Chase Dubois and I should have been hate at first sight.
He was everything I instinctively turned my nose up at. Too tall. Too muscular. Too arrogant. And far too handsome for his own good.
He was exactly the kind of man fathers warn their naive daughters not to get trapped in a room with. He didn't talk much—always, always on the move, like he had somewhere better to be.
He rarely smiled. Rarely spoke more than necessary. Always courteous. Always proper. Always a gentleman... everywhere except behind closed storeroom doors.
And dollhouses.
The first time we met, we were ten years old. My family had made the journey to Troita Moonhill—the seat of the Lycan Alpha King—for some diplomatic nonsense I'd long since forgotten.
Chase had been perfectly courteous when we were introduced. Bowed like a little gentleman. Said all the right things. His mother beamed. My mother preened.
Yet by dinner, he'd kissed two of my ladies' maids and had the third one literally licking his boots.
Licking. His. Boots.
It wasn't figuratively. I watched through the stupid nursery window as Mabel got down on her hands and knees and ran her tongue along the leather of Chase's boot.
His boot!
My other two ladies maid, Prudence and Henrietta giggled and blushed and waited their turn.
Their turn...I mean that literally!
He caught me watching, my eyes open, mouth twisted in disgust over his arrogance and he... Grinned.
He grinned!
It was a slow and wicked grin. And he was ten years old!
Ten years old, and already insufferable.
"Do you want a turn, Temmy Winchester?" He asked me like sunlight and gold grew on his feet.
"It's Tilly Winchester, Moron. It's still Tilly." I turned around to look at my lovestruck ladies maid "Come on, girls. Wash your filthy mouth out and come inside"
I watched as Prudence hurriedly took a lick of his boot before running after the rest of my ladies maid.
He took a step closer to me. His blue eyes amused "What's your problem, Winchester? Jealous?"
"Of you?" I asked him and boy! I laughed for a very long time.
That was the Chase Dubois I knew. The one I remember. The Chase Dubois I still very very much hate.
And nothing in the last eight damn years since then had done a damn thing to change my mind.
Yet, my father thought it was a good idea to accept a marriage proposal from him on my behalf!
You see? I was about to lose my fucking mind!
"Stop screaming, Tilly Ann!"
I barely registered mother's voice. I was too busy screaming.
His engagement to me (because I definitely do not accept my engagement to him) had been arranged in my absence.
In my father's defense, he had mentioned it at dinner the night before. But I'd been too distracted with planning the boar hunt with my brother Kessington to listen.
Whatever he'd said had gone in one ear and out the other in a matter of seconds.
When I returned home, caked in mud and smelling distinctly of wild game, my mother informed me of my impending nuptials to Alpha heir Chase Dubois.
I responded with a scream so loud and piercing that the chandelier trembled.
"No."
"Yes," Mother responded calmly.
"No." I shook my head. "Anyone but the whore of Troita, Mama. Anyone." I screamed. "I would take a goat as a husband, Mama. A fucking goat!"
"Tilly." Mama gently moved around me, setting the table.
I followed her. "Let me marry a goat, Mama. Please!"
"He is not so bad, Matilda."
"He was a whore at ten, Mama. At ten!" I stressed. "He kissed two of my ladies' maids, Mama! TWO! How many ten-year-olds kiss two royal girls in the space of one hour?!"
"Four." The voice came from behind us. I turned immediately. "If we're being technical. It was four ladies' maids."
Chase Dubois.
I stopped.
If I thought he was insufferable and too handsome for his own good at ten, nothing prepared me for this.
For this.
Elegant height, lean but built. Classically handsome in that infuriating way—dreamy eyes, strong jaw, dark hair, a mouth that looked like it rarely bothered with smiles. But when it did, I'd been told it was warm. Disarming.
I wouldn't know. He'd never smiled at me. He'd been too busy defiling my staff.
"Mr. Dubois," I said, the words dripping with disgust.
"Chase, please." His voice was low, controlled. "And you're Princess Matilda Evangeline Winchester."
"Tilly Ann," I corrected. "Tilly Ann."
Maybe this time it would finally stick.
He said nothing. Just stood there, watching me with those piercing eyes, taking in my mud-splattered face, my tangled hair, the dress that looked like I'd wrestled a boar in it—because I had. My mother had told me once that I cleaned up well. The implication being that I rarely did.
Mother appeared at my elbow. "Tilly honey, close your mouth. You're drooling."
"I'm angry," I corrected.
She gestured to Kessington, who was failing miserably at hiding his smirk. "Come. Let them get acquainted."
The door clicked shut behind them. And then it was silence.
He looked around the receiving room, like he was suddenly very interested in the sparse decor. Tall windows. Polished floorboards. Nothing royal about it. Nothing special. Much like my kingdom—a tiny island off the coast of Atlanta, probably the smallest kingdom in existence. We had dragons, though. That counted for something.
Which explained why I was standing here in what amounted to a wet poodle called a dress—slimy green silk that clung to every place I didn't want it to—while Chase Dubois wore an expensive dark coat and white cravat like he'd stepped out of a painting.
He still hadn't spoken.
"I'm not marrying you," I blurted when the silence became unbearable. "You can't make me."
"Good. I don't want to marry you either." He told me point-blank.
"Good," I drew out, infuriated. The son of a bitch still thought he was better than me.
"Still sore that I refused to kiss you when we were ten?" he asked.
I scoffed. "In your fucking dreams. Like I would ever stoop so low to—"
He took a step closer. "You were wearing a yellow dress, with that ridiculous bonnet, and nose snot right about—" He reached for my nose. I slapped his hand away.
"Like I would ever—I didn't. I wouldn't—shut up."
Another step.
The air shifted. Changed. Grew heavier.
I heard the soft thud of his boots on the floor. My heart hammered against my ribs.
He stopped directly in front of me. Close enough that I could smell him—clean, woodsy, undeniably Alpha. A true Alpha.
My eyes traveled down his chest, back up to his shoulders, finally landing on his face. Those piercing eyes held mine captive.
I forgot how to breathe.
And then I realized—he was doing this on purpose. Watching me squirm. Enjoying every awkward second of my babbling, my fidgeting, my too-big hands and shaky smile.
Well.
Two could play that game.
I was Tilly Ann Winchester. Turning the tables was my specialty. I might not have my mind-reading powers yet—that would come when my dragon fully matured—might not have shifted into my fire-breathing form, but I knew exactly how to make a man like him blink first.
I closed the distance and pressed a sweet, deliberate kiss to his lips.
There.
That ought to wipe the smug satisfaction off his face.
"There. That's a kiss. What you're talking about is a figment of your imagination."
For a moment he just stared at me. Not the arrogant smirk I expected. Something almost like wonder. "You're the first woman who's ever kissed me first."
I should have felt triumphant. Instead, my stomach did something treacherous.
"And I'm so honored," I said in my sarcasm-laced voice, wiping my lip with the back of my hand.
For half a second, Chase Dubois's eyes stayed on me. Then that rare smile finally appeared—dimples and all—spreading slow across his face.
I held his gaze.
"Consider it a lesson—don't play mind games with a Winchester."
I straightened my wet dress, squared my shoulders, added an extra inch to my height. "Consider yourself on notice, Chase Dubois. Now, I must bid you adieu. Please be dead before I return."