Vengeance, gold, and the open sky, she thought. The three treasures of the dragon. Tonight, I’ll have them all.
Her dragon stirred within her. That is not the saying. It is honor, gold, and the open sky.
Raluca shrugged. Close enough.
She took her time arranging her hair and selecting her jewelry, knowing by the muffled sounds of swearing that Nick was indeed not having an easy time with the complex and precise components of a man’s formal white tie attire. When she finished, she sat running her fingers through her gold and gems, imagining how ridiculous he’d look and feel, just like she had standing in front of gigantic fake lobsters and fake bacon. It would serve him right.
Finally, the swearing stopped.
“Raluca?” Nick called. “Are you ready?”
“I have been so for the last half-hour,” she called, then opened the door and stepped out.
Nick did not look ridiculous.
He looked stunning.
The black tailcoat and pants and white shirt fit perfectly, showing off his broad shoulders, muscular chest, and narrow hips. His physical proportions, which had previously been partly hidden under his ever-present leather jacket, were perfect. He was a vision in black and white, with his clothes echoing and enhancing his pale skin and midnight hair. The one touch of color — his emerald eyes — took her breath away. Everything about him was pure classic perfection.
Fascinated, she took in the little details: the cufflinks of mother-of-pearl, the polished black shoes, the pearl studs on his shirt, the white kidskin gloves that concealed his tattoos, the pressed white linen handkerchief folded in his pocket with a half-inch showing, the white carnation on his lapel. He had shaved very closely, leaving his skin looking smooth as silk; usually he had stubble on his chin, but not tonight.
Rafa, grinning in the background, looked rightly proud of himself. “All right. I’ll leave you two crazy kids to it.”
With a wink, he stepped out and closed the door behind him.
Nick was hot in leather and jeans. He was hot, period; that was the problem. So he wasn’t more sexy in formal attire, just differently so. But it was such a surprise that Raluca couldn’t take her eyes off him. She’d been so certain that he’d look awkward and uncomfortable. Instead, he stood tall and cool as the hero of a black and white movie from a more sophisticated time. He looked elegant and suave, which were not adjectives she’d ever thought to apply to him.
If he wore a concealed weapon, she couldn’t see or sense it. But he couldn’t conceal his edge of danger. It showed in how he moved, and in the intensity of his eyes.
Not a black and white hero, Raluca thought. He’s licensed to kill.
She pushed that thought out of her mind. Certainly, he looked good in formal attire. But someone else had selected it and made sure everything was worn correctly. Once Rafa was no longer present to coach him, could Nick manage formal dining, dancing, etiquette, and most of all, speech?
Raluca doubted it very much.
He’d dragged her to a block-long fake lobster, so it felt very appropriate that her vengeance would involve an oyster fork.
Chapter Four
Nick
With Rafa gone and Raluca standing so close he could feel the heat coming off her skin, Nick was burning up inside. It was exactly like he’d been locked in that fucking dressing room with Raluca, as if the fire in her dragon’s body had been passed on to him. But that had been pure sexual heat, while the burn he felt now was also fueled by the blazing rage that had engulfed him when she’d sneered that she wanted to see how his people — blue-collar, gangsters, riff-raff, trash — lived.
She said none of those words, his wolf growled. And she did not sneer.
His wolf had said that before. But Nick had been too pissed off to pay attention. But now he tried to recall her exact words and tone. What had she said?
And whatever she’d actually said... What had she meant?
Ask her! His wolf sounded ready to rip Nick’s throat out.
But the words — any words — stuck in his throat. Raluca was always beautiful, even when she was cranky and sweaty or just woken up. But now, in that dress that made her look like a mermaid, with her hair pouring down her back like a silver waterfall and her glittering dragonmarks swirling around her exposed skin, he couldn’t do anything but stand and stare.
She wore elbow-length silk gloves the color of the ocean in summer, clinging tightly to her slim arms and those long fingers that looked so delicate but could punch holes in steel. Her hair clip was a rose of reddish gold with silver leaves. A choker of diamonds encircled the ivory stem of her throat, with a single strand of them dangling down to end in a perfect star sapphire just above her cleavage. Tiny silver bells with golden clappers hung from each ear, giving out a chime when she moved. The sound was so soft that the only a werewolf or a man standing close enough to kiss her could hear it.
He didn’t know what she’d done with all the makeup she’d bought. Her eyebrows and eyelashes were still the same dark silver, her face still ivory, her lips still rose-pink. Maybe she looked extra-perfect, he couldn’t tell: she always looked perfect to him.
She wore high-heeled silver sandals with intricate straps, bringing her to exactly his height. He wouldn’t even have to bend over to kiss her.