Chapter 20
Chapter
Twenty
Mallory had been to many fascinating places since she’d moved to Coldstream. Some had been grand and gorgeous, some had been grubby and dilapidated, plenty had been magical – but she’d never been anywhere quite like the Grand Hotel.
The building was the size of Crackendon Square and it put her less in mind of a swanky hotel than an ancient fortress built to withstand invaders.
An army of dragons could attack the place with all the powers invested in them and the walls of the Grand Hotel would suffer nothing more than a few scorch marks.
For the purposes of the Wolf Ball, the grandest affair in every werewolf’s calendar, it had been decked out.
Its exterior was illuminated with witchlight, and bright colours in every shade of the rainbow were lighting every rugged crook and dramatic cranny.
A long red carpet led up to the hotel’s main entrance flanked on either side by a six-metre-high wall of blue fire.
A traditional pipe band, doubtless brought in from one of the larger non-magical cities in Scotland, was standing to one side.
Mallory surreptitiously checked out the kilted pipers and drummers but none of them looked as good in a kilt as Alexander.
She indulged herself for one pleasurable moment and allowed him to draw ahead so she could enjoy the swaying motion of the heavy fabric as he walked.
When he realised she wasn’t by his side he paused, glanced over his shoulder then grinned at her expression. She felt a flush of embarrassment at being caught out.
‘It’s quite something, isn’t it?’ he asked.
‘Uh…’ Mallory floundered helplessly.
‘The Grand Hotel was built in the eighteenth century. I’ve been here for the Wolf Ball every year for the past twenty-odd years and it still takes my breath away.’
‘Yes.’ She nodded vigorously. ‘Yes, it’s truly amazing.’ She beamed at him, aware that her smile was overly wide, then caught up and they moved onto the red carpet behind the other guests.
The Wolf Ball was extraordinarily exclusive if you were not a werewolf or not invited by one, and also extraordinarily inclusive in that every single werewolf in Coldstream was invited regardless of their pack, standing or power.
Few wolves missed it and few non-wolves attended.
Mallory would have laid a decent bet that she was the first squib to be admitted.
Despite the pressure of the evening, and the presence of her companion, she was genuinely awed – and they’d not even walked through the front door.
Two liveried footmen bowed as they passed beneath the arched entrance where a tall witch with a clipboard was marking off names. Security was unobtrusive, but Mallory had no doubt that it would prove impregnable if it were tested.
‘Don’t worry,’ Alexander murmured. ‘There’ll be many others here who aren’t werewolves. You won’t be the only one.’ He paused. ‘But you’ll be the only one who looks so spectacularly beautiful.’
Mallory plucked self-consciously at her dress and the magicked butterflies fluttered at her touch. She was aware that she was already drawing curious glances from other guests, though she was certain that was more because of who she was with rather than what she was wearing.
Reminding herself of the reason she was there, and unwilling to appear romantically involved with Alexander, she stepped slightly away to put some air between them.
He immediately stiffened but before she could explain herself, a tuxedoed werewolf approached them.
‘Alexander MacTire! This is the first time I’ve seen you wearing a kilt at one of these shindigs! ’
Alexander responded with an easy grin. ‘I thought I’d make an effort.’ He waved at the other man’s outfit. ‘After all, I’d hate to be mistaken for a waiter.’
The werewolf roared with laughter and turned to Mallory. ‘And who is your glorious date?’
‘A curious companion rather than a date,’ Mallory replied swiftly. ‘I’m Mallory.’
The wolf bowed. ‘Alisdair Bartonwich, at your service.’ He smiled. ‘You’re not a wolf.’
Alexander snorted. ‘Well spotted.’
‘My old friend here is terribly rude,’ Alisdair said.
‘I’m going to ignore him and focus on you because you are far more beautiful and considerably more interesting.
So you’re not a wolf, you’re not a witch and you’re not a druid.
That much is obvious.’ He sniffed the air. ‘I can’t smell any magic.’
Mallory curtsied and the hundreds of butterflies flapped and shimmered. ‘That’s because I don’t have any.’
He stared at her. ‘You’re a squib?’ He turned to Alexander. ‘I knew you were a maverick, but this is definitely new. No wonder we’ve never met before tonight.’
‘Now who sounds rude?’ Alexander asked.
Alisdair bowed again. ‘Forgive me. You usually have more powerful women on your arm.’
Mallory felt a stab of pain. She didn’t need another reminder that she would never be right for Alexander MacTire, but here it was all the same.
Alexander only barked out a laugh. ‘Oh, Alisdair, you truly have no idea of what real power is. Mallory may not be forced to turn furry once a month by the whims of the moon but she has far more power at her fingertips than you could ever imagine.’
‘Interesting,’ Alisdair mused. ‘Very interesting.’
‘It’s quite true. Just ask my friend Kevin.’
Mallory blinked as Alisdair frowned. ‘Kevin? Kevin who?’ he asked.
Alexander laughed again. ‘Never mind. Come on, Mallory, let’s find our table.’
They moved away. ‘Alisdair isn’t a bad sort,’ he told her, once they were out of earshot. ‘But he enjoys hiding his aggression behind a polite veneer that only thinly veils his intentions. We are not exactly friends, regardless of what he might suggest.’
Mallory glanced first at him and then at the werewolves around them who were shaking hands, patting backs, dipping heads and murmuring to each other. ‘This is much more than a posh party, isn’t it?’
‘Oh yes. The three Ps of the Wolf Ball: posturing, politics, and pretence.’
‘What about the one R?’ she asked. ‘Romance?’
He looked into her eyes. ‘That still remains to be seen,’ he said softly. ‘But I am very optimistic.’
The vast ballroom had a large stage and area for dancing as well as numerous tables, each one with plates, glasses, shining silver cutlery and small white cards with names written in exquisite calligraphy.
‘Hold on a moment,’ Alexander said. ‘I’ll find out where we’re sitting. There ought to be a seating chart somewhere. The alphas are usually together.’
‘There’s no need,’ Mallory said cheerfully. ‘I know where we’re sitting – and I’m afraid it’s not at an alphas-only table.’
He frowned. ‘How do you know?’
She didn’t reply but moved to the right and made a beeline for one of the quieter spots to the side of the stage. ‘It’s this way.’ Finally she paused and picked up a name card. ‘We’re right here.’
Alexander leaned over her shoulder. ‘So we are.’ He glanced at the name card to his left. ‘There’s you.’ He turned and checked the name card on his right. ‘Ah. Isadora Jones. How … fortuitous.’
‘Indeed.’
‘And how exactly did you manage that? The Wolf Ball planners don’t take bribes – they’re a law unto themselves and don’t allow their vision to be swayed by anyone. Plenty of people in the past have tried to arrange the seating chart to their benefit and failed miserably.’
Mallory held up her hands and wiggled her fingers. ‘More power than you could ever imagine,’ she whispered.
‘I deserved that.’
She smiled. ‘You did.’
As he bowed towards her, she tightened her toes and took a deep breath, then she sat down and pretended that everything was absolutely wonderful.
It wasn’t long before all the other guests had located their tables and taken their seats.
Mallory spotted Isadora Jones long before the wolf found their table.
Her date was a male werewolf called Sean, a blandly handsome member of the Jones wolf pack.
Nothing Mallory had found out suggested he was anything more than arm candy; watching them stroll up, she could tell that although they were chatting easily there weren’t any lusty undercurrents between them.
‘I hope you know what you’re doing,’ Alexander muttered to her as they stood up to welcome the new arrivals.
‘You’re the one on show here, not me,’ she retorted.
At least Isadora looked pleasantly surprised to see him. She kissed him on the cheek and smiled. ‘It’s been too long, Lexy!’
‘I wish you wouldn’t call me that, Dora.’
‘As long as you don’t call me that,’ she returned with an easy wink.
Alexander introduced Mallory, then Isadora introduced Sean and the other guests at their table, a smattering of werewolves from the Brady and the Callaghan packs.
‘I saw you when you came in,’ Isadora said to Mallory. ‘That dress is exquisite. I’ve never seen anything like it in my life. Where did you get it?’
Mallory was only too happy to answer. ‘Gia Vanderlan designed it for me.’
Isadora’s mouth dropped. ‘That’s a Vanderlan? Now I’m even more impressed. I’ve been trying to get an appointment with her for months but she’s always booked up.’
‘I’ll put in a good word for you if you like,’ Mallory offered.
‘But your dress is stunning, too.’ It was true: Isadora was wearing a floor-length sheath spotted artfully with glittering diamante.
She looked lithe, strong and very attractive.
Isadora Jones was Gia’s version of a night diamond, for sure.
‘That would be amazing! Thank you!’
Mallory nodded, smiled and turned away to engage the surprised werewolf on her left in conversation, freeing Alexander to talk to Isadora. She was well aware that he could turn on full-wattage charm when the situation called for it, and he deserved the space to let himself shine.
Isadora and Alexander were well-suited, she told herself firmly. This could work, and when it did and there was some space and time between herself and Alexander, her uncomfortable feelings for him would fade away. It was all but certain.