Naria's Wolves

Chapter Three-Episode Two

“Care to explain what that was about?” she asked, her brow arched.

“Whatever do you mean?” Kairos asked, his tone airy and aloof.

“The Stonelarks practically built this city,” she said lowly, her voice tight. “It would do us well to remain friends with them.”

“Oh, Inara, darling,” Kairos chuckled, patting her hand. “But we are friends.”

Before she could snap back, another man in a crisp tuxedo approached. With a silent scoff, Inara made her escape. She headed straight for the bar, her mind screaming for something stiff to wash away the bitter taste of her father’s dismissive words.

“Already drinking?” a musing voice asked.

Inara turned to see her Uncle Xander Greybourn approaching. She didn't hesitate, embracing him tightly. “It would seem so. I don’t know how anyone attends these things completely sober.”

“I don’t think anyone actually does,” Xander whispered mischievously. He ordered a single malt whiskey, his eyes scanning the room with a weary intelligence. “Who all have you met tonight?”

“Everyone in the family, aside from you,” she answered, shooting back the tequila she’d ordered. The burn was magnificent, cutting through the stifling atmosphere of perfume and lies. “Lucien was fun, Orion and his son were an actual delight until Father chased them away. And now you.”

She clinked her empty glass against his. Xander chuckled, a humorous glint in his eye.

“Dear child, then you have many still to go. Don’t forget, these companies are more than just this family,” he gruffed, his voice full of a hard-earned wisdom. “We merely point the cogs in the right direction, but it’s the people who truly run the show.”

Inara surveyed the room—the jewels, the silk, the masks. “s**t, that’s probably the realest thing I’ve heard tonight,” she sighed.

“It’ll get easier,” Xander said, finishing his drink.

“Maybe,” she muttered, staring into her empty glass.

Inara set her glass down, the burn of the tequila still humming in her veins. She let her gaze drift toward the crowd, and that was when she saw a trio that didn't fit the "wolf" mold. Two of them—a boy and a girl—looked like sunshine captured in silk; they had an easy, golden-retriever warmth that seemed to push back against the ballroom’s cold sophistication.

And then there was the man between them.

Inara nearly choked on the air in her lungs. She’d only ever seen Ryker in that worn, grease-stained leather jacket, lurking in the shadows of the bone-white forest. Tonight, he was in a tuxedo. It was charcoal black, tailored so perfectly to his lean, muscular frame that it looked like a second skin. His hair was actually styled, though a few rebellious dark strands still fell over his forehead.

He didn't just look "presentable." He looked... mouthwatering.

Xander noticed her staring, his gaze following hers until it landed on the trio. His expression shifted, his jaw tightening with a memory that clearly wasn't pleasant.

“Ah,” Xander mused, his voice dropping to a low, guarded rumble. “The adopted Hale boy. Bold of him to show his face in the Tower again, given that I was the one who had to drag him out of here by the collar two years ago.”

Inara blinked, tearing her eyes away from Ryker’s sharp profile. “You know him?”

“I know his mother—Dr. Hale. Best healer in Naria,” Xander grunted, taking a slow sip of his whiskey. “And I know Ryker. He’s had a few ‘incidents’ since his internship was terminated. Usually involving him being where he’s not supposed to be.” He looked at Inara, his eyes narrowing with a flash of genuine concern. “Be careful, Inara. He’s the kind of fire that likes to burn the whole house down just to see what the foundation looks like.”

Inara didn't answer. She couldn't. Ryker had caught her looking.

From across the room, his smoky green eyes locked onto her golden ones. He didn’t offer a polite nod or a "congratulations" smile. He just watched her, his gaze lingering on the black tiara and the plunging back of her gown with an intensity that made the silk of her gloves feel suddenly too tight.

He whispered something to the girl and boy beside him—Piper and her brother Alex, Xander had supplied—who shot a worried glance toward the Ashwood inner circle. Then, with a predatory grace that the tuxedo only emphasized, Ryker began to move. He navigated the crowd with the ease of someone who knew every shortcut in the building, heading straight for the bar.

Straight for her.

Xander caught the movement and set his glass down. “I’ll leave you to your... guest. But remember what I said. Some people snoop because they’re curious. He snoops because he wants to break things.”

With a final, lingering look at Ryker, Xander melted back into the shadows of the security detail, leaving Inara standing alone as the most dangerous man in the room closed the distance.

Ryker slid into the empty spot at the bar, not bothering to wait for an invitation. Up close, the scent of him hit her again—woodsmoke and fresh linen—but underneath was something sharper, more clinical.

“You clean up okay, Princess,” he mused, his voice a low, vibrating growl that cut right through the ballroom music. He signaled the bartender for a drink without taking his eyes off her. “Though the crown looks a little heavy. You sure your neck can handle the weight?”

“You’re not so bad yourself, Ryker,” Inara mused, her golden eyes tracing the sharp lines of his tuxedo. The charcoal fabric made the green of his eyes look like emeralds caught in smoke. “I never would have thought I'd see you here. It takes some balls to show up in the same room as Silas.”

Ryker snorted, taking a slow, appreciative drink of his whiskey. Inara watched the amber liquid disappear. What was it with men and their whiskey? It seemed like every man in the room was using it as a shield.

“I’m not afraid of Silas,” he finally responded, his voice low and raspy. He kept his eyes fixed on the bar top, his knuckles white against the glass.

“Then why are you hiding next to me?” she taunted, leaning in just enough to catch that scent of woodsmoke and linen again.

Ryker let out a low, frustrated growl and finally turned to face her. “I’m not hiding,” he hissed, though the way his gaze swept over her ebony gown suggested he was struggling to maintain his composure. “You’re a terrible hiding spot anyway,” he grumbled, gesturing vaguely at her dazzling tiara. “Everyone in Naria knows exactly where and who you are now.”

“And my family knows exactly who you are,” she mused. Over Ryker’s shoulder, she caught sight of Lucien Silvermist—his white suit practically glowing in the distance—staring absolute daggers at Ryker. “Are you ever going to tell me what you actually found, or are we destined to play this cryptic little game of yours forever?”

She’d moved on from the tequila, opting for a more civilized martini, though she held the glass with a grip that was anything but delicate.

“You’re not ready to know,” he huffed, taking another swig. He followed her gaze, spotting Lucien’s icy stare, and let out a heavy sigh. “Trust me, Inara... I didn’t want to know.”

“Hard claim to make when you were the one caught snooping,” she countered.

“Believe me, I was not snooping,” he snorted, a bitter edge creeping into his voice. “I was misguided. I found something I wasn't looking for, and then... curiosity killed the cat.”

“Classic wrong place, wrong time?” Inara asked.

She took a moment to really appreciate him. Without the 'f**k off' leather jacket, he looked less like a delinquent and more like a threat to her heart. He was devastatingly handsome when he wasn't entirely brooding, and the tuxedo made him look like a dark prince who had wandered into the wrong fairytale.

“Something like that,” Ryker whispered, his eyes dropping to the pearl at her throat. “But once you see it, Inara... you can’t unsee it. You’ll never look at this tower—or your father—the same way again.”

Inara mulled over his words, unsure what they could mean. How bad could it possibly be? Then Inara saw her mother, Selene, closing in—her black silk gown flowing like ink across the marble. She could almost feel the leash tightening.

She looked at Ryker. He was already tensing to bolt, his eyes darting toward the service exit.

“You want to stop being cryptic?” Inara whispered, a wicked, tequila-fueled spark in her golden eyes. “Give them something real to talk about.”

Before he could process the words, Inara reached out and snatched his hand. Her silk-gloved fingers locked around his wrist with surprising strength.

“Inara, what are you—”

She didn’t give him a choice. She yanked him toward the center of the ballroom, cutting right through the path of a very confused-looking Orion Stonelark. The violins swelled into a haunting, sweeping waltz, and Inara spun into the open space, dragging a stunned Ryker Hale into the light.

The ballroom went stone-cold silent. The only sound was the rustle of silk and the soft click of Inara’s gold heels.

Ryker stumbled for a second, his boots nearly tripping over the hem of her gown, before his instincts kicked in. His hand found her waist—his touch searing even through the heavy ebony fabric—and he pulled her close, his expression a mix of terror and pure, adrenaline-soaked amusement.

“You’re insane, Princess,” he growled, finding the rhythm just as they passed her father Kairos, who looked like he was about to actually have a stroke.

“And you’re a better dancer than you look,” she countered, leaning into him as they spun.

From the sidelines, Celeste let out a muffled shriek of joy, and even Xander raised his glass from the shadows, a grin splitting his weary face. But Lucien Silvermist looked like he was witnessing the end of the world.

“They’re going to kill me for this,” Ryker whispered, his face inches from hers. The woodsmoke and linen scent was overwhelming now, mixing with the expensive perfume of the room.

“Let them try,” Inara breathed, her black tiara flashing under the chandeliers. “If I’m going to be a Queen, I might as well start choosing my own company.”