Charm is a way of getting the answer yes without asking a clear question.
--Albert Camus
The lycan held his hand out for Rory's. She made a strange face, like someone had just released a stink bomb and she was determined to smile through it.
Dane quirked a brow at Rory's obvious hesitation. He'd yet to experience a reluctant female in his presence. Especially for something as innocent as a dance. He'd have to be delicate with her, then. Well, more so.
He'd already been keeping his distance from her, and certainly not of his own volition. Ivy had lectured him day in and day out on the importance of heeding the queen's warning. And he fully intended to do just that. At least when Ivy was around to see.
He bowed traditionally at the waist and smiled at Rory. He watched, mesmerized, as she tried and failed to hide her own grin.
He took her hand in his, marveling at how hot her skin was already. How was this gala affecting her emotionally? Usually, he wouldn't have worried himself with the question, but when he was holding the hand of a living mood ring, it was hard not to wonder.
Dane attempted to lead her past all of the Underdwellers who gawked and pointed like she had a face that constantly switched from having two eyes to five. It was harder than it looked. No one tried to speak to Rory directly, but no one seemed willing to move out of her way either. It appeared that everyone wanted to touch her. Whether for a blessing or an experiment, nearly every person they passed 'discreetly' grazed his phoenix. His nerves crackled to life, begging for a fight.
"Hey, are you all right?" he asked when he'd managed to get her to the bottom of the staircase. She nodded, but he didn't buy it. "If you want to leave—"
"That was quite the entrance," a tall stranger interrupted.
It wasn't often that Dane encountered someone who looked human, but was physically intimidating. This guy fit the bill. He was at least eight feet tall and in his thirties. His hair was long; it was raked back into a smooth, honey brown braid and still swayed against the middle of his back. And he had the largest eyes Dane had ever seen. They were set a little too close together, and they made Dane think of chimpanzees because of their brown color and their intelligent nature. Dane let a sly whiff of the guy's scent fill his nose. Nothing but pine-needles. What kind of Underdweller was he?
Gratefully, Dane noticed that Rory stayed behind him when she replied, "It wasn't my idea, trust me." Hopefully, she was getting the same strange vibe that he was from this burly stranger.
But the guy just erupted into a boisterous guffaw that echoed out in the ballroom, smothering the gentle sounds of music.
"I do," he said. "Whole-heartedly, my lady." His earnest gaze was almost too true.
Dane coiled his arm around Rory's waist, putting a barrier between her and the newcomer. This made the man turn his attention to Dane.
"You must be the lycan protecting the phoenix." Dane nodded. "I'm Kellan. Your name?"
"McDermitt," he conceded cautiously. This man didn't seem to want to cause Rory any harm or distress. It looked like he'd have to start following Rory's lead and trust the Underdwelling that she intended to save.
Kellan's expression turned into a knowing, nearly jubilant one. "Shep? The Grey pack alpha! I've heard a lot about you."
Dane grimaced. No one had ever made that mistake before. To him, the McDermitt brothers were like opposite sides of the same coin. Where Dane ignored expectations and flirted, Shep aimed to be the best alpha in lycan history and completely shunned the girls in their pack. Their one bond was their love for the pack.
"Actually, I'm Dane, sir."
Kellan laughed and shook his head. "Of course you are. The name suits you better." Dane couldn't tell if he was supposed to be flattered or offended.
"Excuse me," Rory piped from behind him. Dane kept his eyes on the man; he couldn't remember a time when he'd felt more protective. "I'm sorry for asking, but what kind of Underdweller are you?"
The man laughed again and lightly tapped his forehead as if he'd forgotten an item at the grocery store. "Oh, dear lady, the fault is mine. I am a Sasquatch."
Dane's jaw dropped in awe; he saw Rory's do the same. "You exist?" he asked, struggling to keep the incredulity out of his voice.
The Sasquatch nodded and chuckled good-naturedly. "Last I checked."
"You're much more...clean cut than I expected you to be," Rory said. She pushed past Dane's hold toward Kellan.
"Since the invention of the body-waxing salon, the number of times I've heard that has increased exponentially."
Rory burst into a light laugh, and Dane struggled not to get caught up in it. That was the problem with being a lycan. Even when he was in his human form, his wolf senses were always on. He heard every hitch in her breathless laugh. He smelled every hint of smoke on her skin. It was hard enough to keep an appropriate distance so that he didn't get himself killed without forcing his wolf side to resist her, too.
"I have so many questions," she said, resting a hand on Kellan's arm. "I've only read about demi-giants." Her smile was too bright. He found it impossible to look at for long. On the ride up to the palace, Rory had been all but asleep, but now she was vibrant and present.
"I would love to answer all of your questions, phoenix—"
"Rory," she corrected.
"Miss Rory," he continued with a smile, "But first, I should pay my respects to Queen Cayleigh for inviting me to what is proving to be a most auspicious night." What was he going on about, anyway? Whatever it was, Dane did not like the way he looked at Rory. The Sasquatch excused himself, blending into the crowd impressively well for someone his size.
When he told Rory this, she nodded excitedly.
"Sasquatches are amazingly good hiders. Out of a community of eight thousand, only seven have ever been caught on video." Dane beamed as Rory slid her arm into the crook of his.
"Is that so?"
He listened as she rambled on about the evolution of 'the missing link', and how her uncle had traced a family of them all the way to Colorado, only to lose track of them in a snowstorm. She was becoming more and more animated as they strolled through the throngs of Underdwellers. The attention she continued to draw from them didn't seem to bother her as much as it had only minutes ago.
"Feeling better?" he inferred, as he untangled their arms so he could move his hand to the small of her back. She nodded absently, her eyes occupied with the room ahead of them. They'd arrived at the ballroom where couples in flowery dress spun in dizzying circles across a glass floor. He could see the Chattahoochee River surge beneath them in all its dark green power.
"I think this is the part where we dance," he murmured against her ear. If there had been any tiredness on her face before, it had vanished. Now there was nothing but alert curiosity. Gently, he guided her out to the edge of the dance floor where pairs dipped and leapt past them with large smiles on their faces. "Don't be nervous. It's a pretty slow song so—"
Dane was cut off by the mild whiplash he experienced as Rory jerked him into the middle of the clear span of the glass floor. He laughed and tried to keep up with her. The second they were in a spot that allowed an adequate amount of space, Rory dragged him close. Not that he was complaining, of course. One of her hot hands settled on his shoulder, the other gathered his.
"This is a pleasant surprise," he mused, tilting his head in a vain attempt to catch her gaze. Rory was concentrating on the dancers around her, learning the steps as fast as she could. Her eyes were bright and hungry. It was the first time since he'd taken her to Garth's shop that she'd just lit up with joy. It was spell binding.
With a gentle push of her fingertips, she nudged him into the first steps of the dance. He wasn't particularly familiar with fae-court dances, but he considered himself a fast learner when he was interested.
And he was interested.
"My uncle and I used to dance all the time." She spun quickly in his arms in time with the other dancers, and he swept them a step to the left on cue. "We didn't have a television, so we read a lot." Lightly, he held onto her hands as they hopped a few times. He was happy to pull her back into his arms a breath later. "And, when the mood struck him, he would put on classical music and we would dance."
A timid half-smile tugged at the corner of her lips, and he knew it wasn't for him. She was thinking of her guardian. Usually, when she talked about him, she became eerily intense and upset, so he tried to avoid the subject. But this happy memory she brought with her, kept with her, was something he could watch her remember forever.
A tricky move where they'd cross their steps arose, and Rory tripped into his chest on his first attempt. His arms went around her, cradling her.
When Rory pulled back to resume the dance, she was laughing and encouraging him to start again. "I guess I'm not up to full functionality just yet," she joked, looking up into his eyes.
He nodded like she'd asked a question. He was too stunned to do anything else. Stunned by her unintentional beauty, her enthusiasm, and her easy charisma. He had a nearly poignant urge to tell her that she made him feel something. But he had no idea what that something was.
Even as he opened his mouth to wing it, Cayleigh twirled by them in the arms of one of her pageboys. The two whirled around them, and Cayleigh's insulting cackle poked at them.
"Not too close, dear! We don't have many fire exits here!"
Just as suddenly as they'd appeared, the pair was waltzing off, and eventually the queen's laugh faded into the music. That was all it took for Rory to completely dissolve into herself. Dane cursed under his breath and pressed a finger below Rory's chin to raise her gaze to his. She faked a smile like he knew she would. They continued to dance.
From somewhere in the back of his mind, Dane began to form a terribly deluded resolve, and he pulled Rory snug against his chest. He slid his hand from her chin down over her shoulder and her arm until he could wrap his arm around her waist. He glanced around the ballroom for a brief moment to see if he could find Ivy lurking or brooding or whatever it was that she did at parties. Because he planned to do something that his vampire partner would not approve of at all.
When he looked back down at Rory, she was giving him that look where her eyes were the size of saucers and twice as frightened as usual. He smirked, despite himself, and gripped her even tighter.
"You know, I'd kiss you to prove her wrong," he stated, gesturing to the queen with a jerk of his elbow. "You of all people are not going to end up alone."
Gradually, Dane lifted her feet off of the floor and spun her a few times. Her dress flared out behind her, and her hold on him tightened. He was barely able to make out her giggle over the self-made wind as they spun, but her lingering smile when he set her back down was enough for him.
With her hands clasped at the back of his neck and his at the small of her back, it was all too easy to forget the hundreds of people around them.
"You could have anything you wanted," he heard himself say as her heady scent went straight to his brain. He lowered his lips to her ear and pressed her close. "Just ask."
Vaguely, Dane heard the strings of the harps being plucked and the bells ringing, but he was focused on Rory when he pulled back to a more appropriate distance. He soaked in her slow smile, her heat, and her dizzy, glazed stare. He leaned into her again, moving in time with her body. The closer he got, the more he felt the palpable heat radiating from her. Dane's heart leapt as he saw her eyes flutter closed and her head slant toward his. Her heat was almost too much, but he'd ignore it. He didn't care.
"Excuse me, good lycan."
Dane was left holding air before he registered that Rory had jumped away from him. In a flash, he sorted himself out and turned to the voice. It was Kellan.
He realized that he was still just staring at the man, and he scrambled to put on a smile. "Hello again," he finally sputtered out.
The Sasquatch bowed his head to him and then again to Rory. Dane stole a glance at her to find her looking the way he felt. He couldn't let himself get carried away like that again. At least, not in front of the entirety of the royal Underdwelling.
"Pardon, friend, but I was hoping to cut in. This dance is my favorite."
Something inside him snarled at the thought of Rory dancing with anyone else. But he was already sweating from their last touch, plus he was only making a spectacle of Rory the more he disregarded their 'proximity rule'. So he bit his tongue and gestured to Rory to make the decision.
"I don't know this dance," she said sheepishly. She seemed much more tired than she had been a few minutes ago. Dane outstretched his hand for her, but the Sasquatch brushed past him and took Rory's waist.
"It would be my pleasure to teach you."
Dane looked past the massive man to see if Rory was all right with the sudden intrusion. She gave him a weak smile and a gentle shrug. Unsure, Dane lingered next to the pair until they began to dance a fast jig with great sliding steps that forced Dane off of the dance floor.
With crossed arms, he watched Rory and her new dance partner. She picked up the moves expertly in no time, and the luminous smile eventually returned to her face.
He observed her step lightly and twirl in circles with the massive Sasquatch with the odd name. She looked breathlessly delighted. She'd been winded all night, actually. It was probably an aftereffect of her reincarnation. New life looked good on her, he decided as she laughed when the Sasquatch leaned her into a gracious dip. Her cheeks, flushed with the exertion of the fast-paced dance, dimpled with every curve of her lips. Somewhere in the midst of her fancy footwork, Rory's hair had come loose in random spirals. A couple of the lucky ones framed her face, but for the most part, her curls were just wild around her head. The smile never left her face.
He didn't think Rory could get into too much trouble while in the middle of the dance floor with a demi-giant, so he wove his way through the flowery part-goers and found the refreshments. Even the table was lavishly set up with crystal pitchers and titanium cups and flowers carved out of wood scattered across the satin-white table cloth.
Dane grimaced at the beverage choices. A clear, sparkling liquid shimmered like a lake bearing a sunset. Elven wine, Dane thought to himself as he shuddered. He'd never taken a liking to the overly sweet stuff. But, he would have chosen the wine twenty times before he would even take a sip of the other option. Goblin's black stout, more commonly known as goblin grog waited in the punch bowl for some poor soul to drink it. It smelled like moss and hot sewage, and it tasted even worse.
Dane turned away from the refreshments and shoved his hands in his tailored pockets. Quickly, his eyes found Rory. She was still breath-taking, but more importantly, still safe.
"Pretty, isn't she?"
Before Dane could help himself, his brain recognized the voice as female, and his body shifted into a new stance. His shoulders straightened, and his watchful, stern frown melted into an effortlessly suave smile. But, that grin slipped away the second he turned to face his new conversational partner.
"Sophie!" He was suddenly glad that he hadn't gotten a drink. He certainly would have dropped it just then. How had a beta from such a large wolf pack as the Greys gotten into the queen's prestigious gala? "What are you doing here?"
Sophie feigned a hurt expression. "No greeting, then? No 'you look great, Sophie'?"
"You look great, Sophie."
And he wasn't lying. She wore a tight red dress that plunged at the neckline and flared at the knee, giving her the appearance of a deadly mermaid. Ruffles around her chest flared around her throat, elongating her neck and framing her soft jawline. Even her normally hectic hair was pulled up into a tight bun on top of her head.
"But how did you get in here?" Those trolls out front didn't seem very lenient on non-invited parties.
"The public wings are still open. I came in through the library." Sophie swayed a bit on her feet. Dane hadn't noticed before, but she reeked of goblin grog.
"You've been drinking that toxic waste, Soph? You don't drink," he said, removing his hands from his pockets to cross his arms over his chest. He was no alpha, but when he saw one of his own pulling dangerous stunts like sneaking into a member of the Council's palace and drinking heavy stout, he was bound to be concerned.
"I'm Irish," she grumbled as if it was the only excuse she needed.
"Yer drunk. You need to get out of here before someone sees you and realizes yer not supposed to be here." With exaggerated care, he took her upper arm in his hand, keeping eye contact with her. "Let me walk you."
He was being firm with her, but she was too far gone to care. She ripped her arm out of his hold and staggered backward a few paces. A few startled Underdwellers turned to look at the inebriated lycan, but no one said anything.
"Where were you the other night?" Her eyes watered and she bit her lip, but her stick straight posture never faltered. Dane was genuinely confused. Where was he supposed to be? Sure, he and Sophie usually had a night to themselves a couple times a week, but he couldn't remember any specific plans with her. "You were supposed to meet me."
Her hands moved to settle incredulously on her hips. He watched her eyebrows skyrocket up to the top of her brow. Clearly he had made a promise to her and forgotten.
"I was?" he asked dumbly, hoping she'd fill in the blanks for him.
"The lake. The night I came to see you, you said we'd meet at the lake after you turned the phoenix over to the vampire." Her eyes were searching his pleadingly. He could see that he'd really disappointed her. He hated that feeling. He cared about Sophie, and never wanted to hurt her.
Realization hit him hard in the gut. He'd only agreed to meet her that night to get her out of the house. The thought had completely left his mind as soon as the promise had been made. And, the night he should have gone out to meet her, he'd been by Rory's ashes all night, waiting. He couldn't have left even if he had remembered. Dane looked down at his feet, hoping to find the perfect apology on top of his polished shoes.
"Sophie, I'm so sorry." He took a step toward her, invading her space. He didn't know how to be sincere without touch. She let him entwine his hand with hers, but she refused to meet his gaze. "If I could go back and do it all over again—"
He didn't get any further than that. Sophie laughed, loud and frantic. More semi-concerned glances came from the various attendees around them.
"Yeah, let's visit that subject," Sophie slurred, stumbling forward into his arms. She righted herself, but continued to lean precariously to one side. "Because I'm really interested to find out what Dane McDermitt would do if he could turn back time. So you, as the world's first time-travelling lycanthrope, are suddenly in a position to change your life, if only a bit. Tell me. Would you stop yourself from accepting this ridiculous mission? Or, would you just never have started a relationship with me?" There was no right answer. At least not where it could be considered honest and correct at the same time. He turned to grip the edge of the refreshment table, tucking his chin to his chest.
"Faoladh is our birthright, Dane. We couldn't change it if we wanted to," Sophie pressed from somewhere to his left.
He closed his eyes and tried to breathe past the heated anger behind his ribs. He hated when she brought up their breeding. Faoladh was their specific lycan breed. There were at least two dozen different breeds of lycan that ranged from Oborot wolves who were natural hunters to Livonian wolves who were more of a gathering breed. Faoladh wolves, like himself and Sophie, were an Irish breed who live in pairs. Protecting and healing came easiest to them, and their powers were strongest when in each other's company. It just so happened that he and Sophie were fated to be paired together to serve under the Celtic Council when they turned eighteen.
Dane had never fancied the idea of uprooting his entire life to move home and explore the old lands, protecting children from bridge trolls and briar patches. Sophie, on the other hand, had seen the duty as a concrete map to her (and by default his) life.
"Don't bring that up, Soph. You know I hate it."
"Your parents knew their duty and accepted it. I've never seen a happier pair."
Dane shook his head. The thing about Faoladh wolves is that more often than not, the pairs end up married. In fact, he couldn't remember a pairing that didn't end up happily committed to one another. But their duty was to protect their homeland, not to love each other.
"I know how my parents turned out, but—"
"I've dealt with your flings before because you've come back to where you belong every time." She sniffed and he craned his neck to look at her. He could see the hurt in her eyes, the tension in her jaw. "You've never stood me up before."
A bitter lump in his throat kept him from swallowing. He didn't even try to reach for her this time. This is why he didn't get into serious relationships. They always brought hurt. Dane didn't even consider him and Sophie exclusive, and still, emotional drama like this came up at the worst possible time. He'd just have to level with her.
"I'm so sorry about that. Ye've got to believe me." He could hear his accent getting thicker the more emotional he got. It was his body slipping into its lycan form. He couldn't afford to shift in front of everyone. He could see Sophie struggling as well. "I had to take care of 'er."
Sophie sprung forward in a threatening gesture, and he could hear the growl thundering in her throat.
Frankly, he was shocked. Though he technically wasn't an alpha, he still held a considerable rank in the pack. Definitely higher than Sophie. And though he'd never dangle that over her head, he wasn't about to let a were-ling who had gone through her first change only a year ago physically challenge him. He felt his back tense and his shoulders hunch while every inch of him from his toes to his ears quivered with the plea for the shift.
"She's not even supposed to be your responsibility."
He couldn't argue with her. It didn't seem like it would make a difference. When Sophie was upset she stayed upset. She could hold a grudge longer than anyone he knew, including his brother. So instead, he figured the best course of action would be to get her out of the gala quietly.
"Yer making a scene, love," he muttered, turning from the table to face her directly.
"And you're making a mistake!" Sophie threw her hands in the air like he was an incompetent pupil of hers. "You can't choose a girl like that. Especially not—" she lowered her voice to a harsh whisper—"an outcross."
Dane was unreasonably close to losing his temper. Sophie was raised by parents who had grown up in the Outcross Extermination, a particularly dark time in Underdwelling history. They'd instilled in Sophie a general distain and fear of half-human, half-Underdweller species, and Dane doubted that would ever change. But to toss slurs around was insensitive and stupid. No one deserved to be despised for being themselves, and Dane knew that better than anyone.
He was unreasonably close to losing his temper. He clenched his fists and closed his eyes, determined to talk her down.
"I'm no less dedicated to me pack than I was before I met Rory." He rubbed his eyes with the backs of his hands to clear the hazy fog of red that licked at the sides of his vision.
"You can't even convince yourself, can you?" Her strong, calloused hands lifted to hold his face. She was making her final plea. He had never seen eyes so gray and clear. He could almost persuade himself to give into those eyes, to take his birthright and stop the constant struggle with Rory. "She's poison, Dane."
He snapped. He snatched her wrists; they were both trembling, ready to shift and fight.
"You do not talk about her that way. I'll have yer lungs from yer body before I let you talk that way about my..." Dane blinked and dropped Sophie's arms. What was he going to say? He was drawing a painfully embarrassing blank. He covered his mouth with his right hand, letting his palm connect with his lips to make sure that he had really just said that. He had almost declared Rory as his mate. That was as good as any human marriage. He shook his head. He must have been about to say friend. He must have.
Fresh tears appeared in the corners of Sophie's beautiful eyes. "Your what?" There was a weak challenge in there somewhere, nestled under all of the hurt.
Dane sighed and buried his face in his hands. This was his Faoladh partner. He didn't want to argue with her. He pulled her close and kissed the top of her head. She settled stiffly into his arms; he hadn't realized just how close she'd been to shifting.
"Just go, Soph. Go before the queen finds ye've gone an' crashed 'er party. She'll 'ave you beheaded." Sophie nodded and gave him a quick squeeze. "As soon as I drop 'er off with the vamp, I'll come to you. I swear."
To her credit, no matter how striking she looked, Sophie would always be a master of stealth. As soon as she'd slithered into the crowd, the swarm of dancers swallowed her presence like they were welcoming her home. And she was gone.
He stared after her anyway, his mind racing. Had he truly been ready to claim Rory, a third-generation hybrid, as his life-long mate? Was it even possible? Was he prepared to reject his birthright and disappoint his Faoladh partner for this girl? Dane raked a hand through his hair, forcing the questions to calm, and eventually quiet.
With a shaky hand, Dane poured himself a glass of elven wine. He chugged it ravenously, hoping its spirits would calm his nerves. His gaze scanned the floor for Rory. He was apt to cut back in for another dance. She had a way of calming him, and he needed her in that instant. But even as his eyes traced over almost every face in the ballroom, Rory's wild hair and slight frame were nowhere to be found. A startled sense of panic seized in his chest, tossing him into the crowd in a frantic search for his phoenix.
Nameless Underdwellers laughed, drank, and danced around him, molding into colors and petals and blurs. He couldn't find her. He wouldn't let himself think of what could have happened to her. The Sasquatch. Immediately, as if he'd given an order, his nose tuned into the Sasquatch's pine-needle scent and he was on the hunt.