They went to a restaurant in the middle of downtown Manhattan. Ryder explained that Taylor's great-grandparents had started the restaurant, and it was still owned by the family. When they walked in, the host immediately noticed them and welcomed Mr. Hendrix before leading them to a private room. Alecia ordered exactly what Ryder told her to, Veal Parmesan. With her hand she played with the bottom of her dress under the table, watching Ryder and his father talk as if they were business partners going over details about how he was doing in school, and the firm. Mr. Hendrix only addressed his wife once, and her twice. How odd. It was like the women weren’t there. Her family had greeted Ryder with open arms, letting him into the fold. She would have to talk to Ryder later about this, maybe he would say his parents were just like this but really loving inside. No one paid for the meal. Mr. Hendrix just stood and the family walked out before parting ways: Ryder and his father to the firm and she and his mother went back to the mansion. Ryder rolled his head but the tension in his neck wouldn’t release. He knew what his father wanted to talk about. Alecia. The tall glass building, the main hub for Hendrix Attorney at Law stood before him, slicing into the skyline. He could never gauge what his father was thinking, but it was obvious he was not the least bit impressed with Alecia. At least he smiled at her even if his eyes held that unwavering glare. The man was cold and emotionless as a crocodile waiting for its prey. Ryder would highlight her submissiveness. That would be his only chance of being able to mate her. Ryder glanced at the empty office next to his father as they made their way through the building. That office would be his soon. The receptionist in the center smiled at him behind her circular oak desk. The tall picture of the firm’s founder laid against the wall behind her, with his unwavering dark brown eyes watching his heirs, making sure they followed the path he had laid out before them. Ryder shuddered. They walked into his father’s office and Ryder shut the door behind him. He sat in a black leather chair opposite of his father’s desk and watched as Mr. Hendrix looked at a document, trying to gauge something about his father’s mood, but it was pointless. His father showed nothing, a skill he needed to master. “What do you think?” He asked. “She’s a cute girl, but you’re going to have to convince me.” “What do you mean?” An intense feeling built in him. He clenched and unclenched his hands a few times, but the pressure only built. “She’s not like us, not only is she human, she's also the naive kind. She's not even protected If you want to marry this girl, I need to know she can keep secrets. Because she will see them.” “I can trust her.” Ryder let his breath out slowly. His father hadn’t straight out said no. There was hope. A smirk crossed his father’s face, highlighting his dark unwavering eyes. “Really, then what’s your deal with Kyle.” His father knew about Kyle! That could only mean that the council had been spying on her. “I….” “I bet she’d run to her father as soon….” “Look, I’m going to mate her.” Ryder pounded his hand on the table and then stiffened. His father glared at him as he dropped the paper, took a quick step towards him and smacked him across the cheek. A sting spread through him, but he didn’t even budge, or move his face. Control was the key and he had lost it for a moment. His father pointed a finger in his face. “You can disagree with me when I’m dead.” His father walked back to his desk and picked up the document. “Now convince me.” Ryder glared at his father’s back. “I will.” Mrs. Hendrix flipped through pages of a photo album, taking Alecia through the years of Ryder's life, pictures of him as a newborn and a young teenager holding a ‘Vote for Barack Obama’ flag at a campaign event. One picture featured Ryder's father and Ryder in the arms of a man she recognized but she couldn’t place. The man had a huge smile on his face, cuddling Ryder as if he was his own son. “Who’s that?” Alecia asked. “Richard Harrison.” “Oh yeah.” Alecia studied the two young men in the picture. Ryder had the same jaw line and broad shoulders like his father. Even back then Mr. Hendrix had no warmth in his eyes or even showed the smallest joy. But he did look handsome. His gray eyes contrasted well with his dark hair that fell to the side of his head like Ryder's did. “Hendrix must have always been so good-looking.” “They always marry beautiful people,” his mother said. Mrs. Hendrix flipped through more pictures, progressing through Ryder's different ages. There was a picture of Keith at 10 in a suit, handing out election buttons during a parade, and at 17, working at a call center during an election. But the picture that she found the most interesting was Keith at 22 speaking during a Youth Vote rally at Harvard. The picture caught the essence of a facial expression that made him look so confident, so powerful. He looked like a leader. A future senator, an Alpha. The parlor door opened, just before Ryder walked in. Alecia smiled. “You were a cute kid.” His lips gracefully stretched into that mesmerizing smile. He took off his wool coat and dropped it on a chair before flopping onto the leather couch. “It’s always been one of my strong points.” She giggled. Yes, it was. “Ryder, you should take her upstairs, and show her the paintings,” his mother said. Ryder nodded and held out his hand for her. She stood and took his hand. They walked out of the room and up the grand staircase with a gold railing that shined like it had just been polished. Perhaps it had been. Not one item could be found out of place. No coffee cup on a table left by its user or a newspaper crumpled in a wastebasket. He turned to the right and led her down a long hallway with bare walls until he got to a row of paintings. Ryder stopped in front of the first picture. “I used to play in this hall all the time as a boy. I never really thought about the people in the paintings even though I knew who they were.” Alecia read the name ‘George Sheriff Hendrix.’ The painting was of an old man, with no hair, but a well-defined jaw line and deep, piercing gray eyes. The man wore a suit with a high collar that almost stretched to his ears. Ryder pointed to the painting. “ Alpha of the then river people. He came to start over after his wife died, and brought his infant son.” Ryder pointed to the next picture and Ryder read the name ‘George Hendrix II’. This man, too, had a strong jaw line and piercing gray eyes, the family traits. “He started the firm.” Ryder brought her hand to his chest as he led her down the line of paintings of each heir who’d inherited the firm, telling her their stories; the stories he said he had heard his whole life. One heir was an officer in the Union Army who was given many medals for bravery, and another worked cases that helped shape the country, they were all powerful and highly connected werewolves. Alecia squeezed his hand. Her Ryder was a modern product of an ancient line that spanned centuries and was growing more powerful over time. Where would it go? How would she fit into the equation? When he got to the painting of his father, he stopped, staring at it for a second before he turned to the empty space next to it. He pointed to the wall. “Someday my painting will be there after I inherit the firm.” He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. “And our son’s painting will be next to mine.” Alecia looked at the blank space on the wall. Would their son inherit the strong jaw line that had been passed through the family? She closed her eyes and tried to conjure up the image of their son, but she couldn’t see the child, all she could see was the image of the George the first. “What if we don’t have a son?” she asked. “Don’t worry about that, there has always been a Hendrix heir.” Alecia's free hand moved to her stomach, thinking of the child that she would someday bear. It felt so empty. “Why couldn’t a daughter inherit the firm?” “Because that is how things are done.” Alecia turned a sharp gaze to Ryder. His face bore no emotions, but just held a fixed glare as he looked at his father’s painting. “What do you mean?” He kept his eyes glued to his father’s painting, his gaze moving over the face. But they stopped and she caught a glimpse of something; it was as though the confidence in his eyes, that was always there, disappeared, and was replaced, just for a moment, with a look of fear, but only a second, for his eyes straightened to their normal firm gaze. “Want to see my old room?” “Okay.” She followed him down the hall — her nerves settling as they left the paintings behind. Ryder pointed to a door as he walked past it. “This was Chloe's room.” He stopped at the next wooden door with a gold door handle. “And this one was mine.” He opened the door. She chuckled. It figured he would have black sheets on the bed and dark curtains. She looked around the room that was double the size of her bedroom, but not as big as she’d guess a room in a mansion would be. The size must have to do with when it was built. Posters of basketball teams and players lined the wall. A worn kid’s glove sat in a glass case on a cherry oak dresser. Above the dresser hung a picture of a basketball team, wearing red and white uniforms. “You really do like basketball.” She looked at him and her mouth dropped open. His eyes had a look of longing as he gazed in the direction of the picture. What was he thinking? He seemed so sad, so unsure. She walked over to the poster, and the rows of faces. What was so special about this picture? He walked up behind her – one arm slipped around her waist. He pointed to a player wearing the number 20. “There I am,” he said. A slight smile crossed her face. “You played ball?” “From the time I was eight until my senior year of college.” He paused for a second, and chewed on his bottom lip. “I was pretty good . I even got drafted.” His eyes brightened. “I was a late rounder, but at least I can say I got drafted.” “Did the team not sign you?” The brightness fled from his eyes, and he chewed on his bottom lip again. “Nah, they were going to send me to a minor league team. I didn’t sign because I knew I was going to California.” “You could have played….” “Hey, I got another picture for you to see.” He walked over to the bed and plopped down before grasping a picture on the night stand. Alecia bent her head to the side. Why didn’t Ryder want to talk about it? He had changed the subject so quickly. For some reason the whole time they’d been dating he had never told her about playing ball. Shouldn’t she have known? Ryder walked over to Ryder and sat down - the large oak bed creaked with her movements. The gold-framed picture featured Ryder, as a child, sitting on Richard's lap. He had a big smile on his face, as he held up a glove like he was waiting to catch a ball. A little black band was tied firmly over his ears. She lowered her gaze, and caught the sight of four pigtails; one set blonde and the other brown. Those must be the top of Chloe and Richard's daughter’s head. “Richard used to take us to the games all the time,” he said. “We had a court, but he’d sit in the stands because I always tried to catch the balls.” “It’s a cute picture.” A smile seeped across her face. “Yeah.” He set it down and folded his hands in his lap. Alecia sucked in her bottom lip, the taste of her strawberry lip gloss filled her mouth. The image of him as an undergrad wearing his uniform displayed the full muscles of his arms. Muscles she’d spent many nights running her fingers over. “Do you still have your college uniform?” “Yeah.” He chuckled and looked at the oak dresser behind her. “Why?” Alecia brought her knees to her chest. “I always thought ball players looked nice in their uniforms.” His eyes brightened. “Want to see me in it?” A heat grew on her cheeks as she rested her chin on her knees and nodded. Ryder bit down on the side of his bottom lip as he stood and walked over to a drawer, opened it, and grabbed the red uniform with white letters. Alecia covered her eyes with her hands. “What are you doing?” The Alpha asked. “I want to wait for the full effect.” The sound of rustling fabric filled the air. In a few seconds she would see him in his uniform that hopefully would highlight his strong arms. “I’m ready.”