“Too bad you don’t have any of that worthless first-year law student experience,” she tittered before another wave of laughter overtook her. “I hope you reminded them that public defenders don’t have experience litigating federal trials.”

“Oh, that’s exactly what I reminded him. Also, my predecessor left because of burnout, yet his hours in court last year were half of mine.”

“It’s a shame you don’t have someone at home with that worthless PD experience with whom you could share attorney-to-attorney privilege.”

His eyes met hers for the first time, and Vanessa swallowed, unable to define the emotion she saw there. Playing games is what got you into this mess in the first place, the little voice in her head whispered.

“How did we get here, Gray? I still don’t even know how we got here. How am I supposed to know what you want when we’ve never talked about things? You don’t even know what the fuck you want! You completely changed careers out of the blue, to spite me and make your dad happy. But guess what? You spiting me has made your dad a little less happy with you, and now it sounds like you might hate your job. So who’s winning? Who gets to be the victor in this one, counselor? I didn’t mean to hurt you, Grayson, but everything you’ve done since then has been very deliberately designed to hurt me.”

He said nothing for a long moment, his eyes raising from the tablecloth to glance around the room.

“Actually, I know exactly what I want right now. Another drink.”

She let out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, her confidence that she could fix things shriveling. What’s gone is gone. Too late to try and set parameters around things now. She jumped when he hooked her pinky with his own across the table, biting her lip as the obsequious server appeared to whisk away the empty rocks glass, reappearing shortly after with a fresh drink.

“Since when do you drink anything other than champagne?”

“I’m contemplating taking up alcoholism, actually. It seems like the next logical step to achieving a triumvirate of poor decisions. Someone asked me if I was planning on doing gardening, but I don’t think my cuticles would take well to the dirt. A hobby is a hobby, though, right?”

Her shoulders shook in laughter as she laced their fingers fully.

“Please don’t. You already have a terrible personality, sober. And I don’t think your poor brain could handle that. It’s not too late to walk back on some of those poor decisions. It should be, but it’s not. Well . . . actually, Shrike has your office now. I don’t think you can walk back on that one. Are you even going to have time to plan your party this year?”

“That’s what event planners are for. I’ll be lucky if I can even get the night off. What about you, rabbit? Are you going to be ready to run?”

Her heart thrilled, hearing her pet name for the first time in what felt like an eternity, but for all her talk, she didn’t know what she wanted either. She was ready to run, was always ready to run, wanted him to keep chasing her forever. She wouldn’t know what to do with herself if she were caught, but it was looking more and more likely like she either needed to face the snare or find a new running partner.

“Of course,” she agreed with a wide smile. “If I have a party to go to, that is. I wonder who might catch me this year, it’s a wide-open field.” She held his eye as she drained her own glass, wondering if he would even care to claim her. Vanessa realized, for the first time, how exhausting this all was. She was chasing him, for the first time in their relationship, and she fucking hated it.  “And you know what they say. After the ceremony, the chase is the fun part.”

* * *

Chapter eleven

The Capture

“I didn’t expect to see you here tonight.”

Vanessa turned at the familiar deep voice, his scent catching her nose, similar to Grayson but just different enough. Not as icy cool, peppery at the back of her tongue, as if his bad temper and short fuse manifested into an appropriate flavor. She turned, smiling up at Trapp.

“Is that because you didn’t think I would be invited, or you didn’t think I would come?”

“. . . Both?” he winced, earning her laughter. “I’m very glad to see you, don’t get me wrong. Look, I don’t know what happened, and I really don’t want to be involved, but I’m glad you’re here. You’re good for him. I hope he’s good for you. I’m surprised, but it’s a happy surprise.”

“Well, this is the only Lupercalia shindig in town. I couldn’t miss out.”

He beamed with that megawatt smile, and she wondered, not for the first time, what he was doing, wasting his time with a human. “You made the right choice. This is probably your only chance to see me in formal wear. Get your last look, but it’s about to be left in a heap somewhere.”

Vanessa laughed. “Get to it then, brother wolf.”

The ceremony was a near mirror of the one from antiquity. Sacrifice and thanks, sex and sweat. The wolves’ eventual run was to take place counterclockwise around the hill upon which the Greenbridge Glen estate sat, mimicking the run around the Lupercal, ending with the captured couples mating in an adrenaline-fueled frenzy. First, though, came the ritual.

Her inattention had caused her to be towards the back of the room once the ceremony finally got underway, and so she did not see the luperci priests ascend the makeshift altar; did not see the anointing of blood and milk and oil, and only heard the echoes of the ceremonial laughter. Pomp and tradition, ageless and endless, a celebration of what they were and where they had come from. Grayson liked the pageantry of events like this, something older than any of them that still lived in their bones. He might be a self-centered prick most of the time, but when the opportunity arose for observance, he was as devout as a pack elder, turning his nose up to any half-hearted celebration, and she found she quite agreed with the sentiment. And since his nose was the only one that counted, the others did exactly what he wanted.

They gave thanks to the mother who nourished, paid homage to the first wolves who founded an empire and raised their voices to join in a ceremonial chant. The chase might be the fun part, but the ceremony was a crucial element in the evening’s enjoyment, and if she focused hard enough, Vanessa was certain she could smell the olive blossom and honeyed wine carried on the air from that first, ancient ritual. Her eyes slipped shut, soaking it all in.

She was too far away to see the altar, but the distance had its benefits, for she was in a perfect position to observe the wolves as they entered. The headdresses completely concealed their identity but did little to hide their nakedness as they moved in a procession to the altar. The Brotherhood of the Wolf, a sacred sect born in antiquity, their practices still alive and well amongst modern werewolves, particularly in Cambric Creek. The men were short and tall, stocky and muscular, bare cocks in various stages of hardness and flaccidity, unidentifiable and anonymous. Her wolf squirmed, wondering how many of them would pursue her, whose lashes she would feel as they moved through the crowd.

Other Lupercalia celebrations used more pedestrian methods of choosing pairings — names placed in jars and pulled randomly, the paired-off couple disappearing for the rest of the evening, but such lukewarm arrangements had no place at these festivities. Sex and sweat and screams were part and parcel of the ceremony, and they would not have it any other way. The celebration was primal in nature, the true old ways, as she’d learned over the last handful of years, when wolves were given the freedom to run and hunt, chasing their prey until submission, their coupling a prize to be won and not a game of chance for children. Any of these men might have her, and that was simply the nature of the evening.