by Zoe Chant
Raluca re-thought her stance on the music. The glum subject matter, the monotony in which the only difference between songs was what the singer had lost that had driven him or her to drink, and the incessant twanging was beginning to get on her nerves.
Lost everything I loved on an ice patch on an old dirt road
My wife Sally-Jo, the lovingness woman God ever bestowed
Ol’ Red, the best sniffer of a hound dog I ever knowed
The truck that helped me carry my heavy load
Got fired and can’t pay all the money I owed
So here I am in this bar, drinking like a thirsty old toad
“What is this?” Raluca burst out.
“Good old American country music,” Nick replied. He was visibly struggling to keep a straight face. If the joke had been shared with her rather than at her expense, she would have laughed aloud. “Gotta have real American music on a real American road trip.”
“Viorel is in Europe, not another planet,” Raluca retorted. “I have heard American music before. I know that it is not all like this!”
“You probably heard the songs that got popular in Europe because they weren’t that American,” Nick said. “But hey, it's your road trip. If you’re sick of American things already, I’ll look for la-di-dah opera from a hundred years ago. In French.”
Raluca gritted her teeth, refusing to back down so easily. “Find me a station playing American music without twanging and trucks.”
“No twanging, no trucks.” Nick’s eyes glittered in a way that would have been charming if he wasn’t so obviously set on finding something else that she’d hate. “Got it.”
He again began turning the dial, skimming past stations that sounded potentially listenable until he found one with a booming beat that instantly made her ears ache. Raluca wasn’t even sure she would call what she heard music; it was spoken, not sung, though it did have a rhythm.
Fuck that ho! Yeah, find that pussy and fuck that ho!
Nothing fucking better on a fucking cold day
Than a fucking hot pussy on a fucking hot ho!
A chorus joined in, chanting, Fuck that ho! Fuck that ho!
It continued in the background as the speaker went on,
I’ll fuck you up if you get in my way
Fuck you! Today's my fucking lucky day
And I'm fucking finding that fucking hot ho!
The chorus switched to Fuck! Fuck! Fuck that ho!
Raluca hit the off button so hard that her finger slammed it several inches into the music player. Sparks flew. She got a small but painful electric shock. But it was well worth it; the song, if you could even call it that, stopped.
“Hey!” Nick stared at her, his green eyes sparking brighter than the broken wires. “You wrecked my radio!”
Coolly, Raluca replied, “Send me the bill.”
Nick looked again at the hole she'd left, then at her hands. “You smashed it with one finger. Fuck, you’re strong.”
For a mad instant, she thought she heard reluctant admiration in his voice. Then she decided that she’d imagined it. He couldn’t be impressed that she’d destroyed one of his possessions. And he hated her. Everything about this trip was specifically designed to annoy her.
“I’m a shifter,” Raluca replied, making sure he heard the subtext of you idiot. “And as you are well aware, I do not like that word. That other word too.”
“What other word?” Nick asked with exaggerated innocence that made her want to shake him.
“The one in that... I am not sure I would even call it a song...”
“That was rap,” Nick said. “Real American music. So yeah, it's a song. An American song. But which word did you mean? I already know how you feel about ‘fuck,’ so was it ‘pussy’ or ‘ho?’”
Raluca had meant the first, as she’d never even heard the other before and didn’t know what it meant, though she could guess by context. But it was obviously a swear word, so she replied firmly, “Both of them.”
“Check,” Nick replied. “No fuck, no pussy, no ho.”
The surge of rage that burned through Raluca actually made her vision cloud with red. She was seriously tempted to throw him out of the car without stopping first. He had werewolf healing; he’d survive.
She shoved her hands under her thighs and sat on them, then stared out the window. Cows. More cows. Fields. More fields. The pastoral scene should have calmed her, but it instead made her more angry. With the window down, the odor of manure was strong.
This will not go unavenged, she thought. Tomorrow is the formal ball. Let’s see how you feel getting dragged into my territory.
An hour of fields and cows later, Raluca had to work hard to keep her annoyance off her face when Nick called her attention to a billboard reading, WORLD’S BIGGEST BALL OF TWINE: NEXT EXIT.
A few minutes later, they stood looking up at a ball of string the size of a house.
“Well?” asked Nick.
“Will our next stop be to see the world’s biggest cat that coughed up this hairball?” Raluca inquired.
Startled, Nick laughed, then hastily turned it into an unconvincing throat-clearing. “I was thinking of the UFO Watch Tower, actually.”
Raluca was hot and tired and hungry, angry and frustrated and disappointed. The completely pointless giant hairball, showed to her for no reason other than to annoy her, by her supposed destined mate who couldn't stand her, seemed to sum up her entire existence.
“No.” Raluca felt her dragon rise to the surface, and knew her eyes were glowing silver.
Nick’s eyes too changed, letting her see his wolf. But his eyes deepened in color rather than glowing, until they were the exact shade of her favorite jewel in her hoard, a priceless emerald found in the deepest jungles of India. His instinctive alpha dominance was responding to her challenge, though she hadn’t meant it as one.
She readied herself for a fight — not a physical one, but a battle of wills.
He cannot fight, her dragon said unexpectedly. He is honor-bound to protect you. And so long as he is your bodyguard, he is also bound to obey you, so long as it does not conflict with your safety. Do not humiliate him by forcing him to back down.
Angry as she was, Raluca recognized the truth of what her dragon had said. She felt the heat and silver glow fade from her eyes as she said, “I am weary. I would like to rest. I have seen enough sights for one day. Please take me back to the hotel.”
Nick’s wolf faded as well. His green eyes were still bright, but the deadly alpha ferocity left them. He even sounded slightly guilty as he said, “Sure. No problem.”
They drove back in silence. Raluca thankfully entered her air-conditioned hotel, closed the door between her and Nick, removed her boots, and flopped down on the bed. Her closet door was open, showing her that her haute couture clothes had been delivered as promised. But not even the thought of the ball could console her.
She longed for her hoard to comfort her, but it was at Protection, Inc. She wished she had a book rather than television, which she’d never particularly cared for. But to get either, she’d need to collect them with Nick, and she didn’t want to see him. The combination of his obvious dislike of her with the physical attraction that she couldn’t repress was sheer torture.
Raluca ordered room service, took the tray from Nick without speaking to him, and closed the door. She ate with little appetite, then slept badly, dreaming that she had inexplicably flown to America on an airplane rather than on her own wings, had checked her hoard into luggage, and the airline had lost it. She spent the entire night vainly searching for it, with Nick appearing periodically to shout “Fuck!” and then disappear without helping her.
***
She awoke at dawn, tired and annoyed. Without bothering to shower or get out of her nightgown, she opened the door to Nick’s suite, hoping to catch him in some embarrassing state of undress.
To her disappointment, he was fully clothed and watching her door.
W
erewolf hearing, she thought. He’d heard her coming. Oh, well, at least she knew he was competent. He might hate her, but she was in no danger so long as he protected her.
“I intend to stay in today,” she announced. “I wish to be fully rested for the ball.”
“That’s fine,” Nick said.
“All I require from you is your protection while I buy some items from the shops downstairs,” she added.
“Sure.”
“I presume I do not need to wear a bulletproof jacket within the hotel or to the ball?”
“No.” He sounded tired. She looked at him more closely. He had dark smudges beneath his eyes, easily visible against his pale skin. Perhaps he hadn’t slept well either.
If they could have only curled up together, no doubt they’d have slept marvelously. Or gotten no sleep at all, which would have been even better.
Raluca stamped on that thought. Also on the thought that followed, which was to feel sorry for Nick. One bad night’s sleep was nowhere near enough punishment for the appalling music and the World’s Biggest Hairball.
She retired to her room, where she showered and put on the blue jeans and floral blouse Destiny had provided, had breakfast without inviting Nick to join her, and then went with him to explore the hotel stores.
Like many five-star hotels, it contained several shops, all with good and varied selections of their products. She first bought some books, noting that while most of his attention was on guarding her, he periodically glanced at the thriller section while she selected some critically acclaimed fiction. He didn’t buy anything himself, but he didn’t seem to mind watching her browse.
The makeup store, however, visibly bored him. So she took far more time than she needed to select the perfect shades of lipstick, foundation, powder, eyeliner, and mascara, waiting between each just long enough for him to think she was finished before turning to the next aisle.
When she was done, she returned to their rooms. Standing in the doorway between them, she said, “We must leave early. I need to drive to Protection, Inc. so I can get some jewelry from my hoard.”
This is your chance, her dragon hissed. Ask him what jewelry men wear.
Raluca inwardly shook her head at her dragon’s ridiculous conviction that some day she would adorn Nick, but it was true that she might never get a better lead-in for the question. “Do American men wear jewelry?”
“Uh... I think Rafa said he’d get me cufflinks,” Nick said. “My suit’s at Protection, Inc. too. So yeah, we’ll leave early. I’ll brief you while we’re there.”
“Please do,” said Raluca. “I have an excellent memory, so if I say anything foolish or dangerous or naïve, it will be because you failed to warn me not to.”
Before Nick could reply, she stepped back and shut the door in his face.
It was a gratifying moment. But it was the only one for the rest of the day. Her dragon was dissatisfied with the response to the jewelry question, and kept breaking into Raluca’s attempts to read and relax with remarks on the insufficiency of cufflinks as a mating gift.
We’re not mates, Raluca protested, but her dragon ignored her and continued to brood over American men’s lack of good taste. Eventually she began making hopeful suggestions that Raluca could break with American fashion, give Nick a proper dragon’s gift, and perhaps start a nationwide trend.
Anything he wears might inspire others to vain attempts to look as handsome, her dragon suggested.
Raluca was already having difficulty concentrating, and her dragon wasn’t helping. Nor was the periodic swearing she heard from the next room. Nick appeared to be getting a lesson on etiquette over the phone, and sounded outraged at the entire concept.
My dragon has gone mad, my supposed mate hates me, unknown assassins are trying to kill me, and I never even saw Lucas, whom I came here to find, she thought.
The hotel balcony called to her. She longed to leap off it and fly away. But she would then have to extract her hoard from Protection, Inc., and that would require explaining herself to Hal. She disliked the idea of admitting that she had made a mistake — many mistakes — every possible mistake. Choosing Nick. Coming to America. Perhaps even renouncing her title and leaving Viorel.
She could return to Viorel and reclaim her position, Raluca supposed. But she suspected that doing so would not solve the problem of the assassins. Someone had decided that they wanted the throne or to be the power behind the throne, and they were willing to kill her to get it. Once that decision had been made, it didn’t matter whether she was officially a princess or not. She was nothing but a piece on a chessboard, a pawn who must be destroyed before she could become a queen.
She stepped on to the balcony and stood looking out at the busy streets. The sun was setting, lighting the sky in a blaze of red and orange. It reminded her of dragonfire.
Raluca made her decision. She would attend the ball, if for no other reason than to annoy Nick by making him dress formally, speak politely, and eat elegantly, just as he’d annoyed her by making her eat at Big Bacon, listen to terrible music, and pay to look at World’s Biggest Wastes Of Time.
And then she would take her hoard and fly back to Europe. Or Asia, perhaps. She’d change her name again, and take her chances with the assassins. If they killed her, so be it. Her mate didn’t love her, anonymity was no better than the chains of royalty, and travel had brought her no joy. At least she would fly free again before she died.
Raluca turned her back on the balcony, changed into her blue couture gown and glumly zipped it up herself, and added the gloves, shoes, and clutch purse that would make it white tie. She went to the bathroom and did her own makeup. She’d have to leave her hair for when she had ornaments. Then she knocked on Nick’s door.
He opened it. And stared. Raluca enjoyed watching lust blaze in his eyes, followed by his jaw clenching as he tried to force it down. He wanted her body as much as he disliked her personally.
Good, she thought. Let him suffer. I shouldn’t be the only one.
He looked the same as ever, dressed in his usual clothes — black jeans, black leather jacket, black leather boots — but the sight of him, his green eyes, his tousled hair, his broad shoulders, the vine twining around his finger — affected her as much as it had the first time. As much as it always did. He was all wrong for her, and yet she wanted him so much that just looking at him made her nipples harden within their silken cups.
And she didn’t only want him sexually. She wanted to hear his laugh, see his smile, and comfort the hurt within him that she sensed without knowing what it was. The few occasions when they’d managed to have a conversation without arguing had been so fun. She wanted his body, yes, but she wanted more than that. She wanted to be friends with him. She wanted him to like her. To love —
But he doesn’t, she reminded herself. And those other things I imagine that I want from him are the mere byproducts of our unfortunate mutual sexual desire. It is a matter of chemistry, nothing more.
Her dragon hissed, It is much more.
Nick sucked in a gulp of air. His gaze, which had briefly drifted — was he speaking with his wolf? — focused again. “Right. Let’s go.”
Raluca once again seated herself in Nick’s car. She started to close the door, but a leather-clad arm shot out and held it open.
“Your dress,” Nick reminded her.
“Oh!” Raluca had been about to slam a car door on the trailing skirts of her couture ball gown. She lifted them inside. Nick closed the door for her. “Thank you.”
“No problem.” He pulled back his arm, leaving the faintest scent of leather in the air before it was blown away by the wind.
When he parked at Protection, Inc., Raluca accompanied him in with some trepidation. She liked Hal, but their introduction had been so embarrassing and awkward. She’d liked Destiny too, but only after the bodyguard had concluded her challenge of strength and decided to be friendly. Raluca wondered if that was some strange American ritual, and if she would ag
ain be subjected to a bone-crushing handshake should the other female member of Protection, Inc. appear. Then, too, there was Shane, with his icy blue stare. Raluca wasn’t sure she wanted to meet him at all.
But the only person at Protection, Inc. was a handsome Latino man lounging on the sofa with his feet dangling over the arm rests, his muscular body sprawled at ease. He wore a simple white T-shirt and blue jeans, but he wore them well. His black hair, which was longer and smoother than Nick’s, tumbled back in a chin-length mane. Raluca was irresistibly reminded of a lion soaking up the savannah sun, even before she remembered Rafa was, in fact, a lion shifter.
Rafa’s big brown eyes opened wider at the sight of her, and then a charming smile lit up his face. He rose from the sofa with easy grace. “What a pleasure to meet you, Raluca. You look ravishing.”
He held out his hand in a familiar and elegant gesture. Automatically, she offered him her own. He took it, bent, and brushed his lips against the back of her hand.
“The fuck you think you’re doing?!” Nick burst out.
Rafa unhurriedly released her hand. “I’m demonstrating proper etiquette for a white tie ball. Like the one you’re going to in an hour. Remember?”
“Yeah, I fucking remember!” Nick snapped. “But we’re not at the fucking ball yet, so you can shake hands like a fucking normal person!”
Raluca should have been offended by the cascade of f-words. Not to mention that Rafa had done nothing improper, and in fact had pleasantly reminded her of home. But an odd warmth rose in her at the sight of Nick seething over another man kissing her. If he was jealous, did that mean that some part of him cared about her?
Of course he cares, hissed her dragon.
Raluca shook her head, dismissing her dragon. If Nick was possessive, it only meant that he saw her as a possession: a thing to be used and discarded, not a person he cared for. But she could use his jealousy as another opportunity to get some revenge for the hairball.
“I am pleased to meet you, Rafa,” she said, making sure to sound flirtatious. “Since we seem to have offended Nick with a formal greeting, shall we make up for it by shaking hands?”
