The next morning, the work crew arrived to begin work on repairing the Shaws’ roof. Crystal stepped out to go to school to find them pulling up in their truck. The men climbed out in their hard hats and goggles with their tool kits and ladders and set themselves to the task of scaling the side of the house and peeling away the plastic and the tarps. Over the next week or so, they would undertake the task of restoring the house to its undamaged appearance. Crystal paused for a moment to watch them and noticed that one of them was younger than the others.
He appeared to be about the same age as a given young Alpha-male-to-be. He was clad in jeans and a T-shirt, and while Crystal could not see all of his hair under his hard hat, she guessed his head was topped with waves of sandy brown. Under those informal work clothes, Crystal could tell, hard and solid muscles and perhaps a chest and abs dusted with hair that were packed. She could deduce what the rest of him must be like by the splendidly muscled bare arms that the T-shirt left exposed. She could almost sense the muscles rippling as he moved. He was handsome enough, but much scruffier than the leather-jacketed stud who had earlier pulled up to the house in a black Corvette Stingray.
Well, for his line of work, he did not require a polished personal style, though it occurred to Crystal that he could have labored in the employ of the Blackwood family. He could have been one of the men who performed the physical work of building the fabulous homes of the Blackwoods’ clients. Crystal wondered what it must be like to work at the job of building homes where one might possibly never be able to afford to live. She imagined that the satisfaction of such work must be the work itself.
The younger contractor smiled at Crystal once as he marched up to the house with an aluminum ladder over his shoulder and waved to her with a work-gloved hand. She smiled back at him, finding him friendly enough. He had a very bright smile. She could not help but wonder how he might look all cleaned up for a date. Or a ball.
She likewise tried to imagine him undressed for the end of the date, for the things he would spend the rest of the evening doing to the very fortunate woman he had taken out. Crystal wondered, too, if such a man might await her in her future. He might be a human or a werewolf; it did not matter which when he looked like that. And she would not necessarily have to marry him or take him as a mate; there was nothing wrong with simply enjoying such a man.
But the youngest workman in the crew, to Crystal, represented possibilities, all the possibilities that lay out there in the world of college and work that lay before her, all the things that a young woman might set out to explore. He represented the future, and all the choices and opportunities of life. This one she would probably never know as anything but one of the men who came to fix her house. But Crystal appreciated him for what he stood for. There were so many others like him out there in the world, waiting to be met, waiting, perhaps, to take her to bed. She would find them—or they would find her.
Shortly, at school, Crystal opened her locker to take out a book that she needed for a morning class and slipped it into her backpack. When she closed her locker door, behind it stood a surprise—a surprise carrying a rose. She blinked at the handsome face of the one holding up the flower.
“Johnny!” she said in a startled but pleased tone. It was Johnny McKinnon of the Varsity track and field team, in his team jacket—all five feet, ten inches of him, all the dark blond hair and steely blue eyes of him, and the All-American face smiling at her and the lean, taut muscle of a runner under his clothes. Johnny McKinnon, who was honor bound to compete only in his human form, as no human Varsity runner alive could ever be a match for him when he morphed. Here, before her, holding up a single yellow rose, was Johnny McKinnon, whom Crystal had been watching from afar—and been out with in a group but had never approached as anything but a friend—since Gary left town.
“Hey, Crystal,” said Johnny. “This is for you.” And he offered her the flower.
Grinning, Crystal said, “Thank you.” She took it and slipped its stem between the pages of her book, leaving just the bloom showing. At the back of her mind, it seemed a somewhat symbolic gesture, though she would have to ponder the symbolism a bit later. Right now, what was standing in front of her required her undivided attention.
Johnny came directly but politely to the point. “I was wondering…has anyone, you know…asked you to the prom?”
Her grin holding steady, but her body tingling inside at this most pivotal moment of an eighteen-year-old girl’s life. “No, not yet,” she replied.
“Then, uh…,” he took the opportunity, “I’m here to ask. Wanna go with me?”
There were no degrees of separation between question and answer. “Yes,” Crystal said. “I’d like to, yes.”
The set of Johnny’s shoulders changed a bit, not so much going into a slump—a slumped posture would have looked thoroughly unnatural with that body—as simply relaxing. “Oh, good, I’m glad,” he said. There was a note of relief in his voice as well, which Crystal found a bit curious. He went on, “To be honest, I was wondering if you were even going to the prom.”
“What made you wonder that?” she asked.
“Well, you know, there are supposed to be all these invitations going out to all the, uh…that is, to the girls who… I mean, you’ve heard about the Blackwoods’ ball. They had that meeting at your Dad’s pub; you must know…”
Crystal’s eyebrows arched. Now, she understood. The surprise of Johnny had momentarily chased from her thoughts what had most been on her mind of late. “Oh. Right. The Blackwoods’ ball.”
“Yeah,” said Johnny. “I mean, I hope you’re not offended or anything, but I heard his car—that is, I heard somebody spotted Trace on your street, parked in front of your house, and I wondered if I even ought to bother… You’re not offended, are you?”
“Offended at what?”
“At knowing people have been talking about you. And me bringing it up.”
Crystal shrugged. “It’s a small town, Johnny. People are gonna talk; it’s not like you can stop them.”
“No, you can’t,” he said. “But I wondered if I should even bother asking you, if you were gonna go to the ball and maybe…maybe start going with…”
Now, she was startled all over again. She had to stop herself taking a step back from Johnny, to put a step of distance between her and him—and that idea. Her voice raising an octave, Crystal blurted, “With Trace Blackwood?” She suddenly caught herself, embarrassed, and looked around at the other kids walking up and down the hall, checking to see if anyone had heard that and was looking this way. Thankfully, everyone seemed more interested in where he or she was going, or in what was on their phones, than in what was passing between Crystal and Johnny McKinnon. More softly, she repeated, “With Trace Blackwood?”
“Well, yeah,” said Johnny. “I mean, if you’re going to that ball, and he’s interested enough to come to your house, for all anybody knows, he might be…”
Crystal held up a hand to stop him. “Interested? Seriously? In me?”
“Why wouldn’t he be? The invitation is for…well, you.”
“Not just me. I’m in the age group, that’s all. It’s got to be more for women in their twenties and thirties! Why would he pick me of all the women who are invited? God, he’s old enough to be my…” Her eyes rolled up a bit at where she was going with that sentence. “He’s old enough to be somebody’s dad.”
“Well, if you think about it,” Johnny ventured carefully, “so are you—kind of. Somebody’s mom, I mean.”
Crystal scoffed. “Just because I’m ‘ready’ doesn’t mean I’m ready! Nobody our age is ready. I’ve never been anywhere. I’ve never done anything.” She abruptly stopped, hoping that the layers of meaning in that last part did not occur to Johnny.
“Never done…anything?” Johnny asked. Oh well, it was a forlorn hope. He found the layers of meaning without even trying. “Weren’t you going with Gary Summers…”
She stopped him again. “Yes, before he moved away. Yes, I was. And what I meant was, I haven’t done…everything.”
“Oh,” said Johnny, understanding. In the air between them, unspoken and unacknowledged, lay the thought of the Revel and the understanding of what it meant to two young lycans attending the prom. It felt almost as if they were already in a tent by lantern light under forest canopy and starlight, stripping off tuxedo and gown, preparing for one of life’s great explorations. Standing with Johnny in that nervous silence, Crystal guessed—correctly, she had no doubt—that where she had yet to embark, Johnny had already been plenty of times.
There was, everyone in school knew, at least one girlfriend in his past, as there was already one boyfriend in hers. There was no way Johnny McKinnon, looking the way he looked, was as virginal as she. “You’re right,” he finally added. “There’s different kinds of ready.”
“Well, I’m not that ready,” said Crystal. “And Trace Blackwood has got to be looking for somebody else, not somebody who’s just about to graduate high school.”
“You’re right,” Johnny agreed.
“He just brought me my invitation because he’d already met me at the tavern, and he was being nice,” Crystal said. “It can’t mean anything else. He’s, like, thirty or something.”
“Yeah,” said Johnny.
“And I don’t even know if I’m going to that ball. Lexie wants me to go if she gets an invitation, but if I went, it’d just be for her, not because I think an Alpha pushing thirty is going to pick me out of all the women at a ball.”
“Seems like he’d have a lot of other choices,” Johnny said.
“Yeah—a lot. The invitation doesn’t mean anything. Well, it means I’m ‘eligible,’ but that’s all. ‘Eligible’ doesn’t mean ‘picked,’ and I’m not going to get picked. I’m just on the guest list. And I can do whatever I want. And I want to go to the prom.” She glanced at the rose sticking out of her book, with his stem tucked—inserted—between the pages. And she looked back at Johnny. “With you.”
Johnny’s smile blossomed again like the flower he’d given her. “Great. It’s a date, then. We’re gonna have a good time, Crystal. I’m gonna be a good prom date.” The words, And a good date for the Revel too, went unspoken and understood.
“I know,” she smiled back at him. “I’m looking forward to it.”
“Me too,” said Johnny. “Walk you to class?”
“Sure,” Crystal replied.
And so, Crystal attended her morning class, and the girls around her noted that she had a rose in her book, and she told them what it meant—and whom it meant—and everyone was suitably impressed. Crystal noted, feeling as if she were being a bit petty about it, that a couple of girls seemed just ever so slightly envious at knowing on whose arm she would be attending the prom. Well, they would just have to feel the way they felt; Crystal could do nothing about that. The class began, Mrs. Hassinger at the front of the room going over the points in last night’s assigned reading, and Crystal sat in the middle of the room listening—for the most part.
She could not be blamed for her relative lack of focus on this of all mornings, after all. A girl could hardly be expected to have her mind completely on the contents of a textbook when one of the most desirable boys in school had just asked her to share with him one of the most important rituals of teenage life—with the implication of what would follow later in the night.
In her mind, Crystal was already on the dance floor with Johnny—and then out at the forest clearing with him. They were already sitting up on their knees on the bedroll in the tent, lit by the glow of a lantern, with drinks in a cooler nearby. They were already naked, and Crystal was ready to send her hands roaming up and down Johnny's lean, tight, hard body, and touch what was even harder and long and ready between his thighs.
Touching it for the first time—what a thrill that would be. It must feel incredible to have it in her hands. It would be even more so to have it in her mouth as he stretched himself out in front of her. The whole night would be a night of incredible things: the incredible feeling of Johnny licking her hardened nipples, and licking lower under her bush to savor the taste of her.
He would have a box of condoms with him—or she would surely bring one—and they would share the almost ceremonial gesture of unwrapping the sheath and then rolling it down his eager prong before Crystal lay down for him, and he lay down on top of her and slid his jacketed piece into her to take her to the destination of their exploring. Johnny would surely hump her and pump himself inside her with all the energy and fire and passion that had won him so many races, and it would surely feel more exciting than anything that ever happened on a track. His body would feel beyond awesome, and the thrusting of his tool in and out of her would carry her on a marathon of ecstasy.
Crystal guessed that she, like most girls and most women, would need Johnny’s help getting to the finish line, and he would take her there expertly, with fingers and tongue. And when it was over, they would curl up together, kissing and fondling, having finished the first run of the night—the first of many.
Crystal sat at her desk, smiling absently, barely hearing Mrs. Hassinger’s lesson until she snapped back to reality when the teacher called upon her. Answering the teacher’s question made Crystal feel as if she were tethered to the ground. The class was her string, and she was a kite, soaring way overhead in her mind to where Johnny McKinnon would take her. It was the most wonderful thing in the world to imagine herself soon going there for real.
_______________
I am wearing a tuxedo and straightening a bow tie.
Facing himself in the mirror of his room, Trace wondered what was so remarkable about that. It was, after all, what the evening called for. The answer, of course, was what the evening was about, what it meant for him to be dressed in this particular way. The tuxedo, like all formal dress, was a symbol. In his specific case, it was the equivalent of gift wrapping. He felt very much as if he were all wrapped up like a present, a gift to be offered to a ballroom full of women.
It was a clumsy metaphor, to be sure, and not necessarily a fitting one, since certain particular women in the ballroom would be wrapped up to be presented as potential prizes for him. And perhaps that was what disturbed and troubled him so about this whole thing. No one should have to be offered or presented as a prize for anyone else. Trace did not like what that suggested about the women or about him. No one should be expected to make one of the most important decisions of his life in this way.
Trace had never been in a hurry to choose a mate to begin with, a point that was one of the uppermost things on his mind ever since Dominic left the pack. But he had always thought that when and if the time came, it would unfold in the way it should. He would meet one beautiful female, preferably of his own kind; that would make what followed a good deal less complicated. There would be a mutual attraction. They would sleep together—a lot.
And there would be some special, inexpressible quality about that one female that would make her the one with whom he would never want it to be over. That female would be The One, and she would be his mate. Perhaps they would have a pup and perhaps not, but they would stay together for life.
Of course, it would have to be a most exceptional female for him to want her and none other in his bed. But that, he thought, was what love was about: staying with that one most exceptional person.
And in the meantime, there’s a lot of sex to be had, he thought, getting the bow tie exactly the way he wanted it.
He could hear the faint strains of music wafting up from downstairs. The hired band had started to play. People should now be arriving. Trace’s thoughts turned to his other major preoccupation since arriving in the valley. He wondered if a certain young female’s promise to consider the invitation he’d brought her had gone the way he’d hoped, and she would be among those stepping into the ballroom.
He wondered how the reality of Crystal dressed for the ball would compare to the way he’d imagined her. And he wondered how and when he might soon bring reality to what else he’d imagined. It made him grateful that the black trousers of his tuxedo slightly concealed how interested he was in the answer to that latter part.
Trace glanced over to his bedroom door at the sound of a knock and the sight of someone opening it up and stepping inside. There he saw the smiling face and tuxedo-clad figure of his cousin Glen. The same age as Trace, Glen was built just a little bit leaner but had his own body of perfectly formed muscles under the tux. He wore a crown of immaculately groomed dark hair, and a short, perfectly trimmed beard hugged his face. Entering the room, he called, “Showtime!”
With a mock grin and a slightly grumbling voice, Trace replied, “Right. Man Seeks Mate, Werewolf Edition.”
Glen stepped over to where Trace stood at the mirror and put a hand warmly on his cousin’s shoulder. “So, you thought of that too, huh?”
Facing himself in the mirror again with a half-frown, Trace said, “It came up between Dad and me the other night. There ought to be cameras down there.”
“There will be,” said Glen. “Just not for television.”
“That’s a relief,” Trace said, tugging at the hem of his tuxedo jacket. “This whole thing is enough of a spectacle without the whole country watching it.”
“Aren’t you getting any enjoyment out of this at all?” Glen asked.
“Not the kind I’d like to be getting.” Now, Trace faced Glen fully. “You know, not so long ago, the two of us would be going to a party, and it wouldn’t be like this, not some big, gaudy, splashy thing. And we wouldn’t have to be dressed up this much, and there wouldn’t be this kind of expectation put on it.”
“Oh, there’d be an expectation,” Glen pointed out with a grin.
“Yes, there’d be an expectation,” Trace agreed. “One simple expectation: Me finding someone I liked for the evening, you finding someone you liked for the evening, and us excusing ourselves to someplace more private…”
“…for a good night’s shag.” Glen’s eyes twinkled a bit at his and Trace’s shared memory of many such nights.
“Yeah,” said Trace, his eyes seeming to fog over with remembrance. “Sometimes even in the same suite.”
Glen chuckled. “Hell yeah. Those were some of the best nights. Flipping a coin to see who got the bed and who got the sofa…”
“…and sometimes the four of us just falling onto the same bed together, if it was big enough…”
“…and sometimes not ending up with the one we started with!” He slapped Trace’s shoulder and laughed a little harder, and Trace cracked a smile and chuckled.
“Assuming they didn’t mind, of course,” Trace said with the most wolfish expression he could wear without actually becoming a wolf. “They weren’t always game for a switch. If we were going to suggest it, we had to do it carefully, be delicate about it.”
“I know,” said Glen with the most wicked grin. “Feeling ‘em out while feeling ‘em up.”
Now, a wistful look came over Trace. “I can’t believe those days will be over soon. Or at least they will for me.”
“Well, look at it this way. You can have as much fun having a mate as you can by sleeping around. You’ll be screwing every night, and the two of you’ll get to know each other like nobody else. The feeling will get even stronger when it’s just the two of you for keeps.”
Trace cocked his head a bit, recalling an earlier conversation on the terrace. “Dad said pretty much the same thing. He’s probably right. Yeah, he’s right. It’s just, having all this come up now…” He looked back at the mirror, and words seemed to fail him.
“What?” asked Glen, a bit concerned.
“There’s been something at the back of my mind, Glen. Way at the back, I’ll admit, but it’s there. Something I didn’t think I’d have to think about for a long time.”
“Okay. Tell me.”
“I can’t believe I’m even bringing this up or putting it into words, but…” Now he faced Glen again, sincerely. “Glen, did you ever think about…falling in love?” A feeling came over him that he could only compare to a flash of heat. He was speaking aloud of something that he was definitely unaccustomed to thinking about, and it felt strange to say the words.
“Everybody thinks about falling in love,” replied Glen. “Sure, I have. Sometimes. Someday. You always think there’s just one person out there, and if you can hook up with them, it gets to be about more than hooking up. Sure, I’ve thought of it. Even thinking about the next hook-up, I’ve thought of it.”
“Well, lately,” Trace said, “I’ve naturally had to think about it a little more than I used to. This whole night, Glen, it’s about trying to find someone that I’ll feel that way about, and want for a mate for life. It doesn’t feel…natural. It feels artificial, planned, staged.”
“That’s because it is,” Glen said, his tone turning as serious as his cousin’s. “I’ve thought about it too.”
“The way you’re supposed to feel about your mate, it isn’t something you can plan. Or at least it shouldn’t be. It should come naturally. It should happen when it’s meant to happen. Love isn’t supposed to have a deadline, you know what I’m saying? You’re not supposed to decide when love happens; love makes the call. Or at least that’s what I’ve always thought.”
“That’s what most people think,” said Glen. “But in your position, Trace…sometimes you don’t get to wait for it. I mean, like it or not, that’s being an Alpha. It’s what an Alpha does for the pack.”
“And I shouldn’t have to be in this position,” Trace said, slightly frowning. “And you know, it’s been making me feel a little guilty.”
“Because you feel like it’s taking away your life, the way you wanted it?”
“Partly,” Trace replied. “But partly…it’s Dominic. He’s got a mate. He’s in line to be Alpha for the Cedars when Raven’s father steps down. He’s happy. And I should be happy for my brother. I should; I ought to be happy that my brother is happy. He is my brother, damnit. But all I’ve been able to think about is that he should have been our Alpha, and now that’s falling on me. What was supposed to be his place in the pack is mine now, and it’s nothing I thought my life was going to be. This isn’t what I wanted, Glen.”
“But it’s what you’ve got. And you know, if you were mating out of the Pack too—you know who would be up for Alpha next. When you step up, I’ll be your Beta. If you weren’t the one being paired off, this party tonight could be for me. Then I’d be the one having to change his whole life.”
“Want to swap?” Trace asked, not entirely joking.
Glen looked for a moment as if he were actually contemplating it. But of course, it wasn’t to be. The moment passed, and with a slight sigh, he answered, “You’ve got this one, cousin.”
Trace sighed more heavily than Glen. “Right. Well, everything else about my life is about to change, but there’s one plus about the whole thing. I do get to have you for my Beta. And…I couldn’t ask for a better wolf to second me.”
“Not being directly in line for Alpha myself, I couldn’t want a better wolf to be second to,” smiled Glen.
The cousins pulled into a hug and a hearty mutual patting on the back. Then, they pulled apart and smiled warmly at each other. “Well, then,” said Glen, “let’s get you down there and get you and your potential mates presented to each other.”
With a softer sigh, Trace replied, “Yeah. Let’s do this.”
And with arms around each other’s shoulders, the cousins left Trace’s bedroom and stepped out into the hall where the music from downstairs grew a little louder.
_______________
In short, Lexie had gotten her invitation—much to her total glee—and Crystal had made the decision that her best friend most wanted. The two of them in their ballgowns were now standing in the entrance hall of the Blackwood lodge in a line with their respective parents right behind them, waiting to be introduced and ushered inside. Lexie was beaming at the architecture and polish of the place and how it was all lit up with strings of lights for the party. Crystal was occupied more with observing the other people, in particular the other women in the line. Some of the younger ones present, she knew, were the other prospective mates. They were pretty, she thought, each as attractive as the others.
And yes, a good many of them were older, in their twenties and thirties as expected. She studied their expressions and knew what they must be thinking. Am I the one? Let me be the one he wants. Let me be the one who gets to come and stay here with him, and live with him here and wherever he lives. Let me be the one to mate into his life, and share his bed and be intimate with him every night. And be the mother of his pup. Let him pick me.
And Crystal could not help thinking, Yes, let him pick one of you. He will pick one of you. I’m just here for the party and for Lexie. It’ll be fun. It’ll all be beautiful, the food will be fantastic, we’ll have a good time, we’ll go home, and I can get on with my life. Yes, that was all she should expect tonight.
Well, that and the fact that she would no doubt get to dance with Trace. Just like in one of those fairy tales, she’d be called to the dance floor for a turn in the Prince’s arms. That in itself would be worth her coming out and coming up the mountain to the lodge, just to whirl around the dance floor in the arms of Trace Blackwood; just to be held by him for the length of one dance. Just to be in those arms that she saw bare, just to press close to that chest she saw exposed, just to be near what she’d seen hanging down there. Even in a tuxedo, with all that fabric covering that skin and hair and muscle, Trace Blackwood must feel like a dream.
And once the evening was over, that was what he would remain: a dream. And Crystal would go home and look forward to a prom and a Revel with Johnny.
This evening would be about having a good time—just a good time—and that was fine with Crystal. What should really interest her about this evening was wondering which of the women in this room would end up as the Alpha female of the Blackwood Pack. She looked to and fro at all of Trace’s many prospects. She was somewhere in this room. Somewhere in this room right now…
The line moved forward, and someone at the front beyond the threshold of the living room was calling out names, announcing from the guest list who was entering and which of them were the possible mates-to-be. Crystal and Lexie moved forward with the line, and Lexie squeezed Crystal’s hand and flashed a broad smile at her. Lexie had taken the ring from her nose for the occasion, the better to look like an elegant lady to be presented to the Alpha gentleman.
Soon they were at the threshold of the living room themselves. The moment of truth was upon them.
______________
It seemed to Crystal that this whole thing was growing more absurd all the time.
To his credit, she thought, Trace did not look at all stressed by what was being put upon him and upon a certain number of the Blackwood Pack’s guests this evening. Seated at a table on one side of the improvised ballroom, Trace was as handsome and charming as always. Glancing around the room, Crystal saw people who she guessed were other Blackwood Pack members; the males had something of the same look as Trace about them. She of course recognized Trace’s father at a table on a direct line beyond Trace from where she was standing; and the younger man of about Trace’s age sitting with Roman Blackwood must be Trace’s cousin, Glen.
Crystal agreed with Lexie that if one could not have Trace, Glen would make a fine consolation prize—assuming he had any such interest. If one could not mate with the future Alpha of the Blackwood Pack, the future Beta would do just fine.
Still and all, this evening was increasingly making Crystal believe the lycanthrope community ought to rethink a lot of its traditions and customs, which to Crystal were starting to look as ridiculous as some of the things humans did. Here she was, standing with Lexie and a collection of other women, most of them older than the two of them, waiting to be ushered over to sit and talk to Trace at a table for a few minutes, after which some of them would be invited to dance with Trace during the course of the evening.
A few minutes. That’s all the time they and Trace would have to decide which ones of them Trace wanted to dance with, and from among that number Trace would have to decide which of them he would take to join him in leading his pack. Crystal did not know which was more wrong-headed, the fact that the Blackwoods were doing it this way or that the women standing with them were going along with it.
Crystal looked around her at the other potential Alpha females. They were a beautiful-looking lot, to be sure, and they were all among the most affluent and socially prominent lycanthrope females in town. Lexie was actually better off than Crystal herself, her father being the owner of the town’s one small supermarket. The other women were daughters of the wealthier packs, or they held high-paying jobs in the city and commuted back and forth from there to Reynolds Hollow, where they still chose to live. Crystal recognized some of them and had heard of some of the others.
These were not uneducated or unintelligent women, and Crystal could imagine that they were not especially needy women. But they were all, she also imagined, very particular in their desires of the kind of male they wanted for a mate—and Trace Blackwood was unquestionably the kind of male to cater to discriminating tastes. In a way, it was no wonder that these females were willing to be rounded up and herded more like cattle than like she-wolves for the consideration of the exceptional male seated a few steps away.
Fine, she thought. Let him consider them all. Let him have their few minutes with him at the table and decide which ones he would invite to the dance floor. Considering who else was in the running, Crystal thought, it was most unlikely that he’d choose a girl of just eighteen. Other women standing near her had much more to offer Trace. To be sure, he would opt for one of them.
Still, he had actually come to Crystal’s house to deliver her invitation in person. He had come to her house. He had sat in her living room. And they had gotten on so well in that little time they spent together. They had shared a laugh. And it was nice to laugh with him. He was impeccably if casually dressed that day, and he drove an elite sportscar, but there was nothing of the snob or the spoiled rich kid about him. He was nice. He was polite and friendly and kind. She had enjoyed his visit. Really, actually enjoyed it.
If he chose her for one of his dances, Crystal further guessed, it would be because he already knew her a bit, and they had gotten on so well. It would be a friendly gesture, not an overture to courtship and mating. It might actually be the most pleasing part of the evening for both of them.
And yet, Crystal could not help but wonder if Trace would actually do that, wasting a dance on someone with whom he had no intention of doing anything but dance. Would he? Could he?
She watched as the middle-aged male member of the Blackwood Pack who was conducting this part of the ball—she had heard this was one of Trace’s uncles, Harmon Blackwood—ushered one smiling, gown-clad female away from the table and beckoned to the next one, for whom Trace stood up. Gradually, the herd was thinning out. “The herd”—there was that analogy to livestock again; the kind of livestock that wolves were known to select for dinner, not mating.
The irony of it all was not lost on Crystal. With the woman who had left Trace’s table joining the rest of the party and her successor stepping forward to sit down with him, Crystal and Lexie were moving closer to their moment. Together, they took a few steps in that direction, and as they moved, Lexie gave Crystal’s arm a little squeeze.
The next woman sat down with Trace, but in that fleeting second between the time she took her seat and the time Trace sat down with her and offered his hand in greeting, Trace glanced over at the other “hopefuls,” and for a fraction of an instant his eyes locked on Crystal.
Her heart skipping a beat, Crystal thought she saw something of the look in his eyes that he’d had when they connected so warmly at her house. It was just a flash, and then it was gone as Trace gave his full attention to the woman sitting across the table from him, but it was almost enough to make the wolf fur break out on Crystal’s exposed back.
_______________
And then it was Crystal’s turn.
Uncle Harmon took from Crystal a card that she had received with her invitation and announced her name: “Ms. Crystal Shaw.”
Trace smiled a heart-warming smile at her; the introduction was very much a formality and was not at all needed. He offered her his hand, and she took it. “Of course. We’re already acquainted, aren’t we?”
Crystal was sure she must be blushing and, embarrassed at the fact, she took his hand and they sat down together. “We are,” she simply replied.
There was just the smallest beat of silence before they went on. “Are you nervous?” Trace asked. “Don’t be.”
“I can’t help it,” said Crystal. “I think everybody is tonight.”
Trace only half-suppressed his sigh in response. “Yeah, I know. So much expectation crammed into one night, right?”
“Really,” Crystal replied.
“Well,” said Trace, “right now we’re just here to talk, just to know a few basic things about each other. Tell me one basic thing you’d like to know about me.”
Crystal blinked at the question. She honestly had not expected to be the one asking questions, though she realized she should have anticipated it. Now, she was in danger of her mind drawing a complete blank, which felt at this moment as if it would be the greatest embarrassment of her life.
She was not at all prepared for this. Looking at the anticipation on Trace’s face was like the moment of going into a dive on a rollercoaster or perhaps sailing over the edge of a waterfall. What should she ask him? How many females have you been to bed with already? How many of them were human? She mentally scrambled for the one question she found both most interesting and most innocent: “Do you like to travel?”
Trace grinned in a way that told Crystal, much to her relief, that he liked and approved of the question. “Yes, I like to travel very much, and I do it as much as I can, when work allows. I can’t say I’ve been everywhere, but I’ve been to a lot of interesting places. Beautiful places, places I think you’d like. Places I wouldn’t mind showing…whoever ends up being my mate…one of these days. Now let me ask you: Do you like to travel?”
Crystal’s eyes lit up now. She could sense a genuine interest behind the question. “Um…well, I would like it. I’ve been to a few places with Mom and Dad. Some of the national parks, that kind of thing. I’ve never been out of the country, though.”
“Would you like to travel?”
“Yes…yes, I would. As a matter of fact, I’ve thought a lot about spending a semester abroad while I’m in college.”
“Where would you like to spend it?”
“Europe, I think,” Crystal replied. “I’d like to go to some of the places in books I’ve read and paintings I’ve looked at.”
“Is that your major? Art…or literature?”
“I’m planning to major in English,” said Crystal. “I like to read. When you read, it’s like you’re traveling in your head. I guess I’d like to do things I’ve done in my head…for real.” And suddenly, Crystal felt another hot flash inside her, like the crack of a whip of fire. Her whole body stiffened, and she could sense that her skin was turning red. She sat still in her seat, but wanted to fly into a panic because of the implications she heard in the last thing she said: doing things she had done in her head, for real.
Facing her in the opposite seat was someone with whom she had done some things, and who had done some things to her, in her head. And not only had she seen him that way in her most intimate thoughts, she had seen him in that most intimate way for real. She had actually seen Trace Blackwood not dressed up the way he was now, in a tuxedo that probably cost more than the mortgage on her parents’ home, but in the state in which he would have been most ready to do the things he had done to her in her head. She only hoped that her reaction to this moment was not showing. Crystal searched Trace’s expression for any sign that he was picking up on her sudden feelings.
All that Trace said was, “Well, we’ve all done things in our heads that we’d love to do for real. Everyone wants to live out a fantasy sometime. Yes, even guys like me, who people think have everything. Believe me, looking like you ‘have everything’ doesn’t mean you really do. People like me fantasize too.” He let that statement rest there between them for a moment.
Trace tried to read Crystal’s expression as much as he sensed she was trying to read his. Did she in any way sense his interest in her? The little part of him that was a wolf even when he was human picked up on a scent coming from her, the quickening of her breath and the tinge of her perspiration—and something else that her scent carried with it.
Yes, there was definitely an arousal there, he thought. Finally, he continued, “What I can offer to my mate, whoever she is, is a life where a little fantasy now and then can be real. A life where we can go places, do things, and see things. I can offer companionship, a great home, a great pack, and a great life. Being my mate means there’ll be opportunities. I think opportunities are important. Everything comes from that, especially when you’re young. Right?”
Crystal nodded, almost hypnotized by his words now. “Right…,” she said, her voice coming as a whisper before she caught herself, cleared her throat in the daintiest way she knew how, then replied again more firmly and surely, “Right.”
Trace looked up at his uncle who gave a short nod, then back at Crystal, and said, “I think that wraps it up for right now. Thank you for joining me, Crystal.”
Crystal took that as her obvious cue to rise, and Trace stood up with her and again offered his hand. “Thank you for inviting me, Trace,” she said with her best smile.
Harmon Blackwood gestured to Crystal the direction in which she was to step away, and she did, with a feeling inside like autumn leaves spinning from tree branches onto the ground. It was the most relieved she had ever felt in her life. She had done it. She had sat with him and talked to him about the most unlikely thing in the world, a thing for which she was sure some other, older woman at this party was destined. And she had gotten through it. Lexie was next, and she wished her friend all the luck that Crystal herself had just had.
What Crystal did not see as she went to join her parents and Lexie’s at their table was what passed between Trace and his uncle next. Trace gave a sharp and subtle nod to Harmon. The elder lycanthrope responded by clenching his eyebrows at him in a look of dispute.
Trace answered by cocking one eyebrow at him and widening his eyes, reasserting the meaning of the nod. Harmon tilted his head at Trace, seeming to say, Come on now… Trace repeated the sharp nod, this time with a flash of a frown. Harmon glanced over at Roman Blackwood, who shrugged and shook his head; then Harmon huffed at Trace, who stood up for Lexie with a cordial look for her and a sidelong assertive glance at his uncle.
Harmon frowned slightly back at him and took Lexie’s card and slipped it into the inner pocket of his jacket, then stepped over to usher Lexie to the table.
After the round of talks with aspirants to the rank of Alpha female came dinner, and then the dancing began. Before the rest of the party took the dance floor, there were to be dances just for Trace and the females that he had selected from the table talks. All through dinner, the main topic of conversation was naturally whom Trace had chosen.
Actually, it was Lexie who spoke most on the subject; Crystal mostly either listened or talked about how she did not expect to be one of the selected females and how she was mainly looking forward to the prom, graduation, and her year off before college. But Crystal, Lexie, and their respective parents were keenly aware that variations on their discussion were going on at every other table at the ball. They would not have to guess for much longer.
Following dessert and coffee, the serving staff hired for the evening brought out flutes of wine—non-alcoholic wine for those under twenty-one—and Uncle Harmon stepped out onto the dance floor, prompting tingling reactions from everyone present. Lexie grabbed Crystal’s hand and suppressed a squeal of excitement. Crystal just smiled.
Harmon called for Trace to join him on the dance floor. Then, he reached into his inner jacket pocket for the collection of cards that he had stashed, the cards of the women for whom Trace had nodded yea. And Harmon called out the name of the woman on the first card. The applause of everyone attending followed the first woman to rise and join the Alpha-to-be in the middle of the room. The band struck up, and Trace and his first partner—who was potentially his last partner in a completely different kind of dance—began to step and wheel their way about in time to the music.
So it went, with all the party goers watching raptly as one by one the women in whom Trace took a particular interest joined him for a dance, and the party applauded each of them in turn. Only now did it occur to Crystal to wonder whether Trace already knew some of them. It stood to reason he did. Trace was, after all, wealthy and gorgeous and had an active social life, and it would be only natural for him to have attended other social events with some of these women already.
Odds were he had at least met or been to the same functions with some of them. Odds also were he had already dated some of them. And to be sure, Trace Blackwood’s dates with beautiful and eligible females ended up as more than just dates. Whatever else a gorgeous, wealthy young lycanthrope might be, he was most assuredly not celibate.
There was every likelihood, Crystal guessed, that Trace had been to bed with some of the females present, not to court them but only for their mutual enjoyment. And there was every certainty that plenty of enjoyment had gone on.
The evening went forward with elegantly-gowned females in succession taking their turns with Trace on the floor and people watching and chattering softly all around. In turn, Trace wheeled about with each one, smiling and speaking softly, and everyone at the tables wondered and guessed at what they might be discussing up there. Trace bowed his head to one after the other at the end of each dance, and each one bowed her head back to him and let Harmon usher her away to yield to the next. And the chattering went on as each prospective mate returned to the table to join in watching the next one take her turn.
Through it all, Crystal sat patiently, saying little but listening to the things that Lexie murmured and whispered at her. It would be a relief, Crystal thought, when this part of the ball was over, and everyone could get up and dance and get through the rest of the evening. Perhaps she and Lexie would at least get to dance with one of Trace’s cousins. Glen Blackwood looked as appealing as Trace and would likely make a pleasing partner.
All this business of watching others dance and wondering with whom she would end up on the floor only made Crystal’s mind turn to the prom and to Johnny McKinnon. She had actually spoken to him about tonight, and had offered not to come to the ball if Johnny objected. Johnny would have been well within his rights to object to his prom date stepping out to a ball as the potential mate of someone else. Crystal would not have blamed him for taking exception and offense at the whole thing.
To her surprise, Johnny was nothing less than gallant and mature about the idea. He had told her that going to a ball at the Blackwood lodge was a special opportunity that no one should pass up, no matter what her other plans might be, something she might never, ever have a chance to do again. He had also brought up what it meant in the lycan community, and how it would look to others if she refused the invitation from such a highly placed and prominent pack.
“But how you feel is important too,” Crystal had told him. “You have every right to feel slighted or stiffed by this. Honestly, you have every right to feel flat-out insulted. And how is it supposed to look to your friends and the other guys on the track team? You have to face the other guys knowing your prom date is going to a ball to meet somebody else. I don’t want to do that to you.”
Johnny understood, but he said, “Look, Crystal, I’m not going to the ball. My family’s not important enough to be on the guest list, and I haven’t got a sister or anything who’d be eligible. I’m out of the loop with this whole thing, but you’ve got to think about your family’s reputation and where you stand with all the other packs around here. If you don’t go, they’ll all be talking and growling behind your back for years about how you snubbed the Blackwoods.
You shouldn’t have to deal with that. You should go. It’s not like he’s gonna pick you or anything. And it’s not like you're gonna decide your whole life from one party. Let somebody else decide their life after just one night at the Blackwoods’. You ought to just go and then get on with your life.”
Except for Trace Blackwood himself, Crystal had never been as impressed with anyone else she’d ever met as she was with Johnny that day. He was showing a maturity well beyond their age, a consideration for her feelings and her family’s interests, and a basic unselfishness, that made her proud to be the girl that Johnny had invited to the prom. She would be proud to go with him.
And, she thought, she would be just as proud to join him in a tent at the Revels and finally learn firsthand what it was to lie with a boy. It made her happy to think that her first time—her first night, as he would give himself to her many times before dawn—would be with Johnny. Crystal’s thoughts at watching other females dance with Trace were of having this night be over, then going home and calling Johnny.
Then, Harmon Blackwood called out, “Trace’s final courting dance of the evening will be with…,” and he pulled out one last card from his inner pocket, “…Ms. Crystal Shaw.”
A round of gasps from Crystal’s mother, Lexie’s mother, and Lexie herself seemed as if they would suck all the air from around the table. Lexie’s father and Grady turned and cast wide-eyed glances at Crystal, in which Lexie’s mother and Adele joined them. Lexie clapped a hand to her mouth to muffle a scream of excitement, then threw her arms around Crystal in a congratulatory hug so hard that it almost yanked Crystal clean out of her seat.
Crystal, slack-jawed and speechless, eyed the middle of the room where Trace stood beside Harmon and looked over smiling at her. In this impossible instant, she felt as if rays were hitting her from all the other eyes turning in her direction. Into her mind burst the words, This is not happening.
But it was happening. And everyone was waiting.
Especially Trace.