Gideon's smile was sharper than his teeth.
He stood at the entrance of the Wicke estate, hands clasped behind his back, looking every inch the gracious host. The bruises from the fight had faded. His split lip was healed. He looked polished. Perfect. Dangerous.
"Miss Bennett," he said warmly. "Thank you for accepting my invitation."
I stepped out of the car Caleb had driven, my wolf immediately on edge. The estate loomed behind Gideon, all stone and iron gates and old money. Ancient oak trees lined the drive, their branches creating cathedral-like arches overhead that filtered the afternoon light into gold. The kind of place that had been in his family for generations.
The kind of place that whispered power.
"Mr. Wicke," I said formally.
"Please. Gideon." His smile widened as his eyes shifted to Caleb. "And you brought an escort. How prudent."
