CLAIRE DAVON

Excerpt

Movement caught his attention and Silas watched with interest as a woman glided—there was no other word for it—from the back of the room to the bar where he was standing. This particular one, as there were four, was tucked away toward the back, clearly meant to keep those lesser folks who’d been granted an invitation from daring to get to the front of the ballroom. This was the back half of the room, where courtesy or required invitations landed, those who had to be invited but didn’t deserve a spot near the front.

As a member of the Shunokh clan, Silas was near the front, but he preferred the back. He’d always liked danger.

This woman reeked of not belonging. Her clothes were acceptable attire for such an event, but she wore them as though she’d rather rip them off and dive into a pair of sweats. Her hair was short and a line of pink threaded through the front. Her ears had three piercings and he wasn’t sure but he suspected that her long sleeves may cover a tattoo that her parents convinced her not to show in public.

He smelled the fox on her, though, so she was a shifter, but not one he recognized. A black sheep, perhaps, or a distant relative.

Her skin had a dusky quality that suggested some sort of Mediterranean heritage, but he couldn’t place what. He reviewed what he knew of the Maine fox clans. She might be a cousin from a faraway clan. He couldn’t be sure. What he did know was that the way she moved in the form-fitting dress piqued his interest, and his libido. She had an athletic grace, that matched her no-nonsense style. He didn’t know her.

He wanted to.

She got to the bar and nodded to him before turning to the bartender. She showed no signs of being aware of who he was—or of caring.

“I heard it’s beer and wine only, but surely you’ve got some harder stuff hiding somewhere, judging by the way the groomsmen are lit. Got some for a gal who will leave a great tip if you slip her a finger or two of whiskey?”

The bartender shook his head. “I can’t say if someone else has that stuff, but I don’t. All I got is beer and wine. Maybe one of the front bars…” His voice trailed off as he seemed to temper the logical suggestion that she go there. All three of them at the bar knew that this was the hinterlands of the guest list, and her presence in front was unlikely to be looked on kindly.

She sighed and a defeated look crossed her face. “Fine. Wine. Make it two glasses, since I’m, um, carrying one back for my grandma.”

Her voice was low, with a faint rasp that settled into Silas’ stomach like a pair of claws that landed there and didn’t let go. His cock stirred, the sultry tones making him twitch with interest. He had no clue who this woman was, but he wanted to know.