City Wolves: Paranormal Shapeshifter Werewolf Romance Bundle (Master of the City / Mistress of the City)

A
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T
his book is
a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are fictitious or have been used fictitiously, and are not to be construed as real in any way. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental.

T
here were men
. There were Wolves. Then there was the Master of the City.

Overlord and Alpha Wolf of the Lycan packs, Veyr held the power of life and death over all of them. Cyan Trevais, who tried not to quake in her brand-new heels, the ones that pinched like hell, was one of them. Given half a chance, she’d have hightailed it back out of the door, but just at that moment the door in front of her swung open. A manservant announced in a loud voice, “The Trevais Offering.”

Offering. The word shot steel through her spine and any thoughts of running disappeared. As she stepped through the door, she held her head high. She hated that word and everything it stood for, letting her disdain show in her expression as she met the eye of any wolf that looked her way. The fact that each midwinter, every pack had to send an ‘offering’ to the Master rankled. Even the lowest of the low,
barely-even-lycan-anymore
packs like Trevais.

Tradition dictated that the offering was a nubile, young woman…or man if the Master was a Mistress. But Trevais was an ailing pack, its members seeking mates in stronger packs with better bloodlines for their children, so they were all out of young and nubile.

Cyan tried, and failed, to glide with grace through the crowded ballroom. Not possible in hastily-bought shoes that pinched and a borrowed dress so tight, it might as well have been sprayed on. She needed to get away from the door and blend in. Maybe she could hide behind one of the potted plants or something and wait the evening out.

“Don’t worry, dear. Veyr prefers the more slender woman. I doubt he’ll even glance your way.” Her mother had commented as she fought with Cyan’s curves and the zip of the dress. “Besides, he’s not looked past the McCauley pack for many a midwinter.” The zipper closed, she’d stepped back and cast a disappointed glance over Cyan’s ample figure, nothing like her own, slim physique. “Doesn’t look like that’ll change anytime soon.”

A high-pitched laugh brought Cyan back to the present. She looked across the ballroom to locate the source. Sure enough, Vanessa McCauley clung to the arm of a man Cyan assumed to be the Master of the City himself. Broad-shouldered and handsome, he looked every inch the picture of lycan royalty, just like the woman at his side.

Tall and slender, masses of blonde swept her shoulders in gentle waves, Vanessa was everything Cyan wasn’t. Elegant and sophisticated. Her couture gown fit her like a glove. It had to have been made for her, not borrowed. Her makeup was understated but impeccable, rather than slapped on during the drive over here.

But what made Cyan feel even more like a poor relation was the bright amber ring around Vanessa’s iris that marked her as a pure-blooded wolf. Cyan had boring, chocolate brown eyes. Human eyes. The last time a Trevais had borne amber had been her grandfather. With fewer able to shift in each generation, it wouldn’t be long before their line had reverted to human.

“So, what’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?” A deep, male voice asked, making her jump.

As she turned, she tried to keep the surprise off her face. A man lounged in the shadows against a pillar. It only took a few steps to join him. She was here. Not her fault if Veyr didn’t notice her, now was it?

“How do you know I’m nice?” She asked, looking up at him. Shorter than most men in the room, he still towered over her. And he wasn’t stunningly good looking, not like most wolves. His eyes bore no ring, like hers, and she couldn’t work out if he was cute or just plain odd-looking.

He shrugged and lifted his champagne glass, emptying the contents in three long swallows. A sideways glance answered one of her questions. He was a wolf alright. Already the lycan part of her, small as it was, felt the draw of a male in his prime. What would his wolf look like…as odd-looking as his human form, or striking?

The glass held in one hand, he looked at her. Speculation and interest sparkled in his eyes. Caramel. One shade off amber, but dull. Human. He wasn’t familiar to her. Normally she recognized members of other packs on sight. Most bore a marked family resemblance but he didn’t fit the mould. Perhaps from a minor-out of town branch…

“You don’t belong here.”

For a moment Cyan stood there, her mouth opening and closing like a bad impression of a guppy. She didn’t belong here, she knew that as sure as eggs were eggs, but to have it pointed out in such a blunt manner took her breath away. Then it made her mad.

“Gee, thanks.” She arched her eyebrow at him in the same way she did to her younger brother when he gave her sass. Not that this guy resembled her brother in any way, shape or form, but she needed some form of defense against his blunt comment. She wouldn’t cry. Not here. Didn’t they say attack was the best defense? She propped her hands on her hips and faced him. “Why don’t you call the guards and have them escort me out? I doubt the Master of the City is interested in a dumpy, she-wolf who can’t even shift, now is he?”

* * *

O
h
, but the Master of the City
was
interested. He was very interested indeed.

Aware of the interest their little exchange had gained from the others in the room, even if she wasn’t, Veyr lifted his head to meet the gaze of the Captain of his guard. A quick shake warned the man off. He didn’t want her to know his identity. Not yet. If she did, had had a feeling she’d run. It was never a good idea to run from a predator, and he was the biggest predator in the room.

“You’re gorgeous when you’re mad, you know?” He motioned to one of the circulating waiters. In a quick movement, he snagged two champagne glasses and handed one to her.

She arched a delicate eyebrow again, and gave him a look that clearly indicated she thought he was insane. “You say I don’t belong, then hand me this? You want to wear it or something?”

“Actually, I said you were gorgeous.”

He drained half his glass as he watched her. After years of boredom at these midwinter gatherings, where he picked a brainless socialite to fuck in the name of duty, the fates had taken notice. Finally, they’d sent someone interesting. He knocked back the rest of his drink and let his eyes slide over her voluptuous figure.

More than interesting. She was fucking gorgeous. Tiny, she barely came up to his shoulder, and had a figure packed with curves that made his mouth water. Deep within, his wolf caught her scent and rumbled in approval. The creature wanted to push forward to get a look but he stopped it. She didn’t know who he was, not with his human form shrouding him. Given her less than complimentary tone when she’d spoken about the Master of the City, if she figured who he was, he knew she’d make good on her threat to dump her drink over him.

“Hmmm, so you did. Why?” she challenged, taking a sip of champagne. Her movements were delicate and graceful. He took a half step forward, unable to resist the urge to get closer. The need to breathe her scent into his lungs and hold it there won out. He knew without asking that he’d never seen her before.

A face and body like that, with ample curves for a man’s hands…yeah, he’d have remembered that. Remembered, and already tried to get into his bed. Tried being the operative word. Being Master of the City wouldn’t win him any prizes with this one. Even though she was an offering from her pack, and tonight was the one night the woman he selected couldn’t refuse, he doubted that his title or status would get her to part those luscious thighs for him on a normal day. But hell, did he want them too. He wanted, no
intended
, to be balls deep in her before the moon rose.

“Why did I call you gorgeous? Because you are.”

His champagne glass empty now, he caught her gaze and let his wolf seep into his eyes. Just enough to dazzle her while he handed his glass off to a waiter. She wasn’t human. She couldn’t be, not if she was here as an offering because none of the packs would offer him such an insult. He breathed her scent in again to analyze it.

Her wolf was weak. So barely there that he doubted that she’d ever been able to shift. Not his problem, even though curiosity rolled through him that her pack had allowed their bloodline to degrade so much.

“Yeah, right. Is this a joke?” She narrowed her eyes, fire flashing in the depths that intrigued him. Glass still clasped in delicate fingers, she made a show of looking around her. “Is there a camera crew ready to leap out, filming my reaction or something?”

He couldn’t help the short, sharp bark of amusement, nor resist the urge to move in closer. A hand slid around her waist as he relieved her of the glass with the other. Her gasp of surprise did nothing to conceal the shiver of awareness that rolled through her body at his touch.

“Not at all, sweet thing.” He leaned down to brush the tip of his nose against hers. “Although, if cameras are your thing, I’m sure I can find a few for you.”

“Cameras!? What do you think I am?”

Hands full, he didn’t expect her outraged reaction, nor for her to pull her arm back and slap him right across the cheek. Hard.