Possessed by a Wolf. Sharon Ashwood

like dogs catching a scent.

      Other people must have heard the noise, as well. Voices rose above the splashing of the central fountain, no longer the polite murmur of ambassadors and celebrities deemed worthy to visit the Palace of Marcari. The hundred-odd A-list guests were now just ordinary people, shrill and afraid. Only the classical pianist carried on as usual from his Steinway in the corner, but then musicians were trained to keep going no matter what.

      Another cracking noise came, sharper this time. A woman screamed—a short, horrified yelp of surprise. Lexie switched off the portable lights, bringing the rest of the room into better view, and stopped cold. The three south walls of the octagonal room were almost all glass, giving a view of the gardens. A spiderweb of fractures radiated across the center pane, leading away from a tiny hole. Gunshots. That’s what they’d heard. Fear came like a crashing wave, and Lexie’s whole body turned cold. Who was out there in the darkness, looking—shooting—in?

      Both the guards drew their guns and joined the scatter of security bolting toward the prince and princess, who stood just in front of the fountain. Lexie’s hands had gone slippery with fear, and she set the Nikon down, some part of her still sane enough to worry about dropping it. She grabbed the edge of the display case to steady herself.

      The crowd was scattering—or trying to. The west doors that led to the rest of the palace were flung open, but rather than offering escape, more gunshots rang outside the open door. Someone shut the doors again, and the noise of the crowd escalated.

      “What’s going on?” Lexie’s friend, Chloe Anderson, appeared at her elbow. She was dressed in a silk suit with her fine hair swept up in a twist. Her normally fair coloring had turned ghostly pale.

      “Someone is shooting. We need to get people out of here.” Lexie’s voice shook. The room suddenly felt smaller than it had a minute ago, as if the walls were being sucked inward.

      “There’s got to be another exit.” Chloe’s eyes were wide with shock. And no wonder—she was the princess’s wedding planner, responsible for making sure the event went off without a hitch. Whatever was going on definitely wasn’t part of Chloe’s plans.

      “I think we’re trapped,” was all Lexie could say.

      The room was packed, making it hotter than it should have been. Lexie swallowed hard and forced herself to breathe. A jittering edge of panic danced at the edges of her self-control. She slammed it down. She needed her wits sharp. Lexie passed a hand over her forehead, trying to ignore her clammy skin. Get it together. She made herself stand straighter. “How are we going to keep these people calm?”

      She was just a photographer, but job titles didn’t count at moments like this. Fortunately, she wasn’t the only one thinking ahead. Right then, the knot of security around the prince and princess broke apart. Princess Amelie of Marcari had one hand on her future bridegroom’s arm. Kyle Alphonse Adraio, Crown Prince of Vidon and future king of both countries, was waving a hand as if insisting the guards leave his side and help deal with the shooters. The guards, who wore the green uniforms of Vidon, didn’t look happy. Nor did Prince Kyle’s younger brother, Leo, who had gone the pale gray of moldy cheese.

      Another shot punched through the window and smashed one of the crystal chandeliers, making Lexie jump. In the next moment, the central window shattered into tiny fragments. Cries of fright and pain tore the air as shards smashed to the marble tiles, sending up a dazzling shower of glass. Lexie grabbed Chloe and ducked behind the display case. Needle-sharp glass fragments left a stinging kiss against her skin.

      The crash still echoed as an enormous wolf leaped through the gaping window frame. The beast cleared most of the fallen glass in one graceful bound, landing a dozen yards away from Lexie, its claws skidding as it turned to face the broken window with a savage snarl. The creature had pale gold eyes, its coat shading from white fur at the muzzle to black at the tips of its ears. It was huge, at least four feet at the shoulder.

      There were wolves in Marcari’s mountains—they were on the crest of the royal family—but this one’s size gave him away as something more. The beast was not just a wolf, but a werewolf, and she knew his markings. More than that, she inexplicably knew it was Faran Kenyon as clearly as if he had called her name.

      Faran. Her ex-boyfriend really was the big bad wolf.

      The room—even the piano—fell into a horrified, fixed silence. Lexie’s heart, already speeding, nearly pounded through her ribs. Memory speared her, adding old terror to new. She’d seen those razor-sharp fangs tear a limb off.

      The silence ended as every one of the prince’s guards drew their weapons and pointed them at the beast. Lexie leaped to her feet and thrust out a hand. “Stop!”

      Her voice rang with command. Everyone turned to stare. Even the wolf looked surprised.

      So was Lexie. Why am I saving Faran? I ran across a continent to get away from him. And yet, there was nothing else she could bear to do. With a terrible, desperate surge of dismay, she understood that not even a world of distance had broken the essential bonds between them.

      “Be careful!” Chloe said in alarm, though Lexie couldn’t tell whether it was the guns or the fangs that worried her.

      “I know what I’m doing,” she replied tightly. It was an utter lie. Lexie’s heart was pounding so hard she felt dizzy, but she moved until the guards would have to shoot through her to get to the wolf. And then she turned and faced him. The wolf—Faran—was watching her with his cool yellow gaze, sniffing the air. Lexie wondered if he would recall her scent, and how he would react when he did. She’d never been sure how much humanity Faran kept in wolf form and besides that, their parting had been awful.

      Glass clung to his coat in glittering fragments, his muzzle scratched and oozing blood. There was a wound in his flank, too—deep enough that the fur was matted and dark. Lexie felt a wrench, guessing that was where at least one bullet had gone. The wolf rose, taking a step toward her.

      “No,” she said sharply. “Sit. Stay.”

      He sat, ears going back as if she’d ticked him off. Faran never had liked being told what to do.

      Too bad. Lexie was shaking. She had memories of watching him fight, teeth and claws rending flesh with unthinkable, wet sounds. The sight of blood didn’t bother her much, but the warmth and smell of it had undone her that night. She’d never heard a man scream like that before. They weren’t memories she’d ever shared much less tried to figure out. It had been easier to run, and keep running. I knew there was a chance he might be in Marcari. I should never have come.

      But there were other memories of Faran Kenyon. Like the fact that he’d brought her champagne in bed and listened to her talk about the career she’d have one day, the beautiful photographs she’d take. We did love one another. Until she’d found out what he was.

      Their history was a painful tangle, but this moment—here, now—was simple. She refused to watch him die.

      “Ma’am,” said one of the guards, his weapon raised. “Step away.”

      “I don’t think so.” She stepped closer instead, wiping her sweating palms on the green silk of her tunic. Her stomach felt like a bag of writhing snakes.

      At the sound of the guard’s voice, Faran snarled again, showing long, curving canines. He began to stand, but Lexie ordered him down with a gesture. There was no question Faran would protect her, but that would just put him in harm’s way again.

      Why had he come through the window, and who had shot him?

      “Listen to Ms. Haven,” said Princess Amelie from across the room. “Unless the creature attacks, do not harm it.”

      “Your Royal Highness, please!” one of the guards protested, glancing at the prince for direction. “There is enough danger without this!”

      “You will respect her wish,” Prince Kyle ordered in a tone that brooked no argument. The prince and princess were well aware of Faran’s secret.