Her Billionaire, Her Wolf--The Novel (A Paranormal Alpha Werewolf Romance)

by Aames, Aimélie

Silence. Then, with no forewarning, the van’s sliding door swept open and Sara was momentarily blinded by the sudden brightness.

  A ball capped silhouette held a finger to his lips, then glanced back over his shoulder.

  Sara’s eyes adjusted quickly as the man nodded to her, then motioned for her to step outside.

  It looked like they had driven to a parking lot until Sara saw that behind them there was a small plane.

  No, not a plane...that’s a jet.

  And it was not as small as she had first supposed. There were two engines sitting above the wings and a third up on top, centered on a fin that reminded Sara of a shark.

  The man had driven her to a separate runway, apparently destined for smaller, private craft. She looked toward him wondering what to do, but he only shrugged and with a jerk of his chin appeared to motion her toward the jet.

  The folding steps for boarding the jet were down and as Sara approached a woman came down the stairs as lightly as if she had done it a hundred times before.

  The smile on Sara’s face quickly turned to puzzlement when instead of welcoming Sara aboard, the woman only said, “Quickly now.”

  She understood the woman’s intent and wasted no time climbing into the jet.

  Sara was alone as she took in an interior every bit as posh as the sedan. Lavish yet sedate, deep, soft leather and burled wood inlays everywhere she looked.

  When no one appeared to conduct her to her seat, Sara picked one next to a window, settled into the comfortable leather cushions and calmly waited for what was next.

  Except that the man of her dreams never came. There was only the flight attendant she had crossed earlier and the woman remained just as taciturn as before.

  No answers to any questions Sara posed her. Nothing about where they were headed, other than a brief reply that the flight would be a long one before telling Sara to buckle her seatbelt.

  Sara had tried to introduce herself but the woman had stopped her cold, saying that the plane’s log indicated there were no passengers on board before turning away from her as if she did not, in truth, exist.

  Her stomach flip-flopped during the take-off, but once the jet had stopped climbing, Sara was surprised at how smooth the flight was.

  Later, there was a glass of champagne then a meal the flight attendant had named “Un Tournedos Rossini au foie gras et à la truffe.”

  Sara was famished and the golden brown medallion of beef was so tender she could have cut it with her fork alone. It had been placed upon a delicately grilled slice of French baguette and drizzled in a rich, buttery red wine sauce. It was accompanied by a generous morsel of foie gras which made a perfect marriage with the slightly sweet wine reduction. Finely julienned truffle leant the whole an elegance that went far beyond any meal that Sara could remember.

  Full bodied bordeaux wine followed the initial glass of champagne, once again, in French, the woman had named it, un Saint-Emilion grand cru, but whatever its name, the full bodied red was the meal’s crowning moment.

  Fine pastry and more champagne followed, of which Sara could only manage a little, savoring the luscious cream slipped between two thin sheets of crust made up of what appeared to be hundreds of fine, buttery layers.

  By the end, she had forgotten that she had dined alone. They had flown up over the clouds and into the night sky and before long, sleep came to claim Sara while the ocean rolled gently on in her dreams.

  Someone was shaking her awake. No, not someone, her entire surroundings trembled and then Sara heard and felt the jet’s landing gear touch ground.

  She stretched and looked out the window next to her seat. Darkness reigned outside, a few dim lights visible through what appeared to be a mist ridden night.

  The flight attendant bustled by. Sara was about to question the woman one last time as to just where exactly they had landed, but the woman had made an art of acting as though Sara was not there.

  She watched through the spotted window as the boarding stairs unfolded and the woman and two men climbed down. They were met by several others and Sara saw that they stood in a rough circle while red coals glowed around their darkened faces then dimmed again as they smoked.

  After what seemed an eternity, the flight attendant made her way back in to the cabin.

  “You will be leaving us now,” she said, her voice coldly professional, “A driver is waiting to take you to your destination.”

  Sara had grown very tired of the woman’s treatment and snapped, “Of course he is. And, I don’t suppose he’ll have anything more to say than you.”

  Without waiting to see the woman’s reaction, Sara got up and pushed past her. She climbed down the stairs to see that the smokers had disappeared with only a large car waiting in their place, its engine idling.

  Sara sighed.

  I’ve come this far.

  No one came to open the door for her, so Sara simply let herself into the back of the car.

  A man wearing black gloves slipped the car into gear, then said over his shoulder, “Bonsoir.”

  More French, then. Ok, this is definitely starting to feel European around here.

  “Ummm...english?” she asked.

  “Sorry,” the man said, his accent thick, “Buh, I doan’ speak ahngleesh...désolé.”

  Fine, Sara thought, no point in asking this guy where in the hell I’ve ended up.

  Then, she did anyway.

  The man hesitated, then replied, “C’est la France, Mademoiselle. Ici, on se trouve sur la côte atlantique, au Pays Basque.”

  Sara’s French was very rusty. But, among the sounds that rolled like magic off the man’s tongue, she had picked out a few words.

  France. Basque.

  Maybe something that meant AtlanticEuropean coast....

  Ok...so not in Kansas anymore, Toto.

  “Installez vous. Nous en avons pour une bonne heure du route.” The man broke off then, apparently realizing that Sara’s French was worse than his english.

  With nothing else to do, and no idea how long it would continue, Sara settled back and waited for the next thing.

  The highway leading from the small airport quickly turned to simple two lane roads, then two lanes became more like one and a half as the car wound its way up and down the countryside.

  The night hid most of it from Sara’s eyes, but at times she thought she could see the reflection of the moon far below her. She lowered her window for just a moment and the unmistakeable scent of salt air slipped into the car.

  It took little imagination for her to decide that they were on a secondary road that followed the coast line somewhere in Basque country. Sara searched her memories and something hinted to her that this meant she was in southwest France.

  She smiled a little ruefully as she thought, So much for Paris.

  As it was, the farthest abroad she had ever gone was the Canadian side of the Niagara Falls when she was just a little girl. After that, she had only every voyaged in her thoughts while watching television shows of far off places, and sometimes, when she was very lucky, she chanced to dream while deeply asleep that she had set foot in a foreign land, somewhere mysterious and enchanting.

  Abruptly, the car slowed then turned off the black top onto what seemed no more than a cow path.

  They bumped and rocked on the uneven track in a line perpendicular to the road they had just been on, the one that ran along the coast. And this meant that they were heading in nearly a straight line toward the ocean.

  The dirt road began to run steeper and steeper, until the car was practically spitting and growling as it climbed the rude hill.

  And as they crested the steep rise, Sara saw the silhouette of something massive and black hanging against the empty air that surrounded them then on all sides.

  It was a castle straight out of a fairy tale. Heavy stone walls that rose to turrets framed against the night sky. Sara could make out that there were stones missing in places, giving the tower tops the look of a broken smile.

>   Or, perhaps, that of a hungry smile.

  “Nous y voila,” the driver announced as he stopped the car in front of the old building.

  As it was, he had no other choice. The dirt road had come to a dead end just before the castle’s entrance.

  Not too dead, I hope, Sara thought, then shivered as she got out of the car.

  The driver stepped outside, as well, then tipped his head back to survey the imposing edifice.

  “On dirait, que c’est un château de fantômes, n’est-ce pas?” he said with a half a smile as he turned to look at Sara.

  She did not understand his words, but the look of worry that came into his face just then was clear.

  “You...be okay içi? Yes?”

  Sara was not sure how to respond when they both heard a low groaning sound in the darkness.

  The Frenchman took a step in Sara’s direction, then both of them froze as they saw a figure step out from behind the immense front doors of the castle, their hinges creaking like voices from beyond the grave.

  “Allez vous-en. Ce n’est pas la peine d’essayer effrayer la jeune femme.”

  The words were in French, but there was no mistaking that voice and as he approached, Sara saw his regard, as intense as always, flash from the driver to her and back again.

  “Vous avez été bien payé. Maintenant, dégagez,” he said to the driver, his tone furious. “C’est moi qui la prends en charge.”

  Sara understood nothing but the abashed look upon the driver’s face was explanation enough. He hurried back into the car and wasted no time in starting it before turning it around to go back the way he had come.

  Brazier Abraxis came close to her and Sara saw the anger that drew his brows together.

  “Follow me,” he said, then turned suddenly away.

  Sara had no choice except to follow but she could not shake the feeling of an impending disaster as she came to the great doors of the chateau. They loomed like an open mouth and with a sense of doom licking at her soul, Sara let them swallow her whole.

  ~~~

  Two steps inside and Sara watched as he pushed the enormous doors closed with a single hand. Something told her that if it had been her, she would have had to put all her weight and a shoulder against just one to do the same.

  Darkness fell like a cloak as the dim light of the exterior world was cut off. She heard a metallic sound, then a creaking whine before a jittering illumination opened wide just before her.

  He held an old fashioned lamp of some kind, it’s opaque faceplate swinging loosely as he moved, creating wild shadows that jumped and capered on the high stone walls surrounding them.

  “Foolish local man. They take one look at an american and all they have in mind is how much of a tip they might garner. Little matter that he was already paid more than fairly to see you here.”

  Braze’s voice growled in the shadowy entryway.

  “I don’t think he really took me for a tourist,” Sara said, “Mostly, he just seemed concerned.”

  “Yes, well, my people know how to comport themselves. As for these locals, I have my doubts,” he replied.

  He turned his back to her and walked away.

  Sara followed, her only choice to be left behind in darkness, or to see where the light might lead her.

  She hurried after his straight back, chasing after him as shadows nipped at her heels.

  They passed from stone walls surrounding them through a second set of doors only slightly less massive than the others and out to a cobblestoned courtyard where a few stars flickered weakly overhead.

  A short flight of steps and through a third pair of doors, Sara found herself once more ensconced within massive stone walls, although this time, a ceiling overhead held the sky at bay.

  Her heels clip clopped as she moved quickly to follow Brazier Abraxis, and despite the mystery surrounding her, Sara smiled at the sound. She imagined that it must have been like that at one time, the sounds of horse hooves resounding in the courtyard through to the large entryway where they now walked.

  Wasting no time, he led her to a flight of stairs. They might have been a type of marble, but what Sara found most curious about them was that each had a bowed appearance, as if they sagged under the weight of so many centuries. She imagined, though, that it was due to simple erosion as so many footfalls over countless years had worn them down in the middle.

  At the landing of the second floor, he turned abruptly from the stairs and together they walked down a long, narrow corridor. Under their feet, old wooden floorboards creaked and complained, as if too fatigued to support yet another passerby.

  Still another pair of doors before them at corridor’s end and as he pulled one open, Sara could make out just how high it went.

  The ceilings in this place must be twenty feet high, she marveled.

  And, at last, beyond this final door, Sara saw warm light that felt like the welcome for which she still waited.

  A long table ran the length of the room. Long enough to seat at least fifty people and at its far end, she saw a fireplace that went beyond the extravagant with its outrageous size. Within burned massive lengths of wood, most bigger around than Sara herself. But, she could not deny that the light and heat of those dancing flames was a heartening change for the better.

  And as they walked along the length of the table, Sara remarked that two places had been set for dining at the end closest to the fireplace.

  Simple white linen covered the table’s end while shining silver, crystal and porcelain awaited two for dinner. Candles burned in a pair of fixtures and added a last touch of gentle ambiance.

  “You must be famished,” he said, glancing briefly at Sara before looking away again. “My little jet flies fast, but crossing the Atlantic still takes a good eight hours.”

  Sara nodded looking down at the spotless dinnerware before her.

  “I ate on the plane, but it feels like its been a long time since then,” she replied.

  “Yes, of course,” he said, then added, “And how did you find the tournedos?”

  Sara smiled and said, “Well, it was easily the best airplane food I’ve ever had.” She did not continue her thought, keeping to herself that it had been the only airplane food she had ever had.

  “I thought you might like it,” he said, pulling out a chair for Sara. As she sat down, he gave it a little push that left her tucked in as neatly at the table as any professionally trained waiter might have done.

  “It’s agreeable, I find, to savor a bit of France before one arrives...sets the tone, if you will.”

  The anger of only a few minutes before seemed to be dissipating from his voice. He stood beside her as he spoke, then placed a warm hand upon Sara’s shoulder.

  “I also find it very, very agreeable to see you seated at my table.”

  Sara looked to the flames crackling and snapping not far away, and even if it felt like she was playing with fire, she reached up to the hand upon her shoulder and pushed it away.

  “Well, I didn’t know I was coming to France, did I?” she said calmly, willing herself to be cool headed where he seemed to let his blood boil. “I didn’t know anything. Your people wouldn’t tell me.”

  She heard him sigh, then watched as he walked to place himself opposite her, standing beside his own place at the table.

  His eyes held her own as he considered her. In them, Sara saw the flecks of green and gold that made the amber color appear to flicker like the flames in the hearth. She wanted to look away, to refuse the spell of his fascinating regard, but he held her, his gaze as intensely focused upon her as ever.

  “Is it true, Sara? The absolute truth that you did not know?” he asked.

  Careful...he’s not asking the question you think he is.

  Sara licked her lips, then said, “I tried asking, but no one would tell me anything.”

  Brazier Abraxis shook his head.

  “Don’t pretend to misunderstand me, Sara. Don’t disappoint me like that.”
<
br />   She took a breath, then replied, “I only found out when Flair gave me the cellphone just before he dropped me off last night. Until then, I literally had no idea who you were.

  “And that is the truth,” she said, then added, “As it is, I don’t even know what to call you...maybe you’d prefer ‘Mr. Abraxis’?”

  The man across the table reached over to a carafe of dark red wine. A bottle stood at an angle nearby, in a sort of wire cradle that held it tilted to one side.

  “Don’t call me that...please, “ he said as poured the wine into a wineglass shaped like a tulip. “I don’t want you to be like the rest of them.

  “Call me Braze.”

  Then, he continued as if the conversation had not just come within a hair’s breadth of catching fire.

  “This is a Château Margaux. The wine in the jet’s reserves was a Saint-Emilion, and while quite good, the Margaux stands head and shoulders over it in quality.

  “Unfortunately, it is a demanding wine and while the flight crew is excellent, I would not trust them to observe the strict conditions it requires.”

  Yet, you trusted them with me, didn’t you?

  He poured a glass for himself, then waited for Sara to take a sip. She did not know much about wine. Other than a few Californians, she had known next to nothing by way of comparison. However, she could not help but notice the rich complexity of the wine and how it changed from one moment to the next. Flavors of dark red berries that slipped into a strangely pleasant hint of licorice.

  “Good, yes?” he asked over his glass then took a drink from his own. Sara watched as he held the wine in his mouth just a moment before swallowing.

  “It’s predominately Merlot, but there is a certain fraction of Cabernet Franc as well. Very round...as it should be after so many years.”

  Sara tasted it again, wondering if she would ever understand the nuances of good wine.

  Braze nodded to her then said, “I’ll be just a moment,” before walking out of the room through a door just beside the fireplace.

  It did not take him long to return and in his hands he carried a very large silver tray with several dome covered platters upon it.