Gone with the Wolf

chapter Nine


City hall was breathtaking in its grandeur, the perfect place to host the Vanguard Gala. Lightly toned granite and sandstone gave the inner rotunda an elegant, American Renaissance feel, from the larger-than-life pillars to the intricate archways, to the grand staircase. Round tables and cloth-covered chairs filled the entire circular hall, with robust flower arrangements in every corner and on every table. Purple and red auras of light focused on the wall above the staircase and in the center of the dance floor added impressions of sophistication familiar to the Wilder Foundation.

Emelia looped her arm through Drake’s and moved around the room like a goddess, with her shoulders pulled back and chin held high. If she was nervous, she didn’t show it. It didn’t matter if Drake introduced her to the mayor of San Francisco or the woman who coordinated the event, Emelia radiated kindness, jumping into effortless conversation with everyone who crossed her path.

Even though Drake had heightened security inside city hall, he couldn’t shake the nerves rattling his bones. Emelia wasn’t out of harm’s way yet. Whoever sent the goon to attack her would be back. Luckily, his packmates were in top form, on high alert, searching for anything out of order. Emelia had Drake’s full, undivided attention.

After swiping two flutes of champagne off the tray of a passing server, Drake escorted Emelia around the room and up the stairs to the balcony that overlooked the bustling hall below. He’d ordered three of his best men to follow Emelia everywhere she went. Even now, they kept pace behind them, far enough away that they couldn’t overhear conversation, but close enough to jump into action if something happened.

As the murmur of the guests washed over them, Emelia leaned against the nearest balcony and peered over the side. “You never told me what the gala is celebrating.”

“You never asked.” Drake tipped back his glass, not sure how much he wanted to tell Emelia. Although he longed to tell her everything, there was a very fine line between revealing just enough and too much. One small word could tip the balance. Too much, she’d get scared and bolt. Drake couldn’t protect her that way. That was the last thing he wanted.

“This is me asking,” she said.

Drake stepped beside her, scanning the crowd for someone out of place. “Serephina Vanguard was a visionary, donating most of her money to the city’s performing art programs, museums, and parks, when people didn’t have money to support such ventures. She even helped build the city’s first opera house. She understood that there was more to a city than the people who governed it, a kind of inspirational river that flowed through it, influencing the people who lived there. She believed that the heart of a prosperous society comes from individuals who are creative thinkers, people who challenge established beliefs. She was a revolutionary, hated by some who thought her money should go toward more practical things…like government and election campaigns.”

“So, aside from donating to creative programs in San Francisco, she bucked the system? Sounds like my kind of lady.” Emelia nodded as if she understood, but had no idea. “Will she be here?”

Drake took another hearty drink, trying to drown the memory. “No, she passed away years ago.”

Drake ached to tell her the truth about Serephina Vanguard. He didn’t know why—he’d never wanted to reveal the truth to any of the other women who’d come in and out of his life in the last three hundred years. Emelia was different. She didn’t act like everyone else, respecting him because of his authority in the pack or his position in the company. She treated everyone equally whether they worked the mail room or owned the company. She reminded him of Serephina in that way. It was clear Drake had to earn her respect; he planned on doing just that.

“Wilder Financial donates millions of dollars every year to keep the Vanguard Foundation going strong,” he said. “It’s one of the things I’m most proud of. This gala is to thank the people who keep Serephina’s memory alive.”

Emelia looked at him. Really looked at him. As if she could see the man behind the black-and-white penguin suit, the man who wanted Wilder Financial to be more than a multimillion-dollar corporation. His senses picked up the soft hint of fondness—it bloomed off Emelia in waves, peaceful and hesitant, like a flower opening its petals after a long winter.

“Funny how women who are scoffed at for forward thinking are revered after they’re gone,” she said.

Drake nodded, needing to say more, aching to connect the bridge spanning between them. Things he shouldn’t say lingered on his tongue and burned a hole in his throat. How could he tell her that he was a werewolf? That he’d be the luckiest werewolf alive if she ruled the pack with him? Might as well sign him up for Maury. He’d fit right in on the “My Boyfriend Is a Freak” show.

As the gala’s host tapped the microphone, announcing that everyone should take their seats, Drake leaped, saying the words he had never spoken to another.

“Serephina was my mother. Vanguard was her maiden name.”

“Really?” Emelia’s smoky eyes widened in surprise. She touched his arm gently, and smiled. “And here I thought you came from heartless parents who fought for big businesses and accounted little for people’s feelings.”

“You never cease to amaze me.” He shook his head. “Why don’t you tell me how you really feel?”

“I’m not sure what I feel, actually.” Emelia closed the distance between them and placed both her hands on his shoulders. “But I know it’s slowly changing.”

“Please take your seats,” the Vanguard Foundation representative blared over the microphone. He’d been chosen to host the gala not only for his role in the company, but for his Barry White baritone. “The reception is about to begin.”

Drake braced himself as floodgates of desire burst open inside him. His hands found Emelia’s waist and he tugged her against him, cherishing the feel of her body against his. This was how it should be always—the two of them together. The thought struck Drake like a drum, vibrating through his body. He wanted to bond with her, bury himself deep inside her, and live every day of his life making her glow with happiness.

But would it be enough if she couldn’t give him children? Would his pack respect him anyway? God, he wished the answers were easier to understand. He wanted to believe that it didn’t matter. That he’d control the pack without an heir just fine. But it did matter on some level. His father had beaten the concept of pack pride into him since he was young enough to understand. His father had also been the one to tell him that turned werewolves were not strong enough to fit with the rest…

“When I first met you I thought there was nothing to you,” Emelia whispered. “I thought you were cold and merciless, chopping small businesses off at the knees for your own selfish gain. But you’re not that way at all, not really.”

“No,” he said, catching the sincerity in her gaze. “Not really, but don’t tell anyone. You’d ruin my bad-boy image.”

His skin warmed beneath her hands, radiating through his chest. He could kiss her, right here, right now. She was so close, her lips parting in supple invitation. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe.

“I think it’s easy for people to mistake your keen business sense for harshness, but there’s more to you than meets the eye.” She leaned in close, until Drake’s stomach tumbled. “Certain times, like in the cellar, in your office, and right now, I feel warmth brewing inside you. I think you pretend to be cold so no one gets close.”

“You’re close now,” he said against her lips.

“I am.” Her breath hitched as her gaze drifted down his chest. “And I like what I feel.”

Hot-blooded impulses fired in Drake’s middle, dizzying him. He braced himself on the balcony behind Emelia and guided her against the railing. She smiled, anticipating the pressure of his body.

“Do they follow you everywhere?” Emelia asked, tilting her head at the guards, who were pretending not to watch their interlude.

He couldn’t take his eyes off the plumpness of her lips. “They’re here for your protection.”

“My protection?” Her voice was a delicious whisper. “From who? You?”

“Maybe.”

Why did he just say that? Because he was a werewolf and she was a woman with no knowledge of their world? Damn it. If he didn’t know better, he would say he’d just spoken the truth.

“Serephina Vanguard is the reason we are here tonight.” The host’s voice boomed from the hall as the hum in Drake’s stomach amplified.

“I don’t need to be protected from you, Drake. Not anymore. Come on.” Emelia slipped from his hold and headed toward the stairs. “I don’t want to miss this.”

The host’s voice continued to rumble through the hall as Drake escorted Emelia down the grand staircase and found their seats at the edge of the room. For the first time since he’d hosted the gala, Drake wondered how quickly he could slip out of the hall and take Emelia somewhere private.

“She was born in 1850 to a poor family from New York City and passed away in San Francisco in 1938. Serephina Vanguard had no children, and instead chose to donate her time raising the creative climate of San Francisco. Her legacy continues, only through the grace of supporters like you.”

Drake pinched his eyes shut as he pushed in Emelia’s chair, hoping she didn’t pay attention to the details in the host’s speech. The burn-through-his-skin glare Drake received when he sat beside Emelia proved his worst fears.

“You told me she was your mother.” She leaned over without looking at him, and talked to his shoulder. “You either lied to me, or you’re the most gorgeous elderly guy I know. Serephina died in the thirties.”

“I’ll explain everything,” Drake said, as chills scampered down his neck, “but my introductory speech comes first.”

She shot him a scowl, her eyes narrowing to slits. “What reason would you have to lie about something like that?”

The words were a hammer to the heart. Drake couldn’t stand it anymore. When they hadn’t yet ironed out the deed issue, Emelia thought Drake was a scoundrel. Now that he’d finally hurdled that obstacle, Emelia thought he was liar. He should’ve kept her upstairs until the host called his name. He could’ve pressed her against one of those pillars and kissed her until the only thing she could hear was the fevered rush of blood in her ears.

But no. Just when he got Emelia to trust him, he faced a disbelieving frown. Seemed they were destined to dance the one-step-forward, two-step-back tango.

“And now, may I introduce our man of the hour…”

“I didn’t lie,” Drake said, placing a hand on her knee. The urge to tell Emelia about what he really was, about the role she played in his life and his heart as his Luminary, struck him hard and true. That’s it…he’d tell her everything tonight. Once they were alone. “I told you that I’d explain what’s going on, and I will…after my speech. We’ll go somewhere quiet where we can talk, and I’ll tell you things I should’ve told you when we first met.”

“…the man who is responsible for putting this evening together, the philanthropist who has donated more money to the Vanguard Foundation than all of our other supporters combined…”

“What kind of things?” Emelia asked, ducking as a spotlight swept over them. “What should you have told me?”

“Mr. Russell D. Wilder!”

Applause swarmed like bees as blinding spotlights homed in on Drake. In that instant, he became the burning ant beneath a sun-scorched magnifying glass. Every move he made was analyzed, every word dissected.

He smiled and waved. Like he’d been trained. “Promise that you’ll stay right here,” he said into Emelia’s ear. “Stay here until I come back for you.”

Taking his notecards from his pocket, Drake marched on stage and tried to focus on what he was doing this for…instead of the woman glaring at him from table five.