One might think that since my father has passed away and I now live alone in a huge manor as is befitting the station of the Duke of Whitehampton that I must be lonely.
Nothing could be further from the truth.
I have my brothers, my pack.
A werewolf is never truly alone.
I adjust my silk white neckcloth and fix the sleeves of my topcoat. My alpha does not care for the ton nor for all of the balls and gatherings, but I am not merely a werewolf. My father had been a duke, his father as well, and now that I am the last living Buckingham, Leonard Buckingham, I am a duke, and as such, I have duties beyond just the pack.
Thankfully, Erasmus Allen, alpha of the Fierce Growlers, respects me enough to allow me to leave and attend balls and parties and other events as is my due.
Truthfully, though, I am not altogether certain I wish to attend the ball I have dressed for this evening. The rest of my packmates will be out, unleashing their wolves, having a run about as the night is as dark as can be, no stars in sight, the moon hidden by clouds.
We cannot risk being discovered. The humans can never learn about the existence of werewolves. War will surely result, and it is not misguided fear that has me believing this claim. Oracles have foreseen a great war that will result from the humans learning about supernatural beings such as werewolves and vampires and witches.
But supernatural beings have been alive for centuries upon centuries, millennia even, and the humans have remained ignorant. Why need I to fear that will change within the course of my lifetime?
I head outside of my manor and enter my carriage. The driver coaxes the horses, and the ride is smooth.
As we slow to join the long line of carriages that have brought other nobles to this place, I lean out the window and sniff. Beyond the scent of horses and the previous night’s rain, I catch a whiff of something peculiar.
“Mr. Timis,” I call to the driver, “I will climb out here.”
“Very good, sir,” he says.
I step out of the carriage, adjust my clothing, and try to be discreet as I sniff and then walk off into the darkness, away from the brightness seeping out from the wide-open doors of the viscount’s manor.
It is near the shade of a tree that I can see the source of the peculiar scent.
That of a werewolf who is not a part of my pack.
Werewolves, for the most part, stick to their own pack and avoid all others, but that does not mean there is not the occasional mingling of packs. On some occasions, packs will combine, or else one will leave their pack to join their spouse’s. Two packs in close proximity do not have to mean violence, but that can occur. Wolves are animals, after all, and predators at that.
“Well met,” I call as I halt.
“Well met,” floats a soft, gentle voice.
From the shadows, a lady steps forward. She dips into a curtsey, and I bow and reach for her hand, but she keeps them clasped behind her as she moves to encircle me.
“You are?” she asks.
“Leonard Buckingham, the Duke of Whitehampton.”
“Ah, a fellow noble werewolf,” she says, her lips curling into a small smile.
“And you?” I ask, trying not to be swayed by her great beauty. Her features are all delicate and small, and her white gown makes her stand out among the shadows. How could it have been that I did not see her immediately?
“What about me?” she asks, peering up at me from lowered lashes.
“What is your name?”
Her laugh has her throwing back her head, and her tiara slipping a bit. She quickly pushes it back into place.
“You can call me she-wolf,” she says.
I shake my head and gesture toward the manor. “I can hardly call you she-wolf in front of everyone.”
“Who says I plan on going inside?” she asks.
“Why bother to get all dressed up and come here if you will not venture in for the ball?” I counter.
She lowers her head. “I came to watch from afar. My place is not here.”
“Then where? With what pack?”
“My, you ask a lot of questions.” She reaches up and tweaks my nose. “You like to put your nose into other’s business, do you not?”
“Perhaps I have decided that I will continue to ask you questions until you answer one,” I tease.
Her laughter sounds like tiny bells. “Ah, I see. I have awoken your curiosity, and it must be satiated, is that right?”
“It is not that it must be satiated, but I would very much like to know the name of the lady whom I wish to have my first dance with.”
“I have told you, he-wolf, that I do not plan on going inside.”
“We do not have to venture inside to dance,” I counter, holding out my hand.
She eyes me and smiles winningly up at me. “Very well. One dance, Your Grace.”
“You do not have to be so formal with me,” I protest.
“You prefer I call you he-wolf?” she asks as we start to dance in time with the faint music we can barely hear seeping out of the open door beneath the sound of the guests’ laughter and conversations.
“You could call me Leonard,” I tell her.
“You have done a good job not stepping on my feet, Leo,” she teases.
“You are just as light on your feet.”
She smiles up at me as we spin and then holds our hands so close that they are nearly touching, turning around in a circle before halting and then resuming the circle, only in the opposite direction.
We continue to tease one another as we dance, but no matter the questions I ask, she never divulges her name or her pack, and the moment the dance ends, she curtsies.
“Thank you for the dance,” she says. “I did not expect to have such an enjoyable time here.”
“Might I call on you?” I ask.
“One last chance to try to learn who I am.” The lady laughs as she shakes her head. “Enjoy the rest of the ball.”
And she slips away, somehow disappearing into the night despite her white gown.
She is not merely a lady or a werewolf.
She is also a thief because she has stolen all of my thoughts.
And perhaps my heart as well.