Zander looked out his bedroom window at the prep for the party. The house buzzed with workers and security, with June orchestrating the entire project like a five-star general. After two weeks of planning and expectation, it was only a matter of hours now. So much rode on what transpired tonight. Not just for his business, but for his life.

The thought of how his world had been turned upside-down by one woman in just a fortnight, still threw him. He was Alexandr Petrov. He smirked, sipping his drink. Alexandr had the world by the balls. Zander, on the other hand, only wanted one thing.

Isabel.

The sun had set on the beach across from the end of the property, and he slipped the sliding glass doors wide to let in the breeze and the sound of the surf. The trees below were in shadow, even with the moon cresting toward full. Security had been put on notice. The gardens and his small orchard were off limits, as was access to the beach from the house.

Contrary to appearances, he hated these events. In businesses, they were a necessary evil, and the money raised and the deals made kept his pack and their mountain along the Russian River pristine and untouched. Land in California was at a premium, and more than one developer had tried to manipulate the system to get their grubby hands on their land. Zander never told his father what he had to do to protect their little kingdom, and he certainly wasn’t going to tell him now. Not with him being so sick.

He glanced up at the moon and smiled. He’d learned to take comfort from its silver light and let the excitement of being a shifter course through his veins from his time in the mountains. No one would touch his home, and if his father wanted him mated to help preserve that, so be it.

Problem was he didn’t want just anyone. He wanted Isabel. Now, if only the fates would grant him his miracle. That would be a win-win for everyone. Especially him.

“Isabel.” Her name was barely a murmur. A prayer whispered into the night sky.

Jezebel’s head popped up from her bed and she whined. Zander turned his head toward the sliders and smiled at the fuzzy shepherd.

“I know, old girl. I can’t stop thinking about her, either.” He walked inside and stood at his desk, lifting a file from the blotter. “I tried. No one can find her.”

He put the file down and walked to the end of his king-sized footboard to squat beside Jezebel’s bed. “How can one girl be such a ghost in this town where everyone is clamoring to be noticed?”

Jezzie barked and he scratched her ears. “You’re right. Because Isabel isn’t like everyone else.”

Zander gave the dog another scratch and then straightened. He walked back to his desk and flipped open the file. On top of the private investigator’s reports was an old napkin, its crumpled edges smoothed, but still creased. He lifted the napkin and ran his thumb over the hardened fibers and the red smudges that was Isabel’s note.

With an exhale, he put her note on his desk and picked up his drink, downing it in one shot. He glanced at the clock on his nightstand and frowned. It was showtime.

Zander put his glass down and then tucked the note back in the file before locking the folder in his top drawer. He smiled to himself, watching Jezebel’s eyes droop, her head on one of her toys in her bed. With another exhale, he stripped, tossing his clothes in the hamper outside the bathroom. He snapped on the light and turned on the shower.

Restless, he stepped into the hot spray, letting the water pulse on his shoulders and back. This edgy feeling had been his constant companion since he walked into the diner with Jezzie to find Isabel had gone. Everything hinged on tonight. But what if she didn’t show? What if every one of his instincts were wrong, and she wasn’t out there hoping for him, as well?

The warm water soaked into his flesh, and he dipped his head, trying to alleviate some of his tension. His wolf growled, pacing. The beast was as frustrated as he and the idea of never finding Isabel left him hollow and his wolf ready to rip through his skin.

Leaning his forehead on the tile, Zander pictured Isabel in his mind. Her lush curves and the sway of her hips as she walked. Her full, sensual mouth and the way her dark hair gleamed in the sun. He’d only touched her hand, but the silk of her skin sent a punch to his groin. His cock thickened at the soft, remembered feel.

What was so different about this one woman? He’d had plenty. Why was she the one to haunt his dreams and plague his mind to the distraction of all else? The answer was innate and as ancient as his kind. She was his mate. He knew it and his wolf knew it. The beast howled as the water cascaded over his skin. He groaned at the thought of him claiming her and her body, and his cock jerked as if in agreement.

Images of Isabel combined in his mind, from her full, soft body to the sexy pink of her tongue, and his balls ached for release. His cock throbbed and he wrapped his hand around his shaft and squeezed, running his palm over his corded flesh. Zander’s body tensed, his hand pumping fast and hard over his sensitive head, over and over again, until he came—Isabel’s name a guttural groan on his lips.

* * *

“How’s that? Better?” Isabel walked behind the woman’s back, watching Candice’s expression in the three-sided mirror. She’d had her nip and tuck and add and subtract for the last two hours, and at this point Izzy was exhausted. Maybe that was her plan all along. Work her until she was too tired to move, let alone go to the party tonight. She laughed to herself. Fat chance.

Candice’s eyes glowed as she turned, taking in every aspect of the gown and how it hugged her curves. Accenting the best of her shape while hiding a myriad of sins as well. “It’s splendid, Isabel. Absolutely stunning.” She turned, giving Izzy a nod. “As good as Alison’s, if not better. You truly outdid yourself.” With an appreciative smile, she winked. “As always.”

Isabel felt her cheeks warm. Candice Gordon was not one for praise. “I hope Ally didn’t hear you say that or she’ll make me design a new dress for her on the spot, and considering this is your place and not my studio, she’d be shit out of luck. Even if I had the time.”

She looked around. “Where is she anyway? It’s getting late, and I want to check her hem one last time before I get in the shower. She can’t keep changing her mind on the kind of heels she wants.”

Candice looked at her reflection again, her eyes meeting Izzy’s in the mirror. “I don’t know where she went. Maybe she’s upstairs.”

Isabel raised an eyebrow at her evasive tone. “Why would she be upstairs? Her dress and everything she needs is in her room down here—” She glanced at the steps, alarm bells going off in her head along with Tessa’s words.

She turned on her heel and headed for the stairs, her gut churning.

“Tell Alison to come down when she’s done dressing. We really need to get going.”

“Don’t worry. None of us wants to be late.” Isabel looked over her shoulder, but Candice was too busy admiring herself. Maybe Tess was wrong. After all, what could they do? Her ticket was safe and sound back at her studio. Her eyes flew wide. Her ticket might be safe, but her dress wasn’t. It was upstairs in the guestroom with the rest of her stuff.

She took the steps two at a time, adrenaline giving her the strength to move despite her curves. Alison was nowhere to be found as she walked into the guestroom, her eyes wary. Three garment bags still hung in the closet. Two were empty and the third—

Swallowing back the lump in her throat, Isabel unzipped the bag. Her hand shook as her fingers reached for what was left of her dress, a choked sob breaking in her chest. The dress was ruined. Like someone had gone postal, slashing it until it hung in shreds on the hanger.

“Oh, that’s a shame, Izzy.” Alison stood in the doorway in her robe, her hair and makeup already done for the evening. “And such a gorgeous gown, too. Such a color! So similar to fabric I asked you to find for me last year. The same fabric you said you couldn’t locate,” she tsked. “Who could be that spiteful?”

Isabel wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “You know as well as I do who is that vindictive, you bitch.”

“Me?” she laughed, tossing Izzy’s sewing scissors onto the guest bed. “You’re right. Then again, you should know me well enough by now, Isabel. Maybe you should learn not to leave your tools around. Tempt not, want not.”

“The saying is waste not, want not, you stupid cunt.”

Alison’s mouth twisted. “Isabel is so talented. Isabel can do anything.” Her voice was high and shrill. “Oh, Candice, you should be so proud of Izzy! She’s going places!” The girl laughed. “Why should she be proud? Candice wasn’t even married to your stupid father! I’m sick of hearing it! Going places, ha! Well the only place you are not going is to the party tonight!”

Red faced, her chest heaved as she stared at Isabel, but Ally sucked in a breath and waved her off with a practiced chuckle. “I suppose we could wait for you to try and mend that mess of a dress, but from the looks of that rag, it would take a miracle.”

Her face hardened and her eyes were narrow and flinty. “I always get what I want, Isabel, and those who stand in my way end up hurt. Be grateful it was your gown I cut and not you. Stop trying to be something you’re not, Izzy. Especially not with a dress that’s better than mine.”

“I only want my due, Alison. I earned it.”

Ally scoffed. “Candice owes me. Not you. I’m her daughter.”

“That woman doesn’t owe you anything, and you know exactly what I’m talking about.” Isabel lifted her chin, meeting Ally’s stare. “Ignorance isn’t always bliss, Alison, and whatever you may think, Candice is not stupid. Regretful? Guilt-ridden? Maybe. But not stupid.”

Alison’s eyes narrowed even more before leaning toward the empty doorway as if listening for footsteps. “Did you really think you could come with us?” She turned back with a dismissive laugh. “I don’t know what you think you know, but if I were you I’d lose the notion fast. You’re a rag tag bottom feeder whose only use is in the backroom, sewing. You’ll never be more than a two-bit seamstress, so unless you’ve got a fairy godmother with a magic wand, it looks like you’re not going to the ball tonight, Cinderella.”

Heat sluiced across Isabel’s chest and her skin prickled as if on fire. Her arm shot across her middle and she cried out, falling to her knees as pain gripped her insides. Her fingernails pulsed as if they were being pulled off. Her skull felt like it wanted to reshape or explode. She gulped in air, trying to hold still until the feeling passed.

With a snort, Alison walked to the doorway. “You’re so annoying, Izzy, really. If you’re going to have a panic attack, at least wait until Candice and I leave. I’ll tell her you said not to wait. After all, a tubby nobody like you needs all the time she can get to pull it together.” Shaking her head, she flounced out with a laugh, leaving Isabel on the floor.

Izzy got to her knees, using the bed to help herself up. Through the door, she heard the two downstairs ready to go and a sob hitched in her throat. This was all Alison. Candice was a first-class bitch, but she wasn’t malicious. She respected excellence, and whatever her short comings, she would never have allowed Ally to ruin that dress.

Emotions warred in her chest at what to do next. And what the hell had knocked her to her knees? She’d never felt anything like that before. Maybe Ally was right and it was a panic attack. Isabel shook her head. It didn’t matter.

There was no way to even process what she felt. All she wanted was to take her stuff and get out. She’d figure a way to pay the two of them back in spades. If ever she wished she could shift into a raging predator, it was now. Like she told Tessa, no more Miss Nice Girl.

Refusing to cry, she zipped up what was left of her gown and unhooked the garment bag from its hanger in the closet. As for the rest of her sewing tools downstairs, she’d collect tomorrow or the next day. She grumbled to herself. Or maybe never. Maybe she’d bury them with the rest of the evidence along with Candice’s and Alison’s bodies.

It was late, and Tessa was waiting for her call. She planned to meet her with the others to take pictures. They were so happy for her, but right now all she wanted was a hot shower and her bed.

Waiting until it was quiet, she took her bag and whatever else she could carry and left. By the time she got back to the studio, she was numb. Unlocking the door, she didn’t bother with the lights. She dumped the garment bag and the rest on her worktable and then curled up on her bed.

Of course, sleep wouldn’t come. Worse yet, Tessa’s words rang through her mind in a scolding I told you so chant. She sat up in the dark, blinking at the shadows in the studio. Revenge was a dish best served cold, so she needed to chill out and plan. She’d get even if it was the last thing she did.

A knock on the door pulled her from her plotting. Isabel got up and walked to the door, dying a little when she saw it was Tess. At least she was alone.

She opened the door, holding her hand up before the woman could utter a word. “Don’t say it. I’ve been hearing your voice in my head for the past hour, and I don’t need it broadcasted live. Trust me, Memorex is enough.”

“Tell me what they did.”

Izzy pointed to the garment bag on her table and then slumped into a chair. Tessa snapped on the light and Isabel’s hand went up to shield her eyes. “I know you want to see the carnage, but does it have to be tonight?” Izzy’s voice cracked.

“The best revenge is success, Isabel. It’s not cold, though it can be coldhearted.” Tessa picked up the garment bag and hung it in the closet, unzipping the front. She looked at the shredded dress and shook her head. “Thankfully, in your case, though, your revenge is hot, hot, hot and going to stick it to them where they live.”

“I’m not in the mood for riddles, Tess. What are you talking about?”

Lifting one finger, she walked to the front door and came back with another garment bag. “This is what I’m talking about.”

She took the old one down and hung up the new one, unzipping the front.

Izzy sat up, her eyes wide. “Tess! How? When?” Inside was Izzy’s dress, or to be specific, an exact duplicate. The same amazing silk fabric, the same design. Identical.

Tessa shrugged. “You left the pattern at my place. So, I made a copy. I ordered extra fabric a while ago, just in case, and it looks like my instincts were on the money. While you were busy with the other designs, I made an identical dress. I may not be a fairy godmother, but I don’t need a magic wand to get you to this shindig tonight.”

Isabel launched herself from her chair, throwing her arms around the older woman. “You’re better than a fairy godmother. Wand or no wand, you rock!”

Tessa laughed, taking a step back. “Yeah, and no midnight curfew to get in the way of sticking it royally to those two cunts.” She made a face. “I hate that word, but in this case, it fits.” With a smile, she cupped Izzy’s cheek. “Come on. Let’s get you ready for the ball, Cinderella. I only wish I could be there to see those two sorry excuses choke on their tongues!”