Page 4 of Mane Attraction
The line went dead, leaving silence in its wake. Xelene set the phone aside and sank onto her king-sized bed, surrounded by the trappings of her success—expensive furniture, original artwork, designer everything. All of it beautiful, all of it perfect, all of it hers alone.
What would Nova Aurora look like? The prospect of experiencing an entirely different world sent anticipation racing through her. How many people could claim they’d consulted for alien royalty?
And this prince. Her pulse quickened as she considered what kind of man would require such dramatic reputationrehabilitation. She’d worked with playboys before—senators who couldn’t keep their pants zipped, CEOs who treated their personal lives like conquest games, and celebrities who burned through relationships like tissue paper.
But a lion shifter prince? The very concept challenged everything she thought she knew about power dynamics and alpha personalities.
How does one even begin to manage a literal predator?
The memory of Gerri’s knowing smile flickered through her mind. Something in those blue-gold eyes had suggested hidden depths to this assignment, layers of complexity that went beyond simple image management.
Why had the woman seemed so certain Xelene was perfect for this particular case?
Political considerations would obviously complicate matters. Transforming a playboy into a king meant navigating cultural expectations, traditional protocols, and the delicate balance between personal freedom and royal duty.
How different could Nova Aurora’s political landscape be from Earth’s?
Yet beneath her analytical planning, something else stirred—an enthusiasm that felt different from her usual professional excitement. This wasn’t just about adding another success to her portfolio. This felt like stepping into a story she’d never imagined possible.
How hard could it really be?she thought as exhaustion finally flooded her body.I’ve transformed plenty of challenging people. One alien playboy prince should be easy enough to handle.
THREE
LEV
Consciousness crept through Lev’s skull slowly and painfully. Each throb of his pulse echoed the aftermath of too much Sidaii wine and not enough sleep. The guest suite’s silk sheets clung to his bare chest, and something warm and soft pressed against his ribs—a tangle of auburn hair spilling across his bronzed skin that belonged to...
What was her name again?
Kira. Or maybe Kina. She’d introduced herself at the celebration last night, all curves and sultry promises, eager to add the crown prince to her list of conquests just as much as he’d wanted to lose himself in her enthusiasm.
Another perfect distraction from the weight of expectations.
His lion stirred lazily beneath his skin, satisfied but not particularly impressed. The beast had enjoyed the physical release, but something deeper remained restless—an itch that no amount of wine or women seemed to scratch.
Lev stretched carefully, trying not to wake his companion. These guest quarters served their purpose perfectly—luxurious enough to impress but separate from his private chambers. His lion demanded that sacred space remain untouchedby temporary pleasures. Something primal insisted his true sanctuary stay pure, though Lev couldn’t explain why.
Probably just another quirk of royal paranoia.
The woman beside him murmured something unintelligible, her fingers tracing lazy patterns across his chest. Under normal circumstances, he’d already be planning round two—maybe three if she proved particularly inventive. Morning sex had become something of a signature move, his way of ensuring his partners left with smiles instead of expectations. But the pounding in his head suggested such plans might be overly optimistic today.
A sharp knock shattered his thoughts.
“Lev.” The voice carried unmistakable authority and barely contained irritation. “We need to talk. Now.”
Shit.
Lev’s eyes snapped open as recognition hit like ice water. His father King Rorick never visited the guest quarters unless something had gone catastrophically wrong. The king’s presence here meant Lev had screwed up spectacularly, and recent memory provided several promising candidates.
Heavy footsteps approached closer to the door, accompanied by the distinctive tap of his father’s walking cane—a recent addition that served as a constant reminder of King Rorick’s deteriorating health.
“Come in,” Lev called, his voice rough with sleep and regret.
The door opened with deliberate slowness, and King Rorick stepped inside. Even weakened by illness, the man commanded attention—silver-blond hair perfectly groomed despite the early hour, pale blue eyes sharp enough to cut glass, and an expression that could freeze lava.
Those piercing eyes swept the room, taking in the scattered clothes, empty wine bottles, and finally settling on the naked woman pressed against Lev’s side. His father’s jaw tightened,but he turned away with practiced dignity, offering privacy while radiating disapproval.
“Your Majesty, I’m so sorry,” the woman—Kira, Lev remembered now—scrambled upright, clutching the sheet to her chest. Her face flushed crimson as the reality of being caught naked with the crown prince by the actual king hit her like a physical blow.
