Gideon
Starstruck
GIDEON
EARLIER THAT DAY
“Gideon, where are you? I’m about done, and I need the car here,” Helen says as soon as I answer the phone. I can hear soft music playing in the background.
“I’m almost home. I’ll send the car over as soon as Bradshaw drops me off.”
“You know I hate waiting. I’m at Jean-Georges. Come get me now.”
Helen left this morning to go shopping and is just now finishing up a late lunch with a friend. The car’s been at her disposal, idly waiting for her all day, and I just had it pick me up thirty-five minutes ago.
I’m less than five minutes away from our building, and the Waldorf Astoria, where she had lunch, is almost forty minutes away on a good day. An hour’s drive if the traffic is bad. And the traffic is bad. It’s rush hour.
“Then, take a cab or an Uber,” I say.
“Cab? Uber?” she scoffs. “Are you serious right now? I never…”
I pinch the bridge of my nose and lower the phone to my knee.
I just spent the last seven hours in a meeting with nine headstrong alphas from Orange County, and I have to meet up with them again tomorrow. I certainly don’t feel like dealing with one of Helen’s fits right now.
My team and I have been working hard to help the alphas settle their differences as amicably as possible.
Their packs might not be too big, but alphas are known to be stubborn, short-tempered, and—a lot of the time—unreasonable.
Helen’s still talking, so I glance at my phone and press “end call.”
“Bradshaw, pick Ms. Aristophanes up after you drop me off at the traffic light here.” I’m a few blocks away from my building, but I can walk. Besides, the traffic is gridlocked, so it’ll probably be faster.
Bradshaw slowly eases the car into the right lane, and I get out as soon as he stops at the traffic light.
My phone rings in my hand. It’s Helen again. She must be fuming that I ended the call while she was still talking. I expect she’ll make me pay for it tonight at the charity gala.
I turn off the phone and stroll among the humans on the sidewalk.
Taller than most of them, I draw attention. I’m always drawing attention.
I’m aware of the flirtatious smiles and the come-hither looks thrown my way, mostly by women. But they have no idea what they’re looking at.
The brief walk already makes me feel better. It’s been a while. I need to go for a run, just not in this concrete jungle. The beast in me craves nature.
But first… I sigh as I reach my building. Business.
***
“Lord Archer!”
I turn at the sound of my name.
Alistair Pembroke faces me, looking flushed and probably a little drunk. “Fancy meeting you here,” he says like he’s trying to be cute. Or maybe just a prick.
Alistair is a social climber and a billionaire. He wants desperately to be my friend to get closer to the royal family. He’d shit his pants if he knew the crown prince was here in California.
He takes my hand and pounds me on the back while we shake, like we’re old pals. I can’t stand guys like him.
“Ms. Helen Aristophanes,” he says to my date. “The pleasure is mine.”
The fucked-up part is I know he’s had sex with her. More than once. While she was mine.
“Mr. Pembroke.” Helen gives him one of her sultry and seductive smiles, offering him her hand. He scans her body and lifts her hand to his lips.
“So, what brings the legendary Lord Archer here tonight?” he asks, holding her hand for way too long. “I never expected to see you among humans.” He finally lets her go.
I dig my hands into my pockets and glance around at the party. Let him wait for my response.
The gala is in full swing: champagne, live music, men in thousand-dollar suits, and women in designer dresses. The place is crawling with humans.
I’ve counted two other lycans here tonight. Pembroke probably brought them himself, part of his security detail. Possibly friends of his.
“I’m here for the same reason we all are,” I say. “To support the charity.”
“Of course,” he says, sounding a little disappointed.
“There you are!” A woman sidles up next to Pembroke. “Alistair, honey, aren’t you going to introduce us?” She plants her eyes squarely on mine.
“Lord Archer, let me introduce you to my beautiful date, Ms. Juana Vega. Juana, this is Lord Archer and his stunning date, Ms. Helen Aristophanes.”
“His stunning partner,” Helen corrects him. She curls her fingers around my arm.
“Oh my, you’re Lord Archer,” Juana breathes. Her eyes brighten. She looks to Alistair. “You never told me you knew Lord Archer.”
“A pleasure to meet you, Ms. Vega.” I shake her hand.
She looks starstruck. She gushes, “The pleasure is all mine!”
Helen’s hand tightens around my bicep. Reflexively, I shake her off. She gasps, clearly upset by my flinching away, and storms off. I don’t even disguise my sigh from our hosts.
“If you’ll excuse me,” I say to Pembroke and Juana, following Helen into the house.
I made her my companion nearly five years ago, with no promises about the future. She was entertaining back then. But even then, I made it very clear that if I ever found my erasthai, our relationship would be over. No bad feelings.
It’s not like we’ve even been all that close these last five years. She’s often away for months. Once, for nearly a year! She says she likes to spend time in Mykonos, where her parents live.
I doubt that, but I don’t ask her where she goes, and she doesn’t ask me where I go. That part of the relationship has always worked well.
She’s so irritating now. I can’t remember when exactly she stopped being entertaining, but it was a long time ago. Perhaps our time together is close to ending. I’m not sure how many more outbursts like this one I can tolerate.
The last straw came recently, when she started getting flirty with the crown prince. I take my job very seriously. Messing with my job is the one thing I won’t tolerate. The crown prince is happily paired, and that’s not going to end on my account.
My official job title is “Emissary to the King of Lycans and Werewolves,” but the king jokingly calls me his message delivery boy.
I call myself his most trusted message delivery boy.
I travel all over the world. Sometimes I’m a negotiator; sometimes I’m just given a command. But even my extensive experience in diplomacy won’t help me diffuse the bomb that is Helen tonight.
Maybe I can sweeten her up with an expensive gift. She loves expensive gifts. That usually does the trick. Helen is rather superficial.
“Helen, please don’t cause a scene,” I urge half-heartedly as we shuffle past some wait staff.
She turns to look at me and rolls her eyes before stomping upstairs.
I follow her to the end of a corridor and into a bedroom. She strides over to the drawn curtains in a huff and turns to face me.
“You know, Gideon, you’ve been absolutely insufferable lately. First, you leave me stranded without a car, then you have the audacity to hang up on me when I was stranded, and now, in front of everyone, you shrug me off like I’m some kind of…of embarrassment!”
I try to stay focused on her, but an intoxicating scent fills my nostrils. It’s coming from the far corner of the room, by the bed.
I walk toward the scent while she continues to rant at me. It leads me directly to a bag. Right on top of it is a Superman bralette.
How odd.
All of a sudden, I hear a short buzz from behind me. It came from the closet.
I walk slowly toward it.
I can smell the scent here too.
Whose room is this? I ask myself as my hand reaches to open the closet door.
Helen’s hand lands on my arm, spinning me around to face her. “Are you even listening to me, Gideon? Do you even care?” Her voice is rising, a tremor in it now, and I notice her eyes are starting to glisten. It’s all an act, I know it is, but she’s certainly committed.
“A—all right, Helen, w—what do you want? A tennis bracelet? Shopping spree on Rodeo Drive?” I can barely stutter the words; the room is spinning.
She glares at me, then turns her head away, feigning dissatisfaction. “Fine,” she sighs. “I forgive you. Can we go home now?”
“Sure,” I say. “Give me a second to make a call. I’ll meet you in the car.”
She huffs one last time before leaving.
When I am certain that she’s gone, I turn back to the Superman bralette with narrowed eyes and lift it to my nose.
I hungrily draw in a sharp, deep breath, pulling the scent into my nostrils and lungs like an addict snorting crack cocaine.
Just like that, my heart rate doubles. Fire runs up my spine. My vision changes, telling me my eyes are turning black. My teeth and canines lengthen, sharpen.
I fight to regain control, willing the animal side of me to back down. Whoever this bralette belongs, she smells unbelievable. Like nothing I’ve ever smelled before.
And it’s driving me wild.
I grip the fabric as my lycan fights to come out again. It’s like a reaction to a kick in the gut—I have no control over it.
My lycan has never reacted so strongly without provocation. Even when the scent was faint, my lycan took notice and instantly reacted.
I bury my nose in the bralette again. The scent is definitely addictive. I just can’t get enough of it. And the more I smell it, the more I yearn for its source.
I need to find out who it belongs to. It’s driving my lycan crazy. It’s driving me crazy. There’s no way I’ll be able to rest until I find out.
Suddenly, the thought of returning home with Helen makes me feel disgusted.
I pocket the bralette inside my jacket, then leave the room. Helen hasn’t wandered far. I find her in the hallway outside. Unsurprisingly, she looks quite happy to see me. As I said, it was all an act.
“Darling,” she purrs, leaning her body against mine. “Perhaps when we get home, you’d like a private viewing of my shopping spree today.”
She drops the strap of her gown, revealing just the rim of her lacy bra. It’s not one I recognize, so I imagine it’s new. She runs a manicured finger over my chest, between the open buttons of my shirt.
I catch her wrist and draw it away. “I’m not in the mood right now, Helen.”
Her eyes narrow, her sweet purr turning to a low growl. “Not in the mood? What is wrong with you tonight, Gideon? If you’re going to be like this, I’ll just leave! I don’t need to be here, enduring your moods.”
She crosses her arms, waiting for me to pull her back, to apologize, to beg. But I don’t.
This ancient, loveless existence has been a monotonous drone for too long. And my gut tells me this scent, this intoxicating, dizzying scent, is about to change everything.
Her face contorts in pure rage when I simply stand there, silent. “Fine! I’m leaving! I’ll go to a hotel until you come to your senses and are ready to treat me with the respect I deserve.”
She whirls around, her blue gown swishing, and stomps off down the hall without another word.
I roll my eyes. But speaking of senses…
I head back downstairs into the pulsating heart of the party. My eyes scan the room, searching for the sharp, slicked-back bun of the lycan security woman. I spot her by the main entrance.
“Excuse me,” I say when I approach. “Would you mind pointing me toward the guests who are staying upstairs tonight?”
She turns to me, her expression unreadable. “There are no guests are staying upstairs at the moment, sir. Only the cleaners, who are preparing the rooms for visitors who will be arriving tomorrow.”
I nod slowly, an idea forming. “Well, they did an excellent job. What service is it?”
She gives me an odd look, as if unsure why I’m asking about house cleaners at a charity gala for the elite. “I’ll find out for you, sir,” she assures me, then turns and melts back into the shadows of the party.
Continue to the next chapter of Gideon