“I don’t care how good a fuck she is, Veyr. The council will not stand by and allow you to mate a near-human.”

Veyr, Master of the City and the most powerful werewolf in the room, looked up to regard the men sat around the table in front of him. Alphas from the twelve packs surrounded him, the leaders of their communities. All but one looked back, the bright rings of amber in their eyes proclaiming their status as pure-blood werewolves. Unlike Veyr. Not from the ranks of lycan nobility, he’d attained his position through blood, sweat and being the meanest son of a bitch out. Not born to power, or into an exalted position within any of the packs, he was the son of an attack victim, the born-wolf child of a bitten mother; the lowest in lycan society.

Not content with such a low rank, he’d made his name and fortune in the fight clubs, rising to own them. He’d been King of the Ring before a rare challenge had given him a shot at the title of Master of the City. A fact that a few of the wolves around the table appeared to have forgotten, as most nodded to agree with Jacob McCauley.

“Really?” Veyr drawled, resting his chin on his knuckles. His voice was low and dangerous, a clue that had the guards at the door straightening. They were his men, hand-picked by his captain, a wolf from the pits just like Veyr.

He didn’t take his eyes off Jacob. The man was arrogant and convinced of his superiority. Six months into his role as alpha, he was already throwing his weight about. A fact that annoyed the hell out of Veyr.

“So, you’re telling me you have decided to tell the Master of the City what he can and cannot do?” Veyr stood, exploding into movement that made Jacob scuttle back, surprise written over his face. Veyr’s voice was still quiet as he resisted the urge to let his claws do the talking, but he didn’t restrict the amber in his eyes to just a ring. Wolfing them out to the max, he let his anger roll from him in waves.

“Because,” he snarled and slammed his fists into the tabletop. The solid wood cracked under the blow, the sound like a gunshot in the room. “If you want to give the orders, then you can always issue a challenge.”

Jacob paled. Not as white as a sheet, nothing so poetic. Instead, he turned the white of a man who has just seen the future. One that ended with his intestines around his feet as he tried to scream through a shredded throat.

“No, no. I apologize, Master,” he was quick to assure. “I forget my place. It won’t happen again.” He ducked his head in apology but not before Veyr had seen the flash of anger in his eyes. Given that and the somewhat unsavory rumors Veyr had heard about the man, he knew Jacob was a problem he would have to deal with sooner rather than later. With violence. Veyr was good with violence when the situation warranted it. It was the reason he was the only fighter to retire from the ring undefeated.

“I didn’t think so. Anyone else?” Veyr looked around the room, his expression hard. With their ringleader cut down to size, none of the others held his gaze for long. A few seconds at most. He reached the last man at the table, and the silence stretched out as Veyr waited for him to look up.

Nick Trevais lifted his head to meet Veyr’s eyes. He smiled; his expression strained. It was ever likely to be. The woman under discussion was his sister.

“McCauley is right,” he said in a quiet voice. Unlike his spitfire of a sister, Trevais had always been the voice of reason on the council. He continued to be so, regardless of his personal stake in the matter. “As Master of the City, you cannot take a non-shifter as your mate. Concubine, yes. Mate, no.”

His words fell into the silence of the room. Around the table, the other alphas nodded their agreement. Veyr hid his smile when Jacob’s eyes lit with triumph. It was no secret to anyone with half a brain that he wanted to mate his sister to the Master of the City. As beautiful and elegant as Vanessa McCauley was though, she didn’t hold Veyr’s interest. Bred to be the perfect lycan noblewoman, she didn’t have the sass and fire Cyan did, and he wanted every drop, not an insipid partner who agreed with his every word. It didn’t matter that Jacob thought he’d won this battle. Rather than foiling his plans to make Cyan his mate, Nick had provided him a stepping stone to achieving his goal.

“I’ll take it. I want a Claiming Chase.”

---

Being screwed by the Master of the City had its advantages. Cyan Trevais paused mid-bite, a pastry in her hand as her memory went into overdrive. Veyr had been insatiable. She’d never been with a man with so much stamina.

Not that she’d had that many lovers. As the non-shifting sister of a pack alpha, her options in the lycan world were limited. No one wanted a mate who might pass on such a defect to their children and since looking for love in the human world didn’t sit well with her wolf side. Stuck between a rock and a hard place. Unwanted in one world, and too non-human for the other.

But Veyr was something else. Her abilities or lack of them hadn’t seemed to matter to him. Warmth filled her at the memory of his farewell ‘kiss’ before he’d left for a council meeting. It had been hot, torrid and ended up in a hard, fast screw against the wall. The memory, while hot, was tinged with sadness.

He hadn’t mentioned seeing her again. Why should he? She was nothing more than the midwinter fuck. While another woman, one from a different pack, might hope that such a dalliance led to pregnancy and a mating, she knew better that to wish for such an outcome.

Although her brother, as pack alpha, was on the council, his vote was one amongst many, and there was no way the more powerful packs would allow such a union. That was even if Veyr wanted it. There was no obligation for the Master to take a midwinter woman to mate even if she fell pregnant.

As she popped the rest of the pastry in her mouth, her hand stole down to cover her stomach for a moment. The hope she was pregnant swam to the forefront of her mind. At least then she’d have something to remember him. A new horror replaced her misery at the thought of never seeing him again; that of having to attend his wedding, and watch him mate a pack princess like Vanessa McCauley.

She chose another pastry and demolished it. Who cared if she got fat now? Didn’t seem like Veyr was coming back…

The door opened, and she paused, coffee mug in hand. Her heart fell as she recognized the tall figure of Veyr’s captain of the guard instead of the man himself. She berated herself for getting her hopes up in the first place. She knew better. No doubt he’d already forgotten her.

“Good morning, Milady.” The captains’ voice was lower than she expected and gravelly with his wolf. The scent rolling from him betrayed the fact he was an alpha himself, no doubt one without a pack given the fact he was in the Master’s service.

She nodded in acknowledgement, ignoring the fact that her wolf had snarled at the virile, male scent instead of reacting with interest. Pain in the ass animal. It couldn’t exert itself to let her shift, but wanted a say in who they fucked. So not happening.

“The Master sends his apologies for missing breakfast; he had important matters to discuss with the council.”

Yeah, yeah. She got it. Veyr couldn’t be bothered to come and say goodbye himself, so he’d sent his lackey to do his dirty work for him. Her gaze fell on the garment bag draped over the captain’s arm. Yeah, she was right. They were done.

In a tradition as old as the Midwinter Choosing itself, the Master presented his partner with a sumptuous gown in the morning. Of pure white, shot through with silver, they were expensive, gorgeous…and something she wanted to hate on sight. Asshole thought he could end it with an expensive present. Well, didn’t that just make her feel like a special little snowflake…and a hooker.

“He has, however, asked me to give you this.” He approached to lay the garment bag across the chair opposite Cyan. He shot her a glance, his expression unreadable as he pulled down the zip. “You are to wear it to appear before the Master and the Council in the main courtyard in an hour.”

She blinked; his words not at all what she was expecting. The morning after didn’t go this way. She got the dress, and left at her convenience, her expensive prize tucked under her arm and her tail between her legs. All the while she was supposed to be thankful that the Master had seen fit to honor her with a night in his bed.

Her gaze dropped to the chair, and her eyes widened. The dress was red, not white.

A red dress meant something entirely different.

“Shit…”

He smiled; his face set in grim lines. “Indeed. The Master has called for a Claiming Chase.”

He withdrew to allow her to change, a feat that took her less than five minutes. The dress was a perfect fit, if it should look like it had been painted on. Cyan grimaced and wriggled, trying to pull the low neckline up to cover more of her ample bust.

Dark red, and decorated with thousands of beads, it was a gorgeous dress. Trouble was, a deep breath would have her tits falling out to say hello to the world and the tightly corseted waist objected to the extra breakfast pastry she’d consumed in her misery.

None of that mattered though. Veyr had called for a Chase. Her heart leapt, then did acrobatics in her chest. She’d never seen a chase. The last one had been years before her birth, but she’d heard of them. A step above a midwinter choice, but not quite a mating, a claiming chase meant the Master wanted to keep a woman. For a while, at least. Given Cyan’s status, it was more than she could have hoped for.

There was just one problem. A chase was public, as was the fucking that came after as the Master claimed his woman in front of the packs.