The Knight; His secret author

I should have been in the ballroom dancing. Instead, I was standing in the gardens, away from any light, listening to the approach of the soft footfalls. His familiar, enticing sandalwood fragrance mixed with his own unique scent reached me first and revealed his identity. Therefore, I held still and waited, my breath sawing in and out with anticipation. Slowly his arms came around me, folding over my chest in such a way that his large and powerful hands cradled my breasts and squeezed gently as he pulled me into the nook of his body, until my back rested against his broad chest. Then his mouth, heated as though by the very fires of Hades, pressed against the nape of my neck, sending delicious shivers coursing through me. At that moment, I knew I would do anything Alpha K asked of me. She-wolf, Alpha of my desires, A Memoir *Knightley* I rather wish I had stayed in my residence this evening instead of venturing out to my favorite club. I am no stranger to intense gazes from young men who seek to emulate me, flirtatious smiles from she-wolves, mated and not, young and old who wish to entice me into a secluded corner, and murderous glares from men I've bested, in business and otherwise. I like winning, love it, in fact. In my youth, the game might have been as simple as being the first to introduce a debutante to the pleasures of kissing. I wasn’t quite so discerning then. A kiss was just a kiss. Over the years, though, the games have become increasingly complicated, my victories not quite so public. I have discovered it can be quite delicious to be the only one to know I have won. Anonymity has its rewards. But recently, the curious looks are far more frequent, last longer, and contain a great deal more speculation. They are also accompanied by whispers and nods, low murmurings, and the occasional giggles… the latter usually released by a young chit experiencing her first mating Season who has yet to be kissed and is bashful as well as easily mortified by any reference at all to what transpires between consenting adults. I’ve hoped by now, nearly six weeks in, that all the conjecture would have dissipated, but the high packs likes nothing better than a good bit of gossip. And of late, I’ve very much become the gossip mongers' favorite topic. “It seems, Knight, you have replaced me as the scoundrel to be avoided at all costs this mating Season,” I narrow my eyes and slowly shift my attention over to Jason Blackfoot, commonly known as Ace, who sits beside me with a smirk on his ruggedly handsome face. Two months ago, my longtime friend had been dubbed Blackguard Blackfoot because of his reputation for leading married Lunas to ruin in such a flagrant public fashion that they were soon divorced. Now he is more popularly identified as Besotted Blackfoot, thanks to his newly acquired mate, Marguerite. She occupies the chair on the other side of Ace, their fingers interlocked in their usual scandalous public spectacle of not being able to keep their hands off each other. Although such displays of affection aren’t uncommon in the Twin Wolves. The gaming hell’s membership has been extended to include she-wolves, resulting in an abundance of wooing going on within these walls. I never indulge myself here. These days, I prefer as much privacy as possible in all personal matters, business matters as well… in all matters, to be honest. I have become a closed book, even to those who think they know me better than anyone, my fellows members of the hand. With a glass of fine scotch in hand, we are currently sitting in our favorite corner of the club's library, where we often discuss various investment strategies that have led to the nickname associated with us. "I'm not quite certain how you came to such a deduction," I finally respond laconically. A lie. I know damn well how it has come about because of a recently published book that was not as closed as I. In fact, it has been opened by so many curiosity seekers that finding a copy has become a bit of a challenge. "As you're no doubt aware," Joker says pointedly, "speculation is rampant that you are Alpha K." "Any number of Alpha Ks are about. Could even be King here," I say, tipping my head toward the Alpha of Brinsley, who has also brought his wife, Penny. But she is as ruthless when it comes to investing as we are and has often joined us for our discussions, even before King realized he was madly in love with her and made her his Luna. "I never jilted a lover" King states. "So no it couldn’t be me." I roll my eyes. "It's fiction. Perhaps she used the moniker to throw people off the scent." "Or he," Marguerite offers succinctly. "Just because it was written from the point of view of a she-wolf doesn't mean it was necessarily written by a she-wolf." As a private detective, she tends to be suspicious and not trust that things or people are exactly as they seem. Certainly, her husband's duplicity has proven that point well enough. "You've read it?" I ask. "No, but a gentleman recently sought to employ me to uncover the identity of the author, fearing the book might have been written by his mate and she was detailing an affair in which she was engaged." She says. That others are interested in discovering the author's identity is disconcerting, especially if my enemies are striving to uncover knowledge to use against me. I've considered hiring Marguerite myself but refuse to fuel the rumors floating about that the tale is biographical in nature and I have, in fact, been assigned the pivotal role. "Did you discover who she was?" "I didn't take on the case. I couldn't see it as a pressing concern, and business has been quite brisk of late." "My mate is the finest inquiry agent in the city," Ace says, his voice rife with pride, even though her investigation of him was responsible for bringing them together. I'm surprised his friend's buttons don’t pop right off his waistcoat, a result of the manner in which he is preening. "She can be selective regarding how she spends her time. She’s approached about more important matters than uncovering the identity of an author." "It might be interesting to know if the writer is someone from your past, Knight," Joker says. "If she’s not or is unknown to you, it would give credence to your denials." I sigh at the absurdity that I care anything at all about what people think. "I should think my word that it is not I would be sufficient." "But without knowing exactly who wrote it, how can you know for sure?" He says. "Because I don’t approach she-wolves in gardens, for the Goddess’ sake." Except once, years before, when I had been a very different man than I am now. But that she-wolf, born of scandal, would never pen such provocative prose. She understands all too well the value of a pristine reputation. Keeping the one her father had established for her had been foremost on her mind. She had reflected a purity that should have eventually led to a beneficial marriage among the high pack but during her first mating Season she’d chosen poorly. She had chosen me. I suspect the regret will follow her to the end of her days. It certainly haunts my nights. "You’ve read it, then?" Joker asks. "No, but I’ve heard enough men and she-wolves tittering about the blasted garden passage." Not to mention the numerous fathers who have recently warned me that if I take one of their daughters on a stroll about a garden, it will be immediately followed by a brisk walk down the aisle. I would be unable to escape without suffering dire consequences. I am tempted to take numerous she-wolves on a promenade about a garden simply to demonstrate how I don’t take well to threats and most certainly can’t be forced into marriage or any other result I don’t desire. On the other hand, I can hardly blame the fathers for their concern. They’ve forgiven me once for demonstrating unconscionable behavior toward a she-wolf. As a matter of fact, to my chagrin, they’ve hailed me as a hero, but then it hadn’t been their daughters I had betrayed. A movement out of the corner of my eye catches my attention, and I glance up at the slender gent who’s arrived at my side just as King greets his younger brother. "Lautius, would you care to join us?" "An invitation into the circle of the hand? I'm honored." He quickly grabs a leather chair from another sitting area, shoves it into place between King and me, and drops into it. He grins broadly. "As you have most of the cards represented … king, knight, Ace, Joker, and two queens… I suppose I am left to be the ordinary cards." "Never underestimate the importance of those," I say. Lautius wiggles his eyebrows. "Especially when he has the ability to get his hands on a rare find." Reaching into his coat pocket, he withdraws a leather-bound book and sets it carefully on the table as he might fragile glass. Gold lettering is embossed in the leather. 'Alpha of my Desires, A Memoir'. No one moves. No one reaches for it. "How the devil did you get that?" King asks, his voice a near whisper of astonishment as though a once-lost ancient treasure has suddenly been unearthed and necessitated a moment of reverence. "Alpha Chesney offered it to cover his wager at the card table. Unfortunately for him, and fortunately for me, I held the better hand. I'm quite looking forward to reading it as I'm given to understand it's rather naughty. Chesney nearly wept when he lost. He said rumors are floating about it's going to be banned for indecency." "Then we should all read it," Penny says. "People should not be denied the opportunity to enjoy what they wish. And how does one determine what is indecent? I've yet to visit a museum or an art gallery that does not have a nude statue or a painting revealing a good deal of flesh. They are acceptable in those environments. Why not in all?" "You’re quite passionate about this topic," I say. She shrugs slightly. "I simply don't comprehend how writing a description of a person's body or an act is any different than painting it, and I've heard this book is quite detailed. Although I don't know the specifics, I can only surmise what might be considered indecent." "Perhaps they, whoever 'they' are who determine what is acceptable, fear having less control over what one imagines in the mind when reading as opposed to what is presented on canvas. With words alone, a seed can blossom in the imagination and carry one on a journey into realms unexplored. Or not. Depending upon one's imagination." "Knight should read it first," Ace states succinctly, obviously uninterested in getting into a philosophical discussion. "Then he can tell us if it's indecent." "You're missing my entire point," Penny says. "Some of us might find it indecent while others might not. Who is to say which of us is correct?" I have no interest in it," I lie. I'm actually dying to read it, to determine if the imagination of bored lunas of the high packs has simply run amok, if they are envisioning me as the main character because I've become distant during the past few years, giving she-wolves… especially those whose mothers shove them into my path… only the attention politeness dictates. At balls, I rarely dance. I never take anyone to the theater, despite having a box. I keep to myself as much as possible. "Of course, you have an interest," Ace says. "You may be striving to give the appearance you aren't bothered by the rumors circulating that the she-wolf's lover strongly resembles you, but you must be curious. A read should give you the ammunition needed to permanently put the speculation to rest." "If I ignore it, it will all go away." "Nothing ignored ever goes away," Penny says. "Eventually it will come to the fore and wreak its havoc, whether for good or ill." I don't know why I'm left with the impression she speaks from experience. My two married friends are extremely protective of their ladies, and I suspect they all hold secrets. Certainly, I have my share. I glare at the book resting innocently on the table as though incapable of causing harm, when I know it quite possibly possesses the power to destroy. At the very least, it's making my life miserable because it and I are dominating conversations. People are growing bolder, asking me to my face if I am Alpha K. I yearn to close my fingers around the book and spread open the pages until they reveal all the mysteries within. "Bloody hell," I finally grind out before snatching it up. "I'll take it if for no other reason than to keep it out of your hands. Now may we discuss something more pleasant? A plague, perhaps?" The blighters I call friends have the audacity to grin and chuckle. I wish I'd left the book alone because already it feels like it's scalding my fingertips and seeping into my soul, determined not to let me rest until I know the truth of it.