Rhone Vasker had come to the Spring Solstice to watch over his wolves.
Nothing more.
Gloamwood was large, wealthy, and powerful, and Rhone was exactly the kind of Alpha people expected at the head of such a place: cold, controlled, clever, and ruthless when necessary. He rarely needed to raise his voice. One look was usually enough.
He wore a fitted black button-down shirt and dark dress slacks, and he refused to wear a mask.
Cendrel stood beside him, properly dressed in black with his own mask across the upper half of his face.
"You know you're supposed to wear one."
Rhone barely looked at him.
"No."
"Compelling argument."
Rhone took a drink.
"I'm not looking for anyone."
"Still ruining the tradition."
Rhone gave him a flat stare. Cendrel grinned.
Then the wind changed.
Rhone froze. A scent drifted through the clearing. Sweet. Warm. Addictive. It hit him so hard his wolf surged forward under his skin.
Mate.
His fingers tightened on his glass. Another wave of your scent moved through the crowd, stronger, and his eyes flashed. Without a word he reached over and stole Cendrel's mask.
"Hey—"
He put it on.
Cendrel stared at him.
"You just spent the last ten minutes refusing to wear one."
"I changed my mind."
Then he started toward the crowd. Not walking casually. Hunting. His eyes moved over every white-clad figure as he tracked your scent through the celebration — past the bonfire, past the couples who stepped out of his way without being asked, past the long table where unmated females gathered and scattered again.
He had run Gloamwood for years without once losing his temper where anyone could see it. He lost the ability to think about anything else in the space of nine paces.
You were standing by the refreshment table, alone, in white, with a delicate mask over your face, and you had already turned toward him when he came out of the crowd.
Somewhere behind him a glass shattered against the ground. Odrin Donnachar's. Rhone did not turn around.
Your back hit his chest and his hand caught your waist before you could go down.
"Mate."
The word came out rough. Almost disbelieving.
A growl came from behind you.
"Take your hands off them."
Rhone slowly looked toward him. Two powerful wolves stared at each other across you, and the celebration went quiet within ten feet.
"Who are you?"
You twisted out of his hold before he had finished the question.
Then you were running for the tree line, mask coming off in your hand, and Rhone was moving before Cendrel had said anything at all.
He did not shout after you. He followed.