, you truly have no idea of what real power is. Mallory may not be forced to turn furry once a month by the whims of the moon but she has far more power at her fingertips than you could ever imagine.’
‘Interesting,’ Alisdair mused. ‘Very interesting.’
‘It’s quite true. Just ask my friend Kevin.’
Mallory blinked as Alisdair frowned. ‘Kevin? Kevin who?’ he asked.
Alexander laughed again. ‘Never mind. Come on, Mallory, let’s find our table.’
They moved away. ‘Alisdair isn’t a bad sort,’ he told her, once they were out of earshot. ‘But he enjoys hiding his aggression behind a polite veneer that only thinly veils his intentions. We are not exactly friends, regardless of what he might suggest.’
Mallory glanced first at him and then at the werewolves around them who were shaking hands, patting backs, dipping heads and murmuring to each other. ‘This is much more than a posh party, isn’t it?’
‘Oh yes. The three Ps of the Wolf Ball: posturing, politics, and pretence.’
‘What about the one R?’ she asked. ‘Romance?’
He looked into her eyes. ‘That still remains to be seen,’ he said softly. ‘But I am very optimistic.’
The vast ballroomhad a large stage and area for dancing as well as numerous tables, each one with plates, glasses, shining silvercutlery and small white cards with names written in exquisite calligraphy.
‘Hold on a moment,’ Alexander said. ‘I’ll find out where we’re sitting. There ought to be a seating chart somewhere. The alphas are usually together.’
‘There’s no need,’ Mallory said cheerfully. ‘I know where we’re sitting – and I’m afraid it’s not at an alphas-only table.’
He frowned. ‘How do you know?’
She didn’t reply but moved to the right and made a beeline for one of the quieter spots to the side of the stage. ‘It’s this way.’ Finally she paused and picked up a name card. ‘We’re right here.’
Alexander leaned over her shoulder. ‘So we are.’ He glanced at the name card to his left. ‘There’s you.’ He turned and checked the name card on his right. ‘Ah. Isadora Jones. How … fortuitous.’
