The Werewolf King Series

RORY

This week flew by, and it felt as though someone had forgotten to hand me a ticket.

Already, the wedding was taking place tomorrow at noon, and tonight, we had the rehearsal dinner to get through, and here I was, double-checking table settings and string lights.

Putting another check on my checklist, I went running off to check if the florist had arrived. Now, don’t get me wrong, I loved Arya.

I really did, despite the short amount of time we’d had to get to know each other, but goodness me, could this girl spend!

Every day, she presented a list of new ideas from various magazines, and it was my job to track the materials down.

I almost felt guilty for the brother bankrolling this, but it wasn’t my idea to give her the keys to the kingdom, so to speak.

The responsibility belonged solely to the brother who’d been signing the checks I kept handing off to the vendors. We had yet to meet.

My phone buzzed, and I looked down to check. The famous makeup artist Arya requested was originally due to arrive in the morning, but I’d cashed in a few favors.

She was being flown in from Los Angeles, and I’d just managed to get her to agree to perform her services this evening as well for the rehearsal dinner.

I sent Arya a message to let her know of the confirmation and the woman’s imminent arrival. I just hoped that her arrival would be enough to keep Arya happy and avoid any more “tweaks,” as she liked to call them.

I put my phone down and hurried back to the lobby in time for another guest to pull in out front.

Those “tweaks” of hers had been the bane of my existence for the past week, and if I ever saw that word again after tomorrow, I would not be held responsible for my actions.

An older gentleman got out of the car, and I smiled as I promised my team would handle his bags and I would escort him up to his room personally.

Twenty-four more hours and this whole thing would be over. That’s what I needed to focus on.

I handed his keys to the valet I hired. My portfolio would take me to a whole new performance level, and my bank account might actually like me again. Here’s to hoping!

“Rory, you’re the best!” Arya squealed out emphatically when she came across me escorting her Uncle John to his room.

The floor plan I was currently using to assist her immediate family in finding their way to their assigned rooms resembled more of a treasure map than a blueprint.

If this wasn’t a democracy, I would start to question the royal lineage behind the people I was escorting. The longer I spent here, the more it felt like a palace instead of a mansion.

At the very least, I suspected they were very old money.

Of course, the day I chose to break out my heels was the day I was asked to climb the grand staircase 500 times, but I didn’t really mind. The art on the way up was breathtaking.

I spotted something new each time I led someone past.

“You’ve seen my message then?” I grinned because I was quite proud of myself.

Madam Von Cleeves drove a hard bargain, and she had only agreed to my demands if I managed to squeeze her a night at the Ritz as part of her payment.

I owed the night manager there a huge favor now because it had been all booked up. I’d probably owe him dinner, but it would be worth it if this were the last change. Please let this be the last change!

“She just messaged again. Oh, she’s here!” she screamed, and her bridesmaids came out into the hall as well to see what was going on.

“Rory, do you mind going to get her and bringing her up?” Arya’s face lit up like the Fourth of July, and naturally, it only took a second for me to agree as I finished showing Uncle John his accommodation and welcome basket.

My ears could use a break from all of the noise, and I left my map down there anyway. It was a dumb mistake, but her Uncle John had been an interesting old fellow despite being a bit senile.

For some reason, he kept going on about wolves, and it reminded me of a fairy tale.

My work heels echoed off the marble floors which spanned the entire hallway and stairs. I couldn’t even imagine how much that cost.

My eyes were glued to a painting of a famous astronomer as I walked past, and it was just as I went to turn the corner that I smelled him—sweat and excessive cologne.

Great. Just when I thought I was getting the hang of avoiding the groom, he found me. For the past few days, I had put up with his eyes glued to my breasts and ass every time we spoke while skillfully declining his invitation for a tour.

Even if this place felt as glamorous as Buckingham Palace, something told me everything was not right there. My instincts told me not to be alone with that man.

Unfortunately, I now found myself alone in an empty corridor with the exact man I’d been avoiding.

“There you are. I’ve been s-sent to f-find you.” His voice slurred the words as he spoke. He now reeked of sweat, excessive cologne, and alcohol. Delightful.

“Madame Von Cleeves? I’m on my way there now,” I returned, watching him swagger, uncomfortable as I tried to give him a wide berth.

Mike was a mess at the moment—his eyes red and cheeks ruddy. Still, it was my job to remain as professional and polite as possible.

“No, I was sent by someone else,” he stated with a proud smile, clearly thinking that he was being mysterious and charming rather than incredibly annoying as he stumbled closer to me.

“Who, Mike?” My voice came out a bit sharp, upset at the sudden closing of the gap between us, but he didn’t seem to notice.

“Me.”

Before I could ask what the hell he meant by that, he threw himself at me, and it became all too clear.

His outstretched hand grabbed my breast painfully while his other took hold of my behind. I tried to bat him away, but he stopped me, crushing his mouth against mine.

I got an immediate taste of the alcohol on his rancid breath, which was already making me queasy.

I struggled, dragging my face away. Once I managed to free my mouth, I begged him to stop, but it was no use. He either didn’t hear me or didn’t care, and I had a feeling it was the latter.

He backed me against the wall and used the weight of his stocky frame to pin me there. Again, I tried to push him away but was greeted by his strong hand wrapping around my neck.

Already, my blouse was torn, my hair half loose, and bruises were forming from where his hands had pawed roughly at me.

Spots formed in my field of vision. The world was going dark as the pressure on my throat only escalated. I considered there was a strong chance that this idiot might kill me tonight.

Feeling my struggles become weaker and weaker, even as my desperation increased, I prayed that I might dissuade him with my final breaths. I tried to scream for help, but was disappointed to find it broke through as barely a whisper.

That was my last attempt, and it had failed. Was this really how I died?