It was an effort to tame the smile that teased my mouth and dampen the hungry gleam in my eyes as I stared, wolf-like, at the ring.

However, when Laurena stepped forward, foreboding prickled my flesh as I watched her pinch a corner of the bow attached to Rosa's bright red dress. She pulled it taut before letting it go. "Oh Rosa, such a delightful bow, so generous. You're so lucky to have such a sturdy frame to keep from tipping over." She stepped back into line with her brother, smiling brightly as if she hadn't just burnt the short, stocky Rosa with her acerbic tongue. "Bows, so last year," she tsked, her nose scrunching. "Still, it's always nice to get the opportunity to re-wear an old piece."

Rosa's olive skin flushed a brighter pink, and hurt flashed in her brown eyes before she mumbled, "Yes." Even though she'd earlier confessed to Valarie that this was a new haute couture piece she'd had commissioned specifically for this evening.

It was a sport to Laurena, making others feel small.

Byron shifted his weight from one leg to the other, tapping his finger on his crystal tumbler filled with cognac, drawing our attention his way. Would he make a great Head of Great House Wychthorn? Only time would tell. But in the dealings I had with him, he was sharp, cold, and effectual. He wasn't much for smiling either, something we had in common. But his eyes smiled when he looked at Valarie.

Laurena noticed. Her thinly plucked eyebrows drew together, and blue eyes slid from her brother to Valarie and then back again. Her pillowy lips pouted out a little and curled downward as her gaze grew narrower, sharper, meaner.

Then, a seemingly friendly smile brightened her expression. A smile that had ice flowing through my veins as I wondered what sly dig she was going to make at my sister's expense. Her gaze raked up and down Valarie's shift dress in winter white, a thin belt around her waist. Against all the elaborate, gaudy, over-the-top dresses in here, she stood out. "Valarie, such a simple dress. It certainly compliments your...personality."

Plain was what she was insinuating.

My nostrils flared. I was a typical brother. Girl or not, I wanted to spank her spoiled princess ass, and not in a fun way either.

A horrible sinking feeling fell through my gut as I witnessed my sister's mask of disinterest falter and then slip away, leaving her vulnerable. Trepidation shone in her violet eyes. She snuck her hands behind her back, and I knew she was wringing them together with oncoming nerves.

Laurena carried on, airily, though her tone was as sharp as a surgeon's scalpel. She knew exactly what she was doing. "It's been such a long time since I've seen you," she simpered. "What have you been up to?"

There was an awkward pause, a dreadful silence as everyone waited for Valarie to speak. She was anxious. I saw the fluttering pulse point in her throat. My own breath was trapped in my throat as I urged her to stand her ground.

Come on Val, you can do this.

Her mouth opened. "I-I-I-I-I..."

Laurena took a sip from her drink and licked her lips like a predator. "I...what?"

Valarie briefly squeezed her eyes shut, then forced them open, her hands coming around from her back and bunching tightly at her sides. "I-I've b-b-b-b..."

"Pardon?" Laurena asked, tilting her head and making a face as if she couldn't quite hear what my sister saying.

"I-I've b-b-been p-p-p..."

"Just the usual," I said, interrupting her, wanting to throttle Laurena. "Val's got a new art piece she's working on."

Valarie nodded, her glossy black hair swaying with the motion, her eyes snapping to mine, imploring me to continue.

"A..." I tried to remember what she was currently working on. "Landscape piece of the lake on our estate." An oil painting of the lake with its wild rushes and lilies and waterfalls.

Laurena held the back of her curled fingers across her mouth, trying and failing to hide the smug smile. "That does sound fascinating," she drawled, clearly making it sound the complete opposite.

My sister dropped her gaze to the floor, her brows nudging together as she rubbed her lips back and forth, embarrassment staining her cheeks a bright red.

Laurena was such a passive-aggressive petty little bitch. I didn't know what the fuck her problem was. Slow-burning anger had my jaw sawing back and forth.

It wasn't just me.

Byron shot Laurena a swift glare, softening when he turned back to Valarie. His deep voice reached across the space between them. "The Deniauds' gallery boasts some of the best renaissance artwork." Valarie's gaze slowly lifted to his. Surprise registered across her expression at the warmth she found in his returning smile. "Care to join me?" he asked my twin.

A small but genuine smile slowly spread across her face.

I was her brother. Of course, I wanted to punch him in the face for even looking at her, let alone speaking with her. My fingers started to curl into a fist at just the idea of them alone together and then unfurled when I saw how her eyes had lit up just as bright as his at the thought of going to look at those paintings. She nodded, still smiling, and for a moment even I knew that every single one of us had faded into the background for the both of them.

He gestured with a courteous sweep of his hand and offered an arm.

She stepped forward, looped her arm through Byron's, and both of them departed.

Laurena gave a snide sigh through her nose, casting a dismissive glance at Rosa before her gaze swept to mine. She tilted her head to the side and gave a flirtatious smile while stroking a hand through her silky hair.

It wasn't just her though. I felt the attention from the room on me as soon as I'd entered, women angling themselves to get a better look. I caught the fluttering of eyelashes, the bite of teeth on bottom lips, and scented the lust that perfumed the air. All of it focused on me. Gods, they repulsed me. I had a beard and a wild tangle of hair. I looked like a homeless man who'd mugged a Wall Street Broker and stolen his suit, for fucks sake. All of this was a screaming neon sign that said I was off limits, not interested, thank you very much. And yet it still didn't put them off. It only seemed to make them more inquisitive, more desirous.

Laurena's heated lust crawled over my skin like an unwanted touch. Even I wasn't stupid enough to get entangled with a Wychthorn Princess.

She toyed with a lock of hair, her smooth, elegant fingers teasing the end of the strands, and that ring on her finger gleamed. I was going to steal something from Laurena tomorrow night. As a sort of a fuck you, but also in some ways picking up where my brother left off. He was a...

At the sudden burning in my throat, I swallowed thickly, and corrected myself—he had been a magpie, a thief. He hadn't been able to help himself. Gratian had stolen items that used to belong to our family. Once, only once, millennia ago, our treasure trove had been ransacked and a few of those priceless pieces had found themselves in the possession of other families.

The youngest Wychthorn Princess was wearing one of them.

Tomorrow night I was going to steal back that ring that used to belong to my family. So maybe it wasn't stealing at all. And in some way, I was doing this for Gratian. It was something he laughed at with his loud, boisterous laugh, mocking those from whom he'd stolen.

Maybe it was some small atonement I could give him.

Maybe it was just me trying to buy forgiveness.

I didn't know.

But what I did know was that Laurena Wychthorn was going to be walking out of here with one precious item missing. Well, not missing. I would exchange it with a replacement, and she'd never know it was fake.

"So," Laurena said, practically undressing me with her eyes, which sent a repulsive shiver down my spine. "I haven't seen you and Irma together for a while now. Is everything alright with you two, or...are you seeking other company? My company perhaps?"

Just hearing Irma's name had my teeth gritting together.

Laurena voicing her blatant suggestion that she was open to a fuck, followed through with so much entitlement in her lustful gaze, made me want to punch a wall. And I certainly wouldn't ever bed anyone who'd been as nasty to my sister as she had been. I'd sooner fuck a cheese grater.

The best recourse was for me to leave before I said anything she'd regret. I was just beginning to turn away, about excuse myself, when in the corner of my eye I caught Rosa cringing and toying with the bow on her hip that Laurena had been so cruel about. The look of despair at the thought that she'd be abandoned to Laurena, with no escape from the other woman's malice, reminded me of a lost puppy about to get kicked. The promise I'd made my sister tonight came to the forefront of my mind—be nice.

For once I wasn't going to be an asshole and leave her there for Laurena to cut apart.

Before Laurena could protest my departure, I stepped closer to Rosa, chewing through the space, my faint shadow falling over her short frame. "No thanks," I said coldly to the Wychthorn Princess while I threw an arm around Rosa's shoulder. She jumped and gave a little squeak of surprise. "Quite happy with the company I already have." I patted her tense, plump arm. Beneath the ridiculously permed and teased hair, Rosa's eyes bugged in her round, plump face as she stared silently up at me.

I turned back to the Wychthorn princess and gave her a bored once-over, accompanied by a lazy smirk—pretty much a fuck you challenge. "Rosa knows I've got a thing for, Big. Ass. Bows."

I angled my face to look down at Rosa, raising a single eyebrow.

Rosa's squeaky voice rose up several octaves. "The bigger, the better?"

In the corner of my eye, I saw Laurena's mouth fall open at the flirty wink I gave Miss Battagli. Her blue eyes, full of shock and indignation, ping-ponged between Rosa and me.

Ignoring Laurena, I spoke to Rosa in a low rough purr. "That's right, baby Battagli. You're a sweet little present I want to unwrap—"

"With your teeth," she shot back, getting right into it. She raised a finger, twirling it around beside her head, then pointed down to the massive bow on her hip, giving Laurena her own little fuck you smirk. "Unwrap this big ass bow with. Your. Teeth."

Holy shit, I just about cracked up laughing then.

And for a brief moment, I was suddenly struck with how strange that sensation felt demanding to be let go―to want to laugh again.

I straightened, spun us both around, and led Rosa away. Guests stepped back as I strode through the room. Rosa's eyes shone with awe, a hand pressed to her chest. "I can't believe you did that," she whispered.

"Me either."

"No one says no to her."

I shrugged. I guess not. I supposed no one had been so dismissive of the Wychthorn Princess before. She needed to get used to it.

"Who do you want to meet tonight?" I asked her.

She answered without hesitation, the words leaving her breathlessly. "The Lyon brothers."

I broke into the Lyon brothers' conversation, and both of them paused mid-banter. A generous dose of fear at finding me stepping into their space paled both of their complexions. I stood behind Rosa, my hands on either of her shoulders. "You're both in charge of keeping Miss Battagli company for the night. And she'd better fucking have a good time," I glowered, pretty much threatening them. "Rosa's got a new puppy you'll want to hear all about."

Okay, so maybe I was still a bit of a dick.

Turning away, I stalked off, leaving the Great Room and all the guests behind.

My aching feet carried me onward, and in truth, I didn't even know where I was heading, only that it was away from all of that in there. I just needed to sit down, alone for a bit. Down hallways and through open spaces I came to the last room, sparkling with fairy lights and burning candles.

I didn't give a shit where I was, only that it was empty and there was a place to rest my weary body. I sank into a chair, yawning. My feet and limbs practically sighed with relief. I just needed to rest. Maybe five, ten minutes, and then rejoin my sister.

My eyelids grew heavier...slowly closing...

Before I realized it, I fell asleep.

A deep, deep sleep.

Somewhere above, a voice shouted at me, cutting through the thick fog of my dream world.

"Are you...? Are you sleeping on the job?!"

I woke up, shooting to my feet.

What the?

Where am I?

I blinked rapidly, disoriented with sleep and swaying on my feet.

And the face I was staring blearily down at was scrunched up with distaste; a girl, looking up at me like she'd stepped into something gross, except it was me. I was the gross thing.

"Oh my..." Her mouth fell open, and an appalled expression swept across her features as her gaze zeroed in on my mouth. "Is that drool? Were you sleeping so soundly you were drooling?"

Before I could stop myself, my hand was checking out the corner of my lips. I was pretty out of it. Was I drooling?

No. Shit. Yes. Maybe. Hang on...wait...what?

I swayed off-balance because I was groggy and dead-tired. And this girl, who had to be a few years younger than me, jabbed me in the stomach not with her finger but a...

What the...? Is that an actual wooden spoon?

Before I knew what was going on, I was falling. Me, a Crowther, with the supposed reflexes of a cat. I toppled backward, my weight and the force of my body hitting the chair so badly that I tipped it over and it hit something. There was a horrifying crack and the sound of shattering glass.

I was down on my ass, blinking up into the eyes of a girl whose eyes had grown so round in her face they were saucers. She sucked in an awful-sounding breath. "You...you broke...you broke Mrs. Deniaud's 18th-century Venetian vase!"

***

I watched everything as if it were occurring in slow motion. I should have been moving, reaching forward, anything, not standing there frozen to the spot holding my godsdamned wooden spoon like a limpet. My blood curdled in my veins in utter horror as the stranger lost his balance and fell.

The force of his body hitting the chair tipped it back—

The chair hit the pedestal behind him—

And the vase...the vase wobbled, pitched forward, and tumbled from its perch.

There was a horrifying crack that burst inside my ears like a lightning strike, and glass shattered, scattering all over the marble floor.

I sucked in an awful-sounding breath. "You...you broke..."—oh my gods!—"You broke Mrs. Deniaud's 18th-century Venetian vase!" I stared in disbelief, my heart pounding in my chest, everything evaporating from my mind.

Two minutes ago, after Beckah informed me the room was ready and the team dispersed, I'd come in here to double-check everything before Mrs. Deniaud and her daughter showed their guests inside. It always paid to double-check. Always. I'd brushed away from my eyes the flyaway tendrils that had come free from my bun, utter relief bringing a smile to my lips and recharging my bone-tired body. The room had come together beautifully with its silvery winter details. As I'd slowly turned in a tight circle beneath the soft glow spilling from the chandelier above, that good feeling had begun to melt away. I hadn't been able to put my finger on it, but there was something niggling at me. Some uneasy feeling prickled beneath my skin that something wasn't quite right with the decor. The crystal fairy lights were strung across the ceiling and met the chandelier with its flower-cut bulbs; the candelabras were lit, fat molten wax dripping down the honeyed candles; the modern lighting was set low; potted boxwood sparkling with Swarovski crystals—stars and snowflakes; and the vases...

And then I'd noticed something else...someone else. A servant in a black suit. Asleep. His enormous figure swamped the delicate antique armchair, head lolling back on the soft headrest, thighs spread wide and long legs stretched out. His face was hidden behind a scruffy beard and shaggy black hair, which almost reached his shoulders and looked like it hadn't even seen a comb in days. He definitely wasn't one of those higher-ranking family members from the Lower or Upper Houses—they were all sleek and polished and refined. From the massive breadth of him, he had to be a bodyguard or soldier or, more likely, a hunter.

I'd woken him, and now he was flat on his backside on the floor, staring dazedly up at me. Scattered around him were shards of glass that sparkled like diamonds.

Oh my gods...

I clapped a hand across my mouth. I couldn't breathe. Mr. Volkov was going to skin me alive.

It was a slow, slow realization that crept up on me like a winter's twilight that the shattered vase was empty.

Empty...

Hells-gate!

Oswin hadn't done the one thing he'd been called in to do—gather flowers and foliage and arrange them in the vases positioned about the room on heavy stone pedestals.

My heart exploded into a panicked gallop and cold sweat burst across my palms. I half-turned away from the stranger, kneading my stress-creased forehead with a finger and thumb. Terror squeezed like an iron band around my chest. I had maybe ten minutes before Mrs. Deniaud escorted Marissa and their guests into the room.

Could this day get any freaking worse?

What was I going to do? My eyes darted about the room at all the empty vases sitting on top of pedestals. Did I have enough time to get to the garden? Yes. No. Maybe. I had to try.

I twisted back around. Adrenaline, fierce and wrong, surged through my veins, pumping my pulse into a frantic, wild pace. My gaze landed on the servant rubbing a hand across his sleepy eyes. He pushed thick fingers beneath the unkempt hair and brushed the locks away from his forehead.

"Get up!" I shrieked, stamping a foot.

I didn't care if he jerked his head back and those eyes of his widened and fixed on me as if I'd come completely unhinged. I was unhinged!

"Get up! Get up! Get up!"

He rose, unfolding himself slowly, straightened to his full height, and I looked up and up and up. My eyes grew round, trailing up a muscled physique that even the suit couldn't conceal, across the wide, expansive chest, straying over his massive shoulders and arms. Gods, he was tall. How tall was he? 6-4? 6-5?

Holy Zrenyth, Tabitha—I mentally scolded myself—who cares?

I didn't know which House he served or what he did. I didn't care. I needed help and he was the only one here. "You deal with that!" I snapped, pointing my wooden spoon at the tipped-over chair and pedestal. I took in the broken glass. My mind was doing a fast calculation as to how long it would take for me to pay off an 18th-century antique. The air tightened in my throat and a sick feeling roiled in the pit of my stomach. Oh my gods, I'd barely receive a paycheck for years.