"So, basically, all we have to do is hang out at this guy's house while he throws a party. Piece of cake." Julian grins.

"Julian, do not take this lightly," Dane snaps. "We don't know what this thief might be capable of."

We're sitting around the little dining table in the cottage, eating pizza and drinking beer while we discuss the plans for the 'stakeout.'

"Relax, Dane," Julian says, picking a stray olive off his slice of pizza. "Noah will be there to keep me in line. I'm sure we won't have any fun." He winks at me and rolls his bright, amethyst eyes.

"I'm serious, Julian." Dane's voice is close to a growl, and I feel the hairs standing up on my arms. If he directed that tone at me, I'd be cowering, but Julian seems oblivious. "Don't push me on this, or I'll scrap the whole operation."

With another eye-roll, Julian gathers our plates and carries them to the kitchen. When he comes back, he stands behind Dane's chair, loops his arms around his neck, and kisses the side of his face. "Alright, lover of mine," he says, smiling, "I'll follow orders this time—I promise."

Dane twists, grabs the back of Julian's neck and pulls him down into a thorough, passionate, and clearly possessive kiss, leaving me caught in a state of awkward fascination. "You'd better," Dane says, finally letting him go.

Julian straightens, cheeks flushed, spits out a piece of olive and pretends to retch.

"Ugh, so gross. You animal."

He wipes his mouth on Dane's sleeve and then resumes clearing the table. Dane watches him with a look that makes me think I'd better not stick around too long, because my welcome is already wearing thin.

"Why is this guy—this Mr. Barker—hosting a gala at his house if he's worried the thief will steal his painting?" I ask, trying to redirect Dane's attention to the case. "Why not just cancel the event?"

When he turns to me, I see his amber eyes are lit like rings of fire, the centers black and wide. I'm startled as I'm reminded of how Thorne's eyes had looked that morning—though Thorne's are a much darker reddish-brown.

I'm also more convinced than ever that it's just about time for me to leave. If Julian pushes one more button, Dane is liable to tear his clothes off with his teeth and have at him whether I'm here or not.

I'd rather I was not.

Dane clears his throat, blinks, and takes a drink of beer.

"I don't know. It's a 'society,' thing, I guess. The guy's filthy rich, and this 'gala,' or whatever the fuck, is..." his eyes stray to Julian again and track him as he returns to his seat, "...is, uh...is some kind of status statement." He clears his throat again and adjusts himself in his seat. "He's also a stubborn son of a bitch, and thinks that changing his plans would be like letting the thief win. I guess it's not in his nature to back down."

"Why is he so sure the thief will target him?" I ask. "And why specifically during this 'gala' thing?"

"Because of this," Julian says, pulling a piece of paper from a small envelope that had been sitting on the table.

He slides it over to me and I pick it up. It's an invitation to the gala dinner, printed on very fine card stock and embossed with gold leaf.

"Thaddeus Barker?" I say, reading the host's name.

"I know," Julian scoffs. "Who names their kid 'Thaddeus,' these days? No wonder he's a pretentious prick."

Below that and a description of the event, there's a request to RSVP, though it's spelled out Répondez s'il vous plaît, and below that is a little stamp in the shape of a cat's paw made with red ink.

"The cat print isn't part of the invite," Julian says. "Barker found this slipped under his front door the day after he'd sent them, and took it as the thief's way of saying 'I'll be there.'"

"Is the cat print the thief's mark, or something?" I ask.

Dane answers. "Not as far as we know. The thief has tipped off each of his victims to his intentions in different ways, given them a sign that they each recognize. Barker wouldn't say how he knew what the cat-paw meant, but it's not much of a stretch to conclude it's from the thief."

I study the invitation again. "This looks like a pretty upscale event," I say, already feeling itchy and uncomfortable at the thought. "Are we really supposed to just...blend in?"

I have one good suit, and it's not even that good.

"Sure," Julian says, shrugging. "Just think of it as a chance to play dress up and pretend. Although of course, we'll be very seriously being very serious and careful the whole time," he adds quickly, glancing at Dane with a half-contained smile teasing his lips.

Dane's own lips draw back a little, revealing his slightly long teeth, and I decide I better get out of there before Julian gets what's coming to him. I make my excuses, thank them for dinner, and leave, promising Julian I'd see him at the gala in a few days (assuming he can walk by then). He answers distractedly, but its clear his mind is already on other things.

~ ☾ ~

When I get home, Thorne has left for work, and either eaten the meal I made or taken it with him. At least he didn't leave me dirty dishes this time.

I barely see him over the next three days, except in passing. In the meantime, I continue to explore the house and grounds, with Dougal at my side, and discover that a small study on the second floor is my favorite room. It's on a corner of the house, and so has windows on two walls, is cozy but not cramped, and has the perfect reading chair tucked into one corner next to a little side table and lamp. When I'm not cooking or cleaning, or taking Dougal for a walk, I'm there reading old favorites and even a few new ones I discover on Thorne's shelf.

On the afternoon before the gala, I fall asleep there, having spent the earlier part of the day cleaning the weeds out of the rose garden and pruning the old plants back. Though not much of a gardener, I thought that with a bit of luck and care I could probably get them to bloom at least once before the end of the season. Of course, I hadn't been able to find anything like gardening gloves and ended up tearing my hands and pricking myself on the thorns, and now wore a band-aid on almost every finger. Possibly not the best look for a high-society soiree, but it couldn't be helped now.

After that, I'd made up a quick curry and some rice, which would be good for several meals. Then I'd come up here, thinking to read and relax for a few hours before I had to get ready for Thaddeus Barker's party, but somewhere between one page and the next, I'd drifted off.

A soft, melodic humming wakes me, and I open my eyes to find Thorne sitting in another chair across the room, seemingly absorbed in a book and singing softly under his breath. It sounds like some kind of old Celtic folk tune.

He looks up when I straighten in my chair and closes his book, setting it aside. Seeing the cover, I realize it's the one I'd been reading earlier; meaning he'd managed to enter the room, take it from my hands, and sit there humming for who-knows-how-long without waking me. So much for super-human werewolf senses.

"Awake at last, I see." He arches a brow. "I didn't want to disturb you, but I was beginning to worry you'd give me no choice."

"Dr. Thorne!" I say, adjusting my glasses, which had slipped sideways on my face. "I'm sorry—I didn't mean to fall asleep."

"You may sleep when and where you like, as far as I'm concerned," he says evenly. "I merely wanted to let you know I'd be eating out this evening, so there's no need to make extra tonight."

"Oh." I sit up a bit straighter and glance at my watch. "Actually, I'll be out as well," I say, "so I guess it's fortunate you have other plans."

My words come out a little sharper than I mean them to—a defensive reaction to his implicit assumption that I wouldn't have plans of my own. When he makes no reply, I cringe internally, hoping I haven't overstepped and resisting the urge to immediately apologize.

I seem to remember knowing how to stand up for myself, but maybe Thom took that from me too, along with everything else.

"What did you do to your hands?" Thorne asks, surprising me with the unrelated question.

I look down at my bandaged fingers. "Nothing," I answer quickly. "I was cleaning up the garden, is all. The rose thorns got me."

Remembering how I'd first discovered his name, I feel my face heat, and look up to find him watching me with his characteristic half smirk.

"You must be more careful, then," he says. "Especially of thorns."

Not liking his teasing tone, I rise and turn aside, adjusting the cuffs of my sleeves. "If you'll excuse me, I have to get ready to go out. Good night, Doctor."

"I told you to call me Ambrose, I think," he replies, and there's just enough of hardness in his voice to make me look up. For some reason, he no longer looks amused. It seems like an odd thing to take offense at, but I suppose everyone's allowed a quirk or two. Or twelve.

"I-I'm sorry. I-I f-forgot," I say, hating that my stammer betrays my surprise. "Ambrose."

He smiles, and the tension is gone.

"Noah," he nods. "Enjoy your evening out."

I nod in return and then retreat to my room to change.

A half-hour later I stand before the full-length mirror, taking in my appearance with a critical eye. My suit doesn't look half-bad, at least with nothing better to compare it to, and my figure is neat and trim—almost handsome, I allow myself to think. Almost.

I meet the amber-tinted eyes of my reflection and sigh.

I'd been so eager to be useful to Dane, I hadn't stopped to really consider what it might involve. If I'd known that attending fancy dinner parties with a bunch of rich people I didn't know would be a requirement, I might not have been so quick to jump aboard.

Oh well. It's far too late to back out now. Julian and Dane are counting on me, and I'd rather die than let them down. Of course, I'd also almost rather die than attend a random social event where I clearly didn't belong, but fortunately I'm good at blending in, when I want to. I would never be charming or outgoing, or socially adept, but I'd learned by necessity how to at least act as though I were.

Like Julian had said, I was all dressed up, after all, and now it was time to pretend.