shouldn’t be with him at all, not alone.
Swallowing hard, struggling to corral her unruly pulse, she glanced at the clock and groaned. Maxim would be at her bedroom door to pick her up in fifteen minutes.
“I have to go.” She spun toward the swinging door.
“Can you find your way back to your room?”
“Yes.” What had she been thinking, staying with Hawke so long? She’d given in to a temptation she should never have indulged in, fanning an attraction that had to die a quick death.
Maxim was the man she was intended for, not Hawke. She knew it deep in her heart and had since the moment she’d met him. Which meant she was going to have to stay away from Hawke until his attention turned elsewhere. And hers turned where it needed to stay.
On Maxim. Her soon-to-be mate.
F ifteen minutes later, an imperious rap sounded at her door. Maxim. And she wasn’t quite ready.
“I’ll be out in a minute,” she called. She’d taken a quick shower, careful to keep her hair dry since she’d washed it that morning, then pulled on a black dress with capped sleeves and a modest v-neck. The dress was made of a lightweight knit with a full skirt that fell to her knees. Hopefully, it would be appropriate.
She slipped on her only pair of heels—well-worn black pumps—then brushed out her hair. She was swiping on a little mascara when the knock sounded again, quick and impatient.
“I’m almost ready, Maxim.” A quick brush of lip gloss on her lips, and she hurried to the open door. And stared with dismay.
Maxim stood on the other side, impeccably dressed in a full tuxedo, his hair slicked back from his face. She was hopelessly underdressed. As his gaze skimmed her attire, his expression soured. “Have you nothing better to wear?”
Embarrassment stained her cheeks. “It’s my only dress, Maxim.”
Without reply, he turned and started down the hall as if expecting her to follow. Or not.
Part of her wanted to stay in the room and skip the reception altogether, but what if they dressed up for dinner, too? For every dinner? She couldn’t hide in her room forever.
Unhappily, Faith started after him, her stomach cramping. She’d been afraid of this—that she was out of her league with Maxim. Especially with the Feral Warriors. Would they all look at her with dismay? Kara? Hawke?
The thought of it made her want to sink into the floor. She’d never pretended to be any kind of royalty. She’d never pretended to be anything more than what she was—a sometimes waitress who tried to help street kids. And now . . . Maxim’s soon-to-be mate. A role she was beginning to fear would never fit.
At the bottom of the stairs, Maxim came to a stop, apparently waiting for her, though his face remained turned away. When she caught up with him, he offered her his arm and she took it, feeling gauche and miserable beside his tuxedoed splendor. But there wasn’t anything she could do but lift her chin and paste a smile on her face.
Together, they followed the voices to a large, formal room furnished in black and white with splashes of deep red. A number of the Ferals and their women were already there, some of whom she’d already met—Lyon, Paenther, Vhyper, and Kara. They were pouring drinks or grabbing beers, but the easy conversation died as all eyes swiveled toward Maxim and her.
It took a moment before she realized that her mortification over being underdressed was unfounded. To her relief, the only one who had dressed formally was Maxim. The other men were in pants and collared shirts of one kind or another, with one—a giant with a badly scarred face—in a plain black T-shirt.
Kara wore a brightly colored green-and-yellow sundress with a matching green sweater. And flip-flops. Flip-flops. Faith realized she was staring at the other woman’s feet. But when she forced her gaze upward, Kara’s shrug and grin sent the rest of Faith’s tension tumbling away.
One by one, each Feral stepped forward and introduced
Swallowing hard, struggling to corral her unruly pulse, she glanced at the clock and groaned. Maxim would be at her bedroom door to pick her up in fifteen minutes.
“I have to go.” She spun toward the swinging door.
“Can you find your way back to your room?”
“Yes.” What had she been thinking, staying with Hawke so long? She’d given in to a temptation she should never have indulged in, fanning an attraction that had to die a quick death.
Maxim was the man she was intended for, not Hawke. She knew it deep in her heart and had since the moment she’d met him. Which meant she was going to have to stay away from Hawke until his attention turned elsewhere. And hers turned where it needed to stay.
On Maxim. Her soon-to-be mate.
F ifteen minutes later, an imperious rap sounded at her door. Maxim. And she wasn’t quite ready.
“I’ll be out in a minute,” she called. She’d taken a quick shower, careful to keep her hair dry since she’d washed it that morning, then pulled on a black dress with capped sleeves and a modest v-neck. The dress was made of a lightweight knit with a full skirt that fell to her knees. Hopefully, it would be appropriate.
She slipped on her only pair of heels—well-worn black pumps—then brushed out her hair. She was swiping on a little mascara when the knock sounded again, quick and impatient.
“I’m almost ready, Maxim.” A quick brush of lip gloss on her lips, and she hurried to the open door. And stared with dismay.
Maxim stood on the other side, impeccably dressed in a full tuxedo, his hair slicked back from his face. She was hopelessly underdressed. As his gaze skimmed her attire, his expression soured. “Have you nothing better to wear?”
Embarrassment stained her cheeks. “It’s my only dress, Maxim.”
Without reply, he turned and started down the hall as if expecting her to follow. Or not.
Part of her wanted to stay in the room and skip the reception altogether, but what if they dressed up for dinner, too? For every dinner? She couldn’t hide in her room forever.
Unhappily, Faith started after him, her stomach cramping. She’d been afraid of this—that she was out of her league with Maxim. Especially with the Feral Warriors. Would they all look at her with dismay? Kara? Hawke?
The thought of it made her want to sink into the floor. She’d never pretended to be any kind of royalty. She’d never pretended to be anything more than what she was—a sometimes waitress who tried to help street kids. And now . . . Maxim’s soon-to-be mate. A role she was beginning to fear would never fit.
At the bottom of the stairs, Maxim came to a stop, apparently waiting for her, though his face remained turned away. When she caught up with him, he offered her his arm and she took it, feeling gauche and miserable beside his tuxedoed splendor. But there wasn’t anything she could do but lift her chin and paste a smile on her face.
Together, they followed the voices to a large, formal room furnished in black and white with splashes of deep red. A number of the Ferals and their women were already there, some of whom she’d already met—Lyon, Paenther, Vhyper, and Kara. They were pouring drinks or grabbing beers, but the easy conversation died as all eyes swiveled toward Maxim and her.
It took a moment before she realized that her mortification over being underdressed was unfounded. To her relief, the only one who had dressed formally was Maxim. The other men were in pants and collared shirts of one kind or another, with one—a giant with a badly scarred face—in a plain black T-shirt.
Kara wore a brightly colored green-and-yellow sundress with a matching green sweater. And flip-flops. Flip-flops. Faith realized she was staring at the other woman’s feet. But when she forced her gaze upward, Kara’s shrug and grin sent the rest of Faith’s tension tumbling away.
One by one, each Feral stepped forward and introduced
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