Enchanted By The Wolf
Enchanted By The Wolf
Michele Hauf
Love against all odds... Kirnan Savauterre’s loyalty to his werewolf pack is absolute – which is the only reason he agrees to an arranged marriage. He didn’t expect his bride to be an utterly enticing mystery. Beatrice is half-faery, maybe a little bit vampire, and altogether delightful. But a relationship that began as a political alliance is soon threatened by discord between the Unseelie court and the werewolves of Paris. And Kir’s investigation into Bea’s lineage reveals disturbing truths. Their love is strong – but so are the forces arrayed against them...
Kir couldn’t concentrate on the words the officiant spoke because beside him stood her.
The woman soon to be named his wife. And after that they would dance and drink, and, well, he’d heard there was a honeymoon cabin erected not far from here.
Much as having sex with a woman he’d only just met didn’t appeal, Kir couldn’t think about that, either. Something sweet, like flowers or fruit, or maybe even sugared fruit topped with flowers, tickled his nostrils. The petite woman who stood beside him, the crown of her head below his shoulders, smelled like dessert.
He did like dessert.
He didn’t want to like her. Because that would mean he was cool with this stupid agreement. One that stuck him with a woman he didn’t know or want.
For the rest of his life.
Werewolves could live three centuries or more. That was a hell of a long time to spend with one woman. Especially a woman he had not chosen.
MICHELE HAUF has been writing romance, action-adventure and fantasy stories for more than twenty years. France, musketeers, vampires and faeries usually populate her stories. And if Michele followed the adage “write what you know,” all her stories would have snow in them. Fortunately, she steps beyond her comfort zone and writes about countries and creatures she has never seen. Find her on Facebook, Twitter and at www.michelehauf.com (http://www.michelehauf.com).
Enchanted by
the Wolf
Michele Hauf
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
This story is for everyone who believes in faeries.
They believe in you.
Contents
Cover (#u2f0e2962-5788-5fda-bf1b-f31d04efb0b4)
Introduction (#ue5809878-fa02-54aa-8eca-6b13a8c9cdec)
About the Author (#u1190e82e-7212-5fa5-a14c-103fbc578432)
Title Page (#u5652a26b-a4c1-50c7-a313-6e713ed20853)
Dedication (#udf541ab5-355e-5a00-b8c6-c76b6192a73a)
Chapter 1 (#uca8493ea-56cf-5cf5-9294-b987aeee4b92)
Chapter 2 (#u4f82a487-9d71-5040-adda-00018e3f897f)
Chapter 3 (#u1c5582b5-3b44-55a2-9c04-1d174b08017a)
Chapter 4 (#u729bd19f-fb28-57a1-968a-0c3cbf033c4a)
Chapter 5 (#ub8079c66-08db-515b-98ff-2be93f21ca40)
Chapter 6 (#ub5060885-dc3a-54a4-8327-d1d256d48eb0)
Chapter 7 (#u57a95d15-fa48-5b45-92a4-dd8726cc7c24)
Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 13 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 14 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 15 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 16 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 17 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 18 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 19 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 20 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 21 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 22 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 23 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 24 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 25 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 26 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 27 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 28 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 29 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 30 (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 1 (#ulink_9c3449df-fb21-5eeb-b4a2-2398b26248b8)
“What’s going on behind closed doors?” Kir asked Jacques Montfort, the pack’s scion, and his best friend. The men stood outside the pack principal’s office door, and Kir had caught Jacques with an ear tilted to listen through the door.
The dark-haired wolf, who was built like an MMA fighter, shrugged back his shoulders and lifted his chin. “An emissary from Faery is in there with my dad.”
Kir whistled and leaned against the concrete-block wall. Etienne Montfort was principal of pack Valoir, an old and revered group of werewolves that had been a cohesive group for centuries. Kir had been born and raised within the pack.
Both men tilted their heads toward the door. With their heightened werewolf senses, they could hear much through thick walls, but something about the conversation was muted. Faery glamour? The idea of a being from Faery visiting their pack was too interesting for either one to stop eavesdropping. And neither could deny they had a tendency to get into trouble together. They’d been raised side by side, more brothers than most siblings could claim.
“You ever meet a faery?” Jacques asked. His blue eyes twinkled with curiosity.
Kir shrugged. “I’ve seen them in the nightclubs. They’re...colorful.”
“That’s for sure. And their wings are freaky. So, you ever...you know.”
Kir knew Jacques’s unspoken implication was that he wanted to know if he’d had sex with a faery. “Haven’t had the pleasure. If you can call dodging wings pleasurable.”
“I hear they’re delicate.”
Smirking, Kir let that one go. Jacques was the one with the fiancée. And a raging curiosity for all things female that had gotten him in more trouble with the little woman than a man should have to deal with. But his bride-to-be was a werewolf, so Jacques won the King of the Perfect Score award in the men’s minds. It wasn’t often werewolves mated with their own kind, because of the rarity of the female. Even those wolves in packs often had to look elsewhere for a mate because most of the female pack members were spoken for upon birth.
Jacques was a lucky wolf.
Kir, on the other hand, had gone without a date for months. The idea of a delicate faery didn’t appeal to him. A match with a fellow wolf would feed his sexual desires perfectly. Beyond his species, the only other option was mortal women. Some proved open to his aggressive needs. He could also withstand the occasional witch, but they tended to be unpredictable and sometimes just plain creepy.
Ah, hell, wasn’t as if he was looking for love anyway. He didn’t believe in love.
Hookups were fine for now. Besides, there was a certain danger involved when pursuing a wolf from another pack. Packs tended to protect their females fiercely.
On the other hand, life wasn’t worth the ride without risk.
“Twenty bucks says he’s trying to negotiate the hunting grounds again,” Jacques said.
Etienne’s goal was to appeal to Faery so the pack could be allowed to hunt in their realm. The more the mortal realm evolved and the cities pushed out into the country, the less safe it became for a werewolf to hunt without risking discovery by humans. Their breed required vast acreage unhampered by hunters with guns and curious human eyes. Faery offered that. And, if a portal to Faery were opened right here in Paris, the trip to the hunt could be quick and easy.
“Let’s hope, for the sake of the pack, you won that bet,” Kir said, “and that he’s successful.”
* * *
A harpie in human guise sat across the office desk from Etienne. Arriving without notice, she’d waited ten minutes in the office while he’d been summoned on this bright weekday morning that had seen him lingering in bed beside his wife’s warm body.
The visitor was tall, slender, wore her hair in a short black bob, with eyes equally as dark. Her skin was dark brown, smooth and utterly flawless, and yet Etienne avoided staring at her overlong. Look at one of the sidhe the wrong way or too long? A man could sprout horns.
“I’ll get right to the point,” the harpie said. She spoke French with ease. Etienne knew that the sidhe had the ability to pick up languages foreign to them almost as if by magic.
“First, if I might have your name?” Etienne asked carefully. Faeries did not give their full names freely, but he could hardly refer to her as Mademoiselle Harpie.
“You may call me Brit. And you are Etienne Montfort, principal of pack Valoir, oui?”
He nodded. He’d been principal since the 1940s and had witnessed remarkable changes in the mortal realm. But he’d rarely had experience with faeries until lately. Apparently, someone had taken note of his campaign to gain access to hunting grounds.
“To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”
“I have been sent as an emissary representing the Unseelie king, Malrick.”
Etienne sat up straighter. This sounded promising.
The harpie splayed her long, graceful fingers before her over the wood desktop. “You are aware there are portals to Faery here in your mortal realm?”
Etienne nodded. He was aware but had no clue as to their location. Not that he hadn’t, on occasion, considered searching. He did know that unless a portal was marked with faery glamour, it wasn’t visible to any but the sidhe. Yet he would never attempt to breach Faery without permission. He prided himself on maintaining strong alliances with the various species.
“A portal has recently been unlocked by sorcery and it opens directly onto Unseelie territory,” Brit stated in a businesslike tone. “This is a source of much misfortune and annoyance to my kind.”
“I can imagine. Are mortals entering the Faery realm?”
“All sorts. It is, in a word, disgusting. My king, Malrick, requires a guard posted on this side of the portal until specific magics can be conjured to close the portal. It is a difficult task summoning such powerful magic to seal a portal that we did not open, so it will take some time.”
“A guard?” Etienne suddenly sensed the gist to this visit. Perhaps not as fortuitous as he’d hoped.
“On behalf of the Unseelie king, we would request pack Valoir take on the task of guarding the portal. It would not require more than one man posted outside the portal. You could assign shifts. Fighting back curious humans should cause you no more trouble than growling at them.”
“Indeed, it would be a simple post.” And pack Valoir was large enough to provide the wolves for the job. “Have you an estimate on duration?”
“Your mortal time moves much differently than ours.” She shrugged, obviously at a loss.
“We’ll leave it as an open standing agreement.” But Etienne wasn’t about to shake hands just yet. “And what would my pack receive as recompense for taking on such a task?”
The harpie spread her hands on the desk and smiled warmly. Her eyes glowed violet now. Etienne was ever charmed by sidhe eyes. Or was it that their charm was so powerful he could not resist? He had to remind himself not to stare.
“The Unseelie would grant pack Valoir the right to hunt on our land,” she offered.
“In Faery?” Etienne said on a gasp.
“Indeed.”
That was immense. To be allowed such freedom in a realm that offered what was rumored myriad hunting opportunities? Why, it was unprecedented. “Pack Valoir will be allowed free rein. Only, we request you do not hunt as a pack. Only one wolf in timed intervals. A measured means to hunting.”
“That can be done.”
“Do you accept the assignment, Principal Montfort?”
Etienne sat back in his chair, not bothering to hide the grin that curled his mouth. His pack would shout and howl at such fortune. And, truly, the task of guarding the portal would be minimal. It would not disrupt their lives, and he shouldn’t think those who worked enforcement would have to be tasked for the job.
He nodded decisively. “Yes, I agree. On behalf of pack Valoir, I accept the bargain issued by your king, Malrick.”
“Excellent. And know, because of the unique nature of this agreement, my king requests a specific requirement to sealing said contract and to make it binding.”
“Uh... Oh, oh, yes.” Twining his fingers together, Etienne leaned forward. “What exactly is required?”
“It won’t tax your pack, I promise. In fact, it will only require the compliance of one pack member of your choosing.”
Damned faeries were all about ceremony and pomp. And Etienne suspected that one pack member would not like what the harpie next requested. But if it would allow the entire pack to hunt freely? Sacrifices must be made for the good of the pack.
* * *
When the door had opened to let out the visitor, Jacques and Kir shuffled down the hallway. They watched her walk by, and just when they thought the coast was clear to slip around the corner and out of the back door, Etienne called out to Kir.
Damned werewolf senses. No wolf could hide from another’s sense of smell. Jacques nodded to him that he’d see him later.
With the office door closed behind him, Kir waited with hands stuffed in his back pockets.
Etienne paced over to a window that overlooked the Seine in the 16th arrondissement. “You drew the short stick,” he said to Kir.
“I wasn’t aware there was a drawing, Principal Montfort,” Kir said lightly. “What nasty task have I been assigned today?”
“This weekend, actually.” The leader steepled his fingers before his lips. Pale brown eyes assessed. “Sunday. In the forest edging Versailles, where the pack often celebrates midsummer’s eve. Malrick, king of the Unseelie court—”
“A faery?”
“Yes. I’ve just finished speaking with a liaison he sent with a most exciting offer that will benefit the entire pack.”
“You’re bargaining with the sidhe now? Do you think that wise?”
“Of course, if it will grant us access to Faery for hunting.”
Kir’s jaw dropped open. So his guess had been right. Etienne had actually managed to snag hunting rights in Faery!
“That’s a generous offer,” Kir said. “What did you have to offer in return?”
“Kirnan, this deal affects the whole pack.” The sudden serious tone in Etienne’s voice alerted Kir. His principal saved that dour bass tone for announcing bad news or chastising those in need of an attitude adjustment. “Seems Malrick is concerned about a portal from this realm into Faery,” Etienne explained. “It’s been cracked by common humans, and the Unseelie are experiencing an influx of the idiots landing in Faery. He wants our pack to guard the portal until the proper magical spell can be conjured to close it.”
“How long will that take?”
“Not sure. Could be weeks, months. Hell, the way the time is screwy in Faery, it could be years. It is a minimal task, according to the liaison with whom I spoke. And we’ve the manpower. I expect you and Jacques will not be required to hold post, since you both have the enforcing that keeps you busy.”
“The enforcement team is solid. If you should need one or the other of us, I’m sure we could manage a day now and then.”
“Good to know. So in exchange for us guarding the portal—a simple task that will require one-man shifts round the clock—our pack gets to hunt in Faery. In an orderly and scheduled fashion, of course. Malrick doesn’t want the entire pack running loose in his realm, but a few wolves during the days preceding and of the full moon will be tolerated.”
“Of course, you accepted this offer?”
“I would have been foolish not to!” The principal’s enthusiasm spilled out in a gleeful clap of hands.
And Kir was right there with him with the enthusiasm. Until he recalled what Etienne had said to him when he’d entered the office. “So where do I come in holding this short stick?”
The principal’s demeanor drew to a solemn yet regal stance. An uneasy feeling trickled up the back of Kir’s neck. Etienne was a kind, elder wolf who rarely used aggression or faced down his pack members to keep them in line. He left that to his scion, Jacques, who took to such tasks with relish. Yet he sensed in the man now a certain dire reluctance.
“The sidhe have ceremonious ways to seal bargains. Something we merely consider good fortune may be considered a grand boon to them. And the liaison pointed out that this is a unique bargain that must be honored. So to seal this pact, Malrick proposes to offer one of his daughters to marry one from our pack. The couple will bond, thus providing the final seal to the deal.”
“A marriage? That’s...extreme.”
“Not for the sidhe. Their bonding rituals, which are elaborate and varied, are the stamp of approval, so to speak, for such an extraordinary bargain. Either that, or they request a life sacrificed or one of our firstborn. You know how the sidhe can be.”
No, he did not. As he’d indicated to Jacques earlier, Kir hadn’t much contact with the winged ones. Marriage seemed a bit much to ask. On the other hand, a sacrifice or handing over one’s firstborn seemed more extreme.
The poor wolf who had to step forward to marry some faery he’d never seen before would certainly not like it.
Kir met his principal’s hopeful gaze. His leader was pleased to have scored such a propitious arrangement for the pack. Indeed, it was a valued prize—but a marriage?
“Sunday,” Etienne said. “You will be ready for a day of ceremony and pomp.”
“Of course.” Likely the entire pack would have to don suits and pin on tiny flowers or whatever it was wedding parties were required to wear. He could deal with that.
“You’re taking this rather well. Good man, Kirnan. Good man.”
“Whatever details you need me to arrange, I’ll see to them. I assume that’s what you intended when you said I drew that short stick?” He smiled, but his leader only matched it with a shake of his head. And an imploring lift of brow. “Wait.”
The more he thought about it... If he had drawn the short stick...
Kir’s heart stopped beating for a full three seconds. He swallowed, flexed his fingers at his sides and then croaked out, “You mean me?”
Etienne nodded. “We went down the chain of command. I, of course, am happily married to my beloved Estella. Eighty years and counting. And my son and the pack scion, Jacques, as you know, is engaged to sweet Marielle. So the task falls to the third in command.”
Kir spoke before thinking. “Oh, hell no.” Now that he understood he was the unlucky sap, he smacked a fist into a palm and paced before Etienne’s desk.
“It must be done, Kir. You are young. You have no current romantic entanglements.”
Not for lack of want. A guy didn’t need to be in love to have a good time.
“You are an excellent offering.”
“An offering?” Kir winced at the word. It sounded so...sacrificial. A burn of bile stirred in his throat.
“I shouldn’t have put it that way,” Etienne added.
“I can’t marry a woman I don’t know. Principal Montfort, when I do marry I want to marry for love.”
“Are there any females in the pack whom you desire?”
“No, I—” Kir shoved his fingers roughly through his hair. “As you’ve said, I’m young yet. Twenty-eight years is but a pup in a werewolf’s lifetime. I have never given thought to marriage. Well, hell, yes, I have. I do want family and a happily-ever-after. But I want to date freely until I’ve met the one.”
“The one.” Etienne smirked. “Estella and I were an arranged marriage. Do not rule out the possibility of an interesting match, Kirnan.”
“Interesting?” The word felt vile on his tongue. Interesting was not love. “You and your wife are an amazing couple, Principal Montfort. But I’m not like you. Not patient or, apparently, so accepting.”
And, hell, his dad had screwed up his marriage; what made Kir think he could manage a loving family without an eventual nasty divorce? And abandoning the children to scar them forever?
“I’ve my work with the enforcement team that keeps me busy,” Kir tried. “I don’t have time to dote on a wife and...do the things a husband needs to do.”
Like what, exactly? He didn’t know. And he didn’t want to know! Not...this way.
“Isn’t there another wolf in the pack with equal standing?”
Etienne shook his head. “It would shame Valoir were we to offer a male who had not an esteemed rank. You are the highest ranked wolf who is available. Please, Kir, I’m asking you to do this as a favor. I’m not commanding you.”
Pacing before the window, Kir’s brain zoomed from standing at a dais and getting a first look at a woman he must vow to shelter and love forever to running away from the pack, becoming a lone wolf, free—yet forever ostracized and alone. Like his father.
He didn’t want to repeat the sins of his father.
“She will be one of the Unseelie king’s daughters,” Etienne added with a hopeful lilt.
One of them? How many daughters had he that the man could deal one out as a seal to the many bargains he may make?
“Our breed gets along well with the sidhe,” Etienne tried. “Er, regarding when it comes to mating. And faeries are very often quite lovely. I don’t think you should worry about how she looks. And I have heard that wings can be quite—”
Kir put up a hand to silence his principal. He needed to think about this. Sunday was two days away. He was captain of the enforcement team, alongside Jacques, who was the lieutenant. His job required he police the wolf packs in Paris, and it kept him busy much as a nine-to-five job would.
He didn’t need a wife. He wouldn’t know what to do with a wife. If his own family’s history was any example—well, that was it; his family was no example of how to live and love in a happy, healthy relationship.
Kir wasn’t prepared to welcome a woman into his home. Nor did he want to stop looking at other women. He didn’t want to stop having sex with other women. What must that be like to sleep with only one woman? For the rest of his life? And to be castigated by a wife for looking at another woman?
Heart pounding, he caught his palm against his chest.
“So it’s agreed, then,” Etienne finally said. “The ceremony is scheduled to begin at twilight. I’ll have my wife arrange all the necessary suits and whatever else is needed. All that wedding frippery, you know. You’re a good man, Kirnan. Thanks for doing this for pack Valoir. I’ve got to rush out now.”
Etienne walked Kir to the door and down the hall to the front door of the nondescript concrete building the pack used as a headquarters. The principal flagged down his driver, who waited at the curb, and, with a wave, was off, leaving Kir standing on the sidewalk, hands hanging at his sides and jaw dropped open.
Married in two days? To a woman he’d never met.
Kir felt like the last one standing on the gym floor after all the rest had been chosen for sides. And he was the odd man out, not needed for either team, both of which stood on the sidelines laughing and pointing at him.
And, to make matters worse, he had no one to confide in, no one to ask for guidance. His father he had not seen for a decade. His younger sister, Blyss—it had been years since she had been estranged from the pack. They spoke on the phone because she summered in the United States with her new husband. But she wouldn’t be interested in his dilemma. She had just given birth to a new baby and was busy with life and marriage.
That left his mother, Madeline, whom he tolerated and begrudgingly respected at best.
“Married?” he muttered.
The clenching in his chest seized up his breath and he gripped his throat.
Chapter 2 (#ulink_5a113871-32a8-5457-835e-5ebdb4ad03d4)
The forest shivered with a warm midsummer breeze that seemed to sing in a language Kir recognized but could not interpret. It was a joyous sound, which helped to settle his crazy nerves. Overhead, thousands of tiny lights darted within the tree canopy. Faeries. Kir was surrounded by his pack and all sorts of sidhe. Jacques stood at his right side, shrugging his shoulders within the tight fit of the rental suit. The scion’s attention also wandered high to follow the flickering lights.
The woods had glowed from afar as pack Valoir had arrived en masse. A stage set for a performance, waiting for him, one of the main players. Faeries had clasped Kir’s hand and bowed to him, greeting, acknowledging, surmising. He’d not been introduced to the Unseelie king and wasn’t sure the man was even here. Etienne had briefly introduced Kir to Brit, the harpie who had brought the deal to the table. She’d been stunning in a silver sheath that had revealed more than it hid.
But it had all been a whirlwind since he’d arrived. Dozens of strange and interesting faces, elaborate and glamorous clothing and costume, delicious peach wine and tiny cakes that tasted either sweet or savory but was always too small to satisfy his fierce appetite. And the greetings and silent perusals. He hadn’t had time to think in the few hours that had passed since his arrival.
Or to escape.
And now he stood, knees locked and fingers flexing nervously at his sides. The suit was tight across his shoulders and it was hot. He wanted to scratch at the starched shirt collar but wasn’t sure his fingers could perform the move because they felt so far away and detached from his body.
Kir couldn’t concentrate on the words the officiant spoke because beside him stood her. The woman soon to be named his wife. And after that they would dance and drink, and, well, he’d heard there was a honeymoon cabin erected not far from here.
Something sweet, like flowers or fruit, or maybe even sugared fruit topped with flowers, tickled his nostrils. The petite woman who stood beside him, the crown of her head below his shoulders, smelled like dessert.
He did like dessert.
He didn’t want to like her. Because that would mean he was cool with this stupid agreement. One that stuck him with a woman he didn’t know or want.
For the rest of his life.
Werewolves could live three centuries or more. That was a hell of a long time to spend with one woman. Especially a woman he had not chosen.
He wanted to look down—the top of her head was capped with flowers and fluttery butterflies that seemed to hold the veil in place—but he dared not make the blatant once-over with the audience behind him. He’d remain stoic and say all the right things. His pack was watching. He was doing this for them. They had better appreciate his sacrifice.
The ceremony officiant rambled on about loving the other until death did part them and enduring magic most vile and exquisite through eternity.
Vile magic? What the...?
Kir closed his eyes. His heart did a weird dive and then free-fell within his rib cage. It didn’t land with a splat, though, because something distracted his imaginary death-dive. She smelled really good. His mouth actually watered, and he cursed inwardly for not having eaten all day. Too nervous.
There would be food later. And drink.
There was not enough whiskey in this realm to get him to the point where he could accept this situation.
Behind him, he felt the gentle sweep of wings as the woman beside him shifted on her feet. As she’d walked down the aisle, she had worn a long sheer pink veil over her head that fell over her body and to her bare feet. Her feet were decorated with bright arabesque violet designs, like some kind of mehndi artwork. Her wings were unfurled to display gorgeous violet and red gossamer with darker shading in the veins. Her hair was dark. He could see that much beneath the veil. But he could not determine if she was pretty.
They’d wrapped her up as if she were a gift, and he didn’t like it.
Suddenly feeling as though he was forgetting something important, Kir lifted his chin and focused as the officiant announced the twosome had been joined in matrimony by the authority of the Unseelie court. And later they must seal that promise by bonding.
What a way to start a marriage.
When he had, at the last minute, thought he’d need to buy a ring for his new bride, the liaison harpie, who had arrived early to ensure the details had been handled properly, stated rings were an offense. Mortal metals must never be worn by the sidhe. All that was required was that the two bond as Faery decreed.
A ring would have been so much easier.
“Join hands,” the officiant announced. “And bind yourselves to one another.”
What? Right here? The bonding? Kir looked over his shoulder and caught Etienne’s eye. The elder wolf nodded. And beside him stood his mother, Madeline, with a tear in her eye.
Oh, this was not cool. He couldn’t—
His new wife lifted her hand beneath the pink veil and Kir took it, deciding it was fragile and felt too light. He might break her bones if he squeezed. Awful thought to have. He would never harm a woman. But he felt as if she were something that must be protected and watched over.
He didn’t have time for watching over a tiny faery. She had better be able to care for herself.
Her head did not tilt up to look at him. He breathed in through his nose and exhaled in preparation. If they had to bond before an audience—and his mother.
Pushing aside the veil, the officiant wrapped a red silk band about their joined hands, draping the ends over their wrists. As he recited some words that Kir assumed were in the sidhe language, he traced an elaborate symbol in the air above their hands.
Behind them, the audience of sidhe began to...hum. It was a beautiful, wordless melody that twinkled in the air and stirred the leaves. Animals scampered nearby in the forest and Kir felt the hairs on his body prickle with vital awareness. Connection to nature. Elation expanding his lungs, he noticed a design began to show on the top of his and his new wife’s hands. A gorgeous, delicate tracing that wound in and out and curled and arabesqued like something etched upon a Moorish ruin. Or perhaps it was similar to the designs on her feet and ankles. It didn’t hurt and, in fact, felt as if a piece of ice was being traced under his skin. The tracing crept over the side of her hand and Kir felt the design spread across his skin.
“Bonded,” the officiant announced.
With applause from the sidhe court, the design on their hands suddenly glowed brightly, then faded to the pale etching. But seriously? That was the bonding? Whew! Kir could not be more thankful that Faery’s means to bonding was different than his breed, which meant having sex.
His new wife dropped her hand and then her attendant pulled the veil away from her head. Slowly, the pink fabric glittered under the glow from the faeries overhead, and her dark hair, woven through with tiny blue flowers, was revealed. She looked up at him with a small smile. It was forced.
Not so pleased about this marriage, either, he guessed. Poor woman.
Poor, gorgeous woman. As a consolation he had gotten a pretty one. And yet, what color were her eyes? Pink?
When the officiant said they should kiss, the audience clapped and cheered. Kir felt a blush ride his neck, and that disturbed him. Performing for an audience? Yikes. And, yet, the kiss was a standard wedding tradition.
With a smirk, his wife reached up and bracketed his head with her hands, boldly bringing him down to her level. And then...
She kissed him. It was soft and tentative at first but quickly warmed and grew bold. Her lips were soft and pliant. Sweet to taste, as sweet as her scent. And quietly stunning. She knew how to kiss, and parts of him stood up and took notice. He could kiss her all day. If he hadn’t an audience.
So there was a bright moment to this horrible day.
And when she opened her eyes, he saw that, indeed, they were not the usual sidhe violet but instead pink. Which indicated she was a half-breed.
Kir’s heart suddenly did drop to his gut. What the hell had he married?
* * *
Following the vows, and that unexpectedly delicious kiss, Bea had danced the expected dance with her husband. It was an ancient sidhe dance that required barely holding hands and walking down an aisle of fellow revelers. It involved bows and hops and all that ceremonial nonsense that her elders so adored.
Her new husband’s name, which she had only learned during the ceremony, was Kirnan Sauveterre. And his hand, when it had finally touched hers, had felt warm but shaky. Nervous? Surprising, coming from a big, bold wolf such as he. The man had filled the air beside her with a reluctant confidence. Yet she sensed he was a force when not out of his element, such as they both were now.
After their kiss, he’d barely spared her more than a few glances. And during the dance his eyes strayed everywhere but onto her. Was she so hideous to look upon?
After the dance, Bea excused herself to find something to drink. Her husband had let her go without a word, turning away to quickly find and chat with one of his pack mates.
Perhaps he was as freaked by the whole event as she was. She guessed that, because he’d stood stick straight amid a swarm of congratulating friends, his eyes unfocused as he nodded mechanically. And she suspected that tiny smile was more a what-the-hell-have-I-done? smile than of genuine nuptial bliss.
Pity. The wolf was sexy. Tall, too. She liked them big, tall and strong. And now that he’d relaxed a bit, he radiated a stoic command. The dark brown beard wasn’t her favorite, but he kept it neatly trimmed, and the mustache, as well. She’d have sex with him if she had to.
And she did have to.
“For the rest of my freakin’ life,” she muttered, and grabbed a wooden goblet of mead from a passing waiter’s tray.
Downing the sweet amber liquor in one shot, Bea winced at the honey bite. The bees that had made that batch must have gotten into a patch of thistleberry. Always gave the drink a tang. Then she grabbed another to have something to hold in her hand while she wandered among the well-wishers and those who had imbibed far more mead than she had.
“Let the drunken debauchery begin,” she declared to no one but herself. “Might as well celebrate the end of my life with a good ol’ rainbow yawn in the morning. Not like I expected something better in life, eh?”
Princess though she was, growing up in Malrick’s household had been a lesson in endurance. Bea had never strived for more than survival among her dozens of sidhe siblings; the majority of them were full-blooded faery. She, being a half-breed of dubious heritage, had received the brunt of Malrick’s disdain.
So to stand now amid the revelers and receive their congratulatory handclasps only increased the nervous roil in her belly. It was a show they put on, a product of much mead and the desire to please their king. They cared little about her.
As did her father, who was, not surprisingly, absent this evening.
The hum of voices and laughter receded from her thoughts. Bea understood the French language with ease. The sidhe could assimilate any mortal realm language merely by listening to it. Fortunately, France had always interested her. If she were to visit any place in this realm, she was glad she’d landed in this country.
Wandering to the edge of the merriment, she found and followed the flower-petal-laden path that twisted through the dark forest depths until the laughter and conversations grew to but a murmur. A trio of sprites danced in the air before her, sprinkling the path with their violet dust. Beyond an arch of fern fronds, she followed the sprites to the nuptial cottage, which had been erected for their wedding-night bonding. The walls were formed from plane trees growing high, and their branches curved and spread out thick leaves to fashion the roof. It was private, save for the narrow alcove nestled near the doorway, where she knew the witness would be positioned while she and her husband did the deed.
Yes, someone had to witness their wedding-night bonding. Bea shivered at the thought of performing the sexual act with a witness. Faeries were big on ceremony and the observance of royal deeds. And since her father was the Unseelie king, that made her wedding a Big Deal.
Not that she’d ever felt remotely princess-like. Shouldn’t a girl’s father, at the very least, show up for her wedding?
She ran her fingertips over her embroidered and bepearled pink gown. Beneath the gossamer layers she felt the blade she always wore strapped to her thigh. Growing up in Faery as a half-breed should have been a wonderful thing. The sidhe embraced half-breeds; they even sought to procreate with most other breeds to create such progeny. With all but the darkest, which included demons and vampires.
Bea’s non-sidhe half—of which she wasn’t clear what it was, though certainly she’d assumed it vampire—had made her a pariah among her own. Through his inattention, her father had made it very clear she disgusted him. Which explained why he’d been so eager to offer her as a seal to this bargain with the Valoir pack.
“Unwanted and unloved,” she whispered. “And now I’ve been thrust into a realm that frightens me and will be forced to live with a wolf I don’t know.”
A shiver traced her skin and she wrapped her arms across her chest in a hug that felt more pitiful than comforting.
There was a bright side to look at. She’d always dreamed about escaping her father’s household.
“Perhaps I’ll like the mortal realm,” she decided. “And maybe my husband will even grow to like me.”
Turning to gaze back toward the celebration, her wings fluttered and she had the thought to fold them away. Wings and sex, well...she wasn’t ready for such soul-deep intimacy with the new husband. Stones, she just hoped to get through the evening without saying something stupid or landing in an awkward sprawl on the bed.
She spied her husband near the feast table, speaking confidently to another wolf she guessed was a good friend, for he had stood beside Kirnan during the ceremony. Kirnan Sauveterre. She wondered about his surname. What did it mean? It felt honorable and bold as she whispered it.
Kirnan stood the tallest amid the crowd save for a few sidhe. He held his head proudly, shoulders back. Soft brown hair curled about his head, and a slightly darker beard and mustache framed his long face. A regal nose. And ears tight to his head. No points, though, Bea noted as she stroked the gently pointed tip of her ear. So she’d learn to like him despite that physical fault.
A hand-tooled black leather vest stretched across a broad, muscled chest, and his leather pants wrapped muscular thighs that she imagined often ran through the forest, both in man form and as a wolf. The sprig of dandelion in the boutonniere he wore at his breast pocket portended faithfulness.
If only she could get so lucky. She touched the blue anemone in her hair. Chosen for luck.
Bea sighed. Her husband looked like every woman’s dream of the rescuing knight. All he needed was the white stallion and a suit of silver armor.
And perhaps he should look into that set of armor. Because she was armed and would not allow anyone to harm her. If he turned out to be an aggressive, demanding wolf, she would have to put him in his place. No one from this realm was going to mess with her. She’d had enough practice sticking up for herself that she never took a step without first casting a look over her shoulder.
After wandering into the wedding cottage, Bea sighed and plopped onto the end of the massive bed. She stroked the bond mark on the back of her hand. The first seal. Sex would close their bond.
She inched her gown up along her leg, and, from the thigh strap, she tugged out a gleaming violet blade and stabbed it into the tree branch that formed the canopy bed frame.
“Please let him be kind,” she whispered.
Chapter 3 (#ulink_82b4ed1a-fe75-5624-a24d-7aa9550817da)
Kir stumbled into the wedding tent. He’d put back a few drinks but hadn’t thought he was drunk. Must have been that tree root at the threshold. Although, the honey mead had been some powerful stuff. Whew! He and Jacques had done a couple mead shots before Etienne had suggested he go seek out his bride.
His bride. The words felt foreign tinkering about in his brain.
Tilting back his shoulders and taking things in, he could only marvel. How this makeshift tent slash honeymoon debauchery cottage had been erected was beyond him. The walls grew up from the ground—mature trees that had long ago rooted—and the branches bent over to form a roof as if they’d grown that way decades earlier.
And it smelled great in here. Like flowers, honey and sweet things, and...her. Yeah, she’d smelled like candy. And her scent had found a place in his nose. And that was a bit of all right.
The new wife stood on the opposite side of the cottage, fingers nervously tracing the bed linens. Clad in sheer pink silk that imitated flower petals, she looked like a lost girl, veiled in black hair with bright eyes. Her wings weren’t out, or maybe they were folded behind her back.
What was with those eyes? Pink? Kir had thought all sidhe eyes were violet. And if she was a half-breed, then he wanted to know what her other half was before they got too cozy. He didn’t do creatures like vampires and demons. There was a vast range of “other” she could be if she were not full-blood faery.
Either way, you have to do this. Right. What a way to ruin a good drunk. Sex with a stranger, who would then follow him home. And stay there. He’d thought getting the mark on his hand was the whole bonding ritual. Not so, Brit had explained to him, when he’d asked after his bride after losing sight of her at the revelry.
“Hey.” She waved at him. She remained by the bed, perhaps as nervous as he about this? Surely the idea of having sex with a man she’d known all of a few minutes could not appeal to her.
At least, Kir hoped that kind of sex didn’t appeal to her. A fast-and-loose faery wasn’t his idea of perfect wife material.
Ah, heck, why was he being so judgmental? They were in this together. And if his guess about her nervousness was right, then he’d do what he could to alleviate some of that worry. Starting with a firm attempt at clinging to the last vestiges of his sobriety.
“So, let’s get this over and done with, eh?” He stretched an arm toward a little nook at the entrance, where she could catch a glimpse of their witness. “We do have a spy to entertain. But, so you know, I really don’t want to do this with you.”
“Way to make your wife feel loved, big boy.”
“Love? Are you—” He eyed the carafe on the bedside table and aimed for it, but when he drank, he found it was only fresh, clear water. Kir spit out the not-alcohol over the moss floor. “Are you on board with all this?”
“I haven’t much choice,” the woman said. “Nor do you, apparently. Sacrificed for the good of your pack, eh?”
What was her name? Oh, yeah. Beatrice.
“Listen, Beatrice, if sex is what is required by your kind to seal the bargain, then sex it is.”
“Yes, we sidhe are a weird bunch. And daddy Malrick is a twisted bit of dark sidhe.”
“Says the half faery.”
She lifted her chin at that statement. Defiant? Defensive?
“Your eyes,” Kir said, pointing at her face. “Am I right?”
She nodded.
“So what is your other half?”
She shrugged. “It’s not important. Is it?”
Not with a swimming head and the strong urge to dive onto the bed, close his eyes and wish the nightmare would end.
“Nope. Guess not.”
* * *
Kir tugged off his vest and shirt and tossed it to the floor, his back to her. Bea could see that the wolf was raring to go. And would you look at those muscles? They bulged and rippled and formed a vast, solid surface. She felt sure she’d not seen the like, ever, in Faery. And she had dated more than her share of sidhe in all shapes, sizes and even colors. This wolf? He was, by the blessed Norns, beautiful.
She dashed her tongue along her lower lip. If she had to do this, she may as well try to enjoy it. Take one for the team, right? Let the big, handsome wolf put his hands all over her naked body? She’d force herself if she had to.
As his fingers drew down the zipper of his leather pants, he turned. “So how do you want to do this?”
“Down and dirty.” Bea shed a thin strap from her shoulder. “Get ’er done.” Because if not now, she’d lose her bravery and fly for safety.
“I agree. Quicker is easier.”
Flicking off a strap from her shoulder, her wedding dress dropped to a puddle at her feet. And the wolf’s eyes dropped to her breasts. They were small but high and perky. She was well made for aerodynamic flight.
Kir exhaled and averted his gaze to the side. Was he getting all shy on her? Or perhaps a gentleman hid behind the steely muscles and bite-worthy abs? Aw. Sweet.
But Bea couldn’t get behind forced niceties after that wince she had seen him make during the ceremony. It was her eyes. They freaked him. The dude did not like her. And if the werewolf knew what her other half was? He’d go running with his tail between his legs.
Now all she had to do tonight was keep her dark half subdued. Fingers crossed.
“Pants off,” she said, turning toward the bed and patting the mattress. “We’ll get into the swing of things, then you can shift, and we’ll seal the deal.”
Kir chuckled. “Is your definition of foreplay the swing of things?”
“Yep. You got a problem with that, big boy?”
He narrowed his gaze on her. “Are you always so cold?”
“Nope. But how many times have you been required to have sex with someone you’ve known only minutes? And with a witness not a leap away whose heavy breathing I can hear!” she said loudly.
The heavy breaths were instantly muffled. Bea rolled her eyes.
Kir smirked at the obvious disaster that had become their lives. “Right. Sorry. This is tough for us both. I just want you to know...”
He hooked his hands at the waistband of his leather pants and stared off toward the ceiling. Above, tiny sprites hovered, but Bea didn’t mind. They were always around in Faery. She was quite sure she’d never had sex with a man completely alone. But sprites didn’t tell tales. Unless you pissed them off.
“What I want you to know,” he started, “is that despite the surprise of only learning about this two days ago, I’m going to give this my all. This marriage. I never do anything half-cocked.”
Bea laughed and averted her eyes to the opened fly on his leather pants. “Half-cocked?”
“It’s an expression. And even though I don’t know you, any woman deserves my best.”
“Honorable words. Have you been practicing that speech all day?”
“No, it’s— Hey, take me or leave me. I drew the short stick. Now I intend to do the best with the situation.”
“The short stick?” Bea crossed her arms over her breasts, feeling not at all embarrassed by her nudity, but oh, so curious at the wolf’s comment. “What in mossy misery does that mean?”
“The short stick? You know. When there’s a less-than-desirable task to be done, someone breaks a bunch of sticks and holds them in his hand, with their length concealed in his fist. Whoever draws the shortest stick is the loser.”
“I see. So I’m your short stick?”
He shrugged and offered a wincing nod.
“Peachy.” She swallowed back the scream that vied for release. She’d only hoped he would be nice. Not cruel like her father. Foolish of her to wish for so much.
“Sorry, I shouldn’t have explained that to you,” he said, rubbing a palm against the side of his head. “Do you want a drink? I brought in a bottle of wine.”
“No, I’m cool. And I think you have imbibed far too much already.”
“Mead,” he said with a drunken grin.
“Yeah, from the little I’ve seen at the reception, you mortal realmers can’t handle your mead. Let’s get this done with so the witness can go to bed, and I’m really tired, so...”
“Yeah, me, too. So it’s just business between us? Doing this for the home teams?”
Bea smirked. Some home team she was on. “I’m not even on the team. When teams pick sides, I’m always the one left standing.”
He cast her a curious raise of brow. “I‘ve had that same thought. Huh.”
“Right. For the team,” she agreed with as much enthusiasm as she could muster, which was zero.
The werewolf strode closer, and Bea climbed up onto the bed but didn’t take her eyes from his, which swept over her body appreciatively. Was the wolf actually hungry for her? Good. That would make this go quicker. She could do this. She didn’t have to feel anything for him; she just had to go through the motions. Seal the deal. Worry about the whole happily-ever-after crap in the morning.
He slid a hand below her breast and leaned down to lick her nipple. Bea sucked in a breath as that contact flamed over her skin and tickled her into an appreciative wiggle. Wow. Most men would have started with a kiss and worked lower, but she had no arguments about this mode of attack. Business, and all that. The wolf was already at the getting in the getting-’er-done part.
Stones, but he really knew how to stir her system to alert, all nerves fired and ready to receive. He moved to her other breast and laved her tight nipple, then he chuckled.
Chuckled?
“What the heck?” Bea asked. “Why am I so funny to you?”
“You’re not.” He shook his head, then nipped her skin quickly before giving her another deep chuckle. “I’m just...nervous. This is—”
“Weird?” She raked her fingers through his soft hair but enjoyed the sensation so much she abruptly pulled back. “Uncomfortable? So wrong it’s almost right?”
“Yeah. Don’t misunderstand me. I’m hot for your body, Beatrice. It’s just, we’re doing this backward. Normally a couple gets to know one another before really getting to know one another like this.”
“Like we have a choice?”
He followed her gaze to the alcove by the door. The feet were now crossed at the ankle. “I guess not.”
“I’m nervous, too.” She stroked his cheek. His beard was soft, and she tickled her fingers along it. He nuzzled his face into her palm like a cat seeking strokes. Except he wasn’t a cat. And she was as cool with this moment as she could get. She’d love to take the time to run her fingers over his skin and map out his muscles, but... “The longer we put on a show for you-know-who, the freakier it gets.”
“I agree. I’m hard as a rock. Ready to go. But I want you to be ready.”
“That’s thoughtful. But don’t worry about me. You are some kind of sexy. Just looking at you gets me hot. I’ve been ready for a while now. So come inside me, husband. Let’s seal this deal.”
She lay back against the pillows, sitting half-upright, and beckoned him closer. Kir slipped off the leather pants and his erection slapped up against his stomach. Bea sucked in her lower lip. Great Goddess of Goodness, that was a nice one. She could imagine taking her time with that thick column later. When they were alone.
The wolf got on the bed and knelt between her legs, lowering his body over her. Avoiding eye contact. Oh, stones, did she appreciate not having to stare into his gorgeous brown sparklers at this particularly sensitive moment. Just get it done. You can do this.
She grasped his hot length and guided him inside her. He stretched her sweetly. She bit her lip, thinking she’d gotten the long stick for sure.
Heh. This nervous anxiety was making her silly. But better to go with humor than to turn into a crazy, jittery nerve-bucket.
Slowly, he slid in and out of her, the thickness of him tugging at her pinnacle and teasing her insides to a quivering anticipation. This was already better than ninety percent of her dates back in Faery. Because...well, just because. She didn’t want to go there.
Because surrendering to the moment worked right now. It made her forget. About everything. This was actually...pretty freakin’ awesome.
She moaned, and Kir stopped his thrusts. “Am I hurting you?”
“Oh, no, wolf. What you’re doing feels great. Faster.”
“If I go any faster, I’ll come, and that can’t happen until I shift if we’re going to do the bonding correctly.”
“Right, you werewolves bond in shifted shape. I sense this is going to get interesting.”
“Real fast. You ready for my werewolf, little faery?”
No. And maybe. And, stones, yes, she was ready.
This day had been insane, what with being forced to leave her home with nothing more than her bridal gown and the blade strapped to her thigh. No mementos, but she hadn’t needed any. She’d even stood in the forest and watched as sidhe magic built her wedding dais and this bonding cottage, all the while her heart thudding faster and faster, wondering if this world could be worse than her own.
And then to stand beside the wolf, her heart thundering, and promise to love and honor him without knowing what kind of man he was. Kind, domineering, cruel or, perhaps, weak?
But it was going to end on a high note if she had any say about it. And that note would come from her as she cried out in pleasure.
“Let’s do this,” she said, shuffling back on the bed. She wanted to come right now. She wanted...foreplay and emotion and his hands all over her, both inside and out.
But tonight wasn’t for any of that. “Let’s get ’er done.”
* * *
The faery’s bright pink eyes widened as Kir’s body began the shift. It took only a matter of seconds for his bones to change and his skin to stretch over lengthening muscles and shifting interior organs. Fur sprouted from his pores and his jaw grew longer and teeth made for tearing meat filled his maw.
When in his half man/half wolf werewolf form, he had thoughts as a man and as a wolf. He could understand some spoken language, but for the most part, he acted on instinct. And instinct told him a ripe female waited for him.
She scrambled off the bed, seemingly fearful of his towering form, but when she stopped at the headboard, she turned. A tiny smile curled her pink lips and she crooked a beckoning finger at him.
The werewolf recognized that as an invitation.
* * *
Gasping, Bea caught her hands on the headboard fashioned from woven branches while the werewolf howled behind her. He had reached orgasm, as had she. And, man, that had been a cosmic thing. She could now entirely get behind the meaning of bonding in werewolf terms. Big furry wolf man, meet the quivering, sexually satisfied faery chick? Fur and claws? She could deal. And she had. In werewolf form Kir was mostly man-shaped anyway, and his cock was all man.
Yet she was suddenly ravenous. And not for food. She’d been born with an inexplicable hunger, which had been sustained by drinking ichor from her fellow sidhe ever since puberty. Here, in the mortal realm, she had prepared herself for her first taste of mortal blood. Because, if not ichor, the only other option was blood. It sustained. And satisfied. It was tied in to sex and the orgasm and the desire to pleasure herself as deeply as possible.
And she would not ignore that hunger.
Much as Bea assumed the wolf was not going to like what she did next—she twisted about and hugged the big furry lug about his wide, panting chest. Sinking in her fangs at the werewolf’s throat caused him to whip back his head in protest. A talon cut down her thigh as he attempted to pull her off him.
Bea clung. The blood spilling into her mouth was hot and thick and tasted better than mead or even ichor.
Now, this was her kind of bonding.
Chapter 4 (#ulink_116012cb-942e-5880-a74d-4603974c7bb6)
Suddenly the fur Bea had clenched in her grasp receded and her fingers slipped over male skin slickened with his own blood. Kir’s exaggerated form, which had been mostly human in werewolf shape, save the wolfish head, returned to his regular structure. He pulled his neck away from her mouth. Her fangs dripped blood onto her thighs.
Her new husband pushed her into the pile of pillows jammed against the headboard. Kir slammed the mattress with a fist. “What the—” He slapped a palm over his neck, though she had landed the bite much closer to his shoulder than she’d intended. “You bit me!”
“Yeah? What did you expect? You shagged me in the literal sense, buddy. Shaggy fur and all.”
“We needed to bond. You knew that had to happen. You agreed to it!”
“That I did.”
“But what’s the bite about?” He gestured to her fangs. “You...you...”
His panicked expression was comical, but only until Bea realized he had been blindsided, and she should have waited to answer her hunger until after he was more familiar with her needs.
“I was in the moment.” She retracted her fangs and pushed a long tangle of hair over her shoulder. Dragging a finger through the blood droplet on her thigh, she then licked it clean. Mercy, that tasted incredible. “I needed to feed.”
“Feed?” Kir exhaled. “What the hell are you? Oh.” He fisted the air. “Hell no! You can’t be. No, no, no. Please tell me you are not half vampire.”
She sat up pertly and wiggled her hips, more from fresh nerves than defiance. And, really, sarcasm and snark were her best means of defense. “Did the fangs give me away? You are one perceptive werewolf.”
“Bea? Tell me what the hell I married.”
She definitely did not like his angry voice. But, seriously, what had he expected? It wasn’t as though Malrick was going to hand over a valued full-blooded sidhe daughter for marriage.
“I may be half vampire,” she conceded, unable to meet his accusatory glare. “But I don’t know. I’ve lived on ichor all my life. Ichor is equal to blood in the mortal realm. And my eyes are pink. I know, right? Most sidhe eyes are violet.”
Kir crushed his palms across his forehead and over his skull. “I can’t believe this! Malrick is your— What is your mother?”
Bea shrugged. “Never met her.”
“Didn’t your father tell you who or what your mother was?”
“Daddy dearest? Pfft. He likes to keep secrets. Only, he never lets me forget what a disappointment I am to him. Which is, I suspect, why you got stuck with me. Sent the rotten egg of the bunch off to the mortal realm. Like you said—” she pointed a thumb at herself “—short stick.”
Kir wiped at the bite marks on his neck. “I assumed Malrick would not send a favorite. But a vampire is...”
“Not your first pick for a wife, eh?”
“There’s nothing wrong with vampires, I just... You know werewolves develop a nasty blood hunger from a vampire bite? That is not something I want to happen to me. I pray your vampire taint did not have a chance to enter my bloodstream.”
“Sorry.” Way to make her feel special. Not. “If it makes you feel any better, it’s never been confirmed that my non-sidhe half is vampire. But I have been drinking ichor since I was a teen.”
“Never been confirmed?”
“My father won’t talk about my mother. I guess she was vamp, though, because I have these fun things,” she said as she tapped her fang, and she caught her husband’s wince. “Right. I’m used to that look. Now I’m kind of glad I bit you.”
He gripped her by the upper arm. “You will not do it again. A blood hunger is the worst for a werewolf like me.”
“Then you’d be like me. A disappointment.” Bea tugged from his grip and scooted away from him on the bed.
Yeah, so she’d known this wasn’t going to be a romance-and-roses wedding night. She probably should have asked to bite first. Her bad. She had barely gotten a taste, but the drops she’d licked from her lips were hot and thick and so, so tasty. She’d bite him again in an instant. But she had probably spoiled the chance of that ever happening again.
“Yeah, whatever,” she offered, using dismissal as defense. “No more biting. I’m excited to taste mortal blood anyway, because yours was—”
Bea caught Kir’s openmouthed gape. It was too familiar. And she did know how to protect herself by pulling on the cloak of indifference. “Quit looking at me like that. I’m not the enemy. Or evil. You’re just like everyone else. Hating me because I’m different. A dark one. Something Malrick despises. I—I hate you!”
“I hate you, too,” the wolf muttered.
He sat there, fingering the bite wounds at his neck, wincing and growling. She had barely broken the skin! And Bea couldn’t feel at all ashamed for taking what she’d wanted. He’d taken from her. He’d slammed her up against the headboard and filled her with that hot werewolf hard-on. And she had taken it all because—oh, mercy, it had felt great.
Wasn’t that what a marriage was all about? Give and take?
Very well, so she could feel the tiniest bit of regret at having possibly ignited a blood hunger in her werewolf husband. But really? Did the guy even realize his erection was full mast again? He was so ready for round three, or four, or whatever round came next.
And so was Bea. Because the slight blood scent on him had aroused her to some kind of wanting, needy bit of lust and faery dust.
A glance to the doorway and she did not spy the feet dangling from behind the wall. Their witness had fled, evidence secured. Would he report their wedding-night fight? Did it matter? Malrick hadn’t come to the ceremony. He’d gotten rid of the dark one. The daughter he’d wished had never existed. What did he care what happened to her in this realm?
With this wolf. Who was sending out waves of anger that gushed from his skin and surrounded her like a foul mist. Skin that sparkled with glints of faery dust. Faeries had a tendency to release dust during orgasm. Couldn’t be avoided.
Bea looked over her shoulder at her new husband. Stones, he was gorgeous. The perspiration pearling his glinting skin looked lickable. She didn’t need blood anymore. She just wanted more wolf cock. Inside her. Slower this time. And sans audience.
A teasing desire lowered her voice to a hush. She traced a fingertip along his knee and up his thigh. “Want to have sex again? Promise I won’t bite.”
Kir swiped a hand over his neck and studied the blood. He gritted his jaws and growled. She kissed his shoulder and slid a finger down his hard length. “I’ll let you be on top again. I’m wet for you, wolf.”
With a shake of his head, he answered resoundingly, “Yes.”
* * *
A bird chirped outside the wedding cottage. Either it was too early, or Kir had drunk too much last night. Either way, he’d never felt like growling at a bird until now.
It was the mead. Had to be.
He strode about the cottage, picking up his clothes from the cushy moss floor. The leather pants were still clean. Good enough for work, so he pulled them on. Outside the tree-trunk-walled room, the only living beings were the birds and squirrels. The wedding guests had left throughout the night, finally giving them peace. He’d seen the red-capped brownie who had been in the alcove by the door scamper out, as well.
The humiliation at having been watched while having sex was a new one. But it wasn’t as though hundreds of sidhe and wolves from his pack hadn’t been outside and within hearing distance. The music and revelry had been loud. But when he’d howled during orgasm?
Don’t think about it, man.
Well, hell, he’d not thought about it while in the moment. So maybe he wasn’t feeling as humiliated as he could.
He retrieved his shirt from the moss, and when he stood and accidentally elbowed one of the braided tree branch bedposts, the faery on the bed turned over and stretched out an arm. Her breasts were pert and hard, and sunlight sheened across her pale belly. On the top of her feet the skin was decorated with fancy violet swirls, similar to the bond mark on the back of his hand yet much more elaborate. Everywhere she...glinted.
“Faery dust,” he muttered, and swiped a palm over his forearm, which also glinted faintly. The stuff was fine and not easy to wipe off his skin.
He didn’t want to wake her. He didn’t know how to do the morning thing. Were they supposed to do a morning thing? Generally on dates, if he ended up in the woman’s bed, he slipped out early or else offered to take her out for breakfast, which she usually refused because the getting-ready part always took so long. He knew the drill.
He rubbed his neck, feeling the faintest abrasion from the bite mark. After what she’d done to him last night, he was ready to toss her out and let her sleep in the backyard shed.
But really? The sex had been great. And he’d had more sex with her after the bite. What kind of crazy was that?
He just wished he’d had some warning before the fangs had come out. So he could have defended himself. He’d married a half vampire? Or so she thought she was half vampire. How insane was it not to know for sure? Well, it was obvious. Fangs and a hunger for blood? Sure, there were other species that boasted fangs—even werewolves had thick, fanged canines—but how many sought blood for pleasure?
And what now? Would he develop a nasty hunger for blood? This was not cool. First thing he would do when he returned to Paris would be to look up a wolf doctor and have himself checked out.
Beatrice blocked the sunlight with her hands. “Ugh! The sun!”
“Does it burn you?” He looked about for a curtain beside the windows, but there wasn’t one. The sunlight beamed through the twisted tree canopy. No way to block out nature. “Are you okay?” He grabbed the tangled sheet but wasn’t able to pull it up to cover her.
“Dude, what’s your deal? The sun is not going to burn me. Just...who wakes up so early? Do humans actually tread the earth this time of day?” She pulled the gossamer sheet up over her face and spread out her arms to each side. Putting up one finger, she noted, “I’m only half vamp. Sunlight doesn’t bother me. I much prefer the moonlight, though.”
He did, too. But thanks again for reminding him that he was now married to someone who could give him a nasty taste for blood. Doctor’s appointment? Coming right up.
“It’s eight o’clock,” he said. “And, yes, the mortal realm is up and at ’em.”
“Eight? Oh!” She buried deeper into the sheets and pulled the pillow over her head. “Wake me after high sun.”
“I take it that’s the faery way of saying noon? I have to head into work and stop by the, er...” She didn’t need to know how freaked he was about developing a blood hunger. “I’ll give you a ride home.”
“Home? I don’t have a home anymore,” she muttered from under the sheet.
“To my house. Er, our house. Can’t stay out here in the middle of the forest forever.”
“In theory, I could,” she said, her voice muffled. “You could leave me in this little cottage and come visit me every once in a while. When you want sex.” She sighed, the sheet billowing above her mouth. “Just so you know, the sex was fantastic.”
“No argument on that one. Next time I hope it’s just the two of us.”
“I can so get behind that one.”
He chuckled at her levity. And, yes, private sex—without the fangs—was something he could look forward to, as well.
“Seriously, Bea, I have to get going. I work six days a week. Today’s no holiday because I got married last night.”
“Yeah, yeah. And as soon as we both step foot outside this place, it’ll cease to exist. So there goes my plans to hole up here all by myself.”
“Really? It’ll disappear?”
“Faery glamour, don’t you know. Is there a change of clothing laid out for me somewhere?”
“There is.” Grabbing a pale green dress laid across the table by the bed, he tossed the garment onto the bed. “Ten minutes. I’m going out to...”
Relieve himself and hope upon hope that his vehicle was still parked nearby and not decorated with shaving cream or crepe streamers.
* * *
An hour later, Kir parked the Lexus—undecorated—in front of his house and led Bea inside. She leaped from the car, not wanting to touch any part of the steel frame, even after he’d suggested that nowadays human-manufactured vehicles were produced with less iron, and none of that was cold iron. Still, she’d been cautious and fearful.
He was already late for work, so he didn’t do the grand tour. He wanted to grab a clean shirt and head out. He needed to get away from Bea and orient himself to what had happened last night. So many things going on in his brain. He had a wife. He’d had sex with a witness watching last night. The sex had been awesome. Until the bite. A bite that he could no longer feel. His skin was healed. Would Jacques notice? Could he get in to see the doc this afternoon?
“You’re on your own today,” he said, striding down the hallway toward the laundry room. “Take a look around the place. I guess it’s your home now, too.”
“Peachy.” She stood in the hallway with arms crossed over the sheer dress that barely hung past her derriere. Barefoot, the markings on her feet drew his eye. “Get a new wife. Toss her in a little box and head back out to your normal life. I get it.”
He was not doing that. Okay, he was, in a manner. He’d have a talk with her later. Didn’t she understand that people needed to work to live and survive in this realm? If she was a faery princess, the concept may be foreign to her.
“I’ll leave my cell number on the kitchen counter if you have any questions. You know what cell phones are?”
“Yes,” she snapped. “It’s those stupid little boxes humans talk into when they don’t want to talk face-to-face. Duh.”
“Or when they can’t be face-to-face but just want to check in on each other.”
“Is there iron in them?”
“I— No. Very little iron, if any, in the house, too.”
“Fine, but rubbing against it burns like a mother.”
Touching iron wouldn’t kill a faery, but it would give them a nasty burn—he knew that much. And frequent contact with iron? Eventually it would bring their death. Kind of like what happened if he came in contact with silver. A nasty burn. And if it entered his bloodstream? Bye-bye, wolf.
“I’ll try to swing by on my afternoon break to see if you need anything,” he said, tugging on a clean shirt and buttoning it up.
“More sleep for me, less wolf. Peaches and cream, buddy. Peaches and cream.”
“Right.” Slapping a hand to his neck, Kir wasn’t so fond of the faery right now, either. Despite the satisfying sex. He headed down the hallway toward the front door. “I’ll see you later.”
“I hate you!” she called out from the kitchen.
“I hate you, too, Short Stick,” he answered.
A smirk lessened any vitriol he felt with that statement. He’d never hated a person in his life. Hate was not good for the soul. But extreme dislike felt damn good when it involved a bloodsucking faery who had no compunctions about taking a bite without asking first.
Chapter 5 (#ulink_e5048f38-2694-51a7-9324-9c75be080557)
The wolf owned a lot of hair products in bottles that listed so many strange ingredients it made Bea’s eyes cross.
“Makes sense,” she said as her eyes wandered over the array of scented shampoos, conditioners, creams, potions and lotions lined up on a glass shelf in the huge walk-in shower. “The guy is a wolf. I wonder if his werewolf ever showers in here?”
She’d initially been shocked after Kir had shifted to werewolf form. Oh, she’d seen werewolves before and had known what they looked like fully shifted, but she’d never stood so close to one before. Or gazed upon his magnificent hard-on. Or, for that matter, touched said hard-on.
Giggling, she flipped on the shower stream, which blasted her from the walls and overhead.
“Yes!” She skipped about within the water, dancing, arms flung out and head back. “It’s like a rain shower. I could so get used to this.”
She unfurled her wings and let the water spill over them, which sent scintillating shivers along the wings and at the muscles and bones where they connected to her spine. She’d worn them out all the time in Faery yet had been warned that in the mortal realm it was not wise, even if she wore glamour.
She’d never been one to follow the rules. Like what was so wrong with biting your new husband if you hungered for a little sip?
Kir had really been angry with her. Justified, coming from a werewolf.
“Too bad,” she sang, opening her mouth to the water stream and spinning. “You’re stuck with me now, wolf. Deal with it!”
Because look at what she had to deal with: hair, hair and more hair. And a tail. And talons that had cut down her thigh when he’d tried to pry her fangs from his neck. She couldn’t blame him for hurting her. It had been a defensive reaction. And the cut had been shallow; it was already healed.
So now she had a shifter husband who— Okay, so he wasn’t ugly in werewolf form, just big and growly and noisy. He was also a bit of a stick-in-the-mud, from what she could divine. Not pleased to be her husband, that was for sure. Something about drawing the short stick.
Yet they had both given their all for the wedding-night sex. Again and again. And while the sex had been great, Bea wondered how long before the luster wore away and she’d be jonesing for a return to Faery. At least there she’d always been able to find a willing bite. And along with that bite had usually been some reasonably satisfying sex.
“Never going to happen.” She switched off the water and shook her wings vigorously. “I’m not going back!”
Because nothing could make her return to Faery, and the tyranny of her father’s reign over her. She was free. As free as she could be considering the mark on the back of her hand that bonded her to a wolf.
And now that she was here, she could begin her mission. To find the mother she had never known.
Jumping out of the shower, she performed a shiver of wings to flick away the wet, sending droplets across the walls and mirror. She twirled and leaned onto the vanity before the mirror. Eyeing the wet faery, she winked at her.
“Aren’t you a sexy chick? You know the wolf wants to eat you up. But he won’t because you’ve got fangs.”
She ran her tongue along one fang that descended to a pointy weapon. In Faery she’d been a pariah. Half-breeds were favored for strengthening and adding genetic powers and attributes to the sidhe lines. But vampires were shunned. Filthy longtooths. They were nothing but scum who liked to feed on faery ichor as their favorite drug. They were disliked almost as much as demons. A half-breed sidhe demon was labeled The Wicked and was the lowest of the low. So she did have that going for her.
“Not quite the dregs of the barrel, are you, Bea?”
She decided her father had had the affair with her mother for the reason she must have been forbidden fruit. Something lesser than Malrick. Dark and forbidden. He’d wanted to try her out. And he’d never let Bea forget that.
But in the mortal realm vampires must hold a certain status. Bea hoped so. Because she was done with the shame and ostracism. She wanted to shine, to grow and finally become the fierce woman with wings and fangs that had been stifled in Faery.
“So long as the hubby doesn’t get in my way, I’ll be golden.”
Winking at her reflection, she rummaged through the vanity drawer and found Kir’s comb. She hadn’t been allowed to bring any of her things to this realm. The comb was not like the crystal prize she’d once owned, but it smelled like him. Woodsy and wild. It would serve until she could go shopping. But to do that she needed mortal money. Of which, she hoped the hubby had a lot.
Her übersexy hubby who really knew how to get right to the point concerning orgasms.
“I hate him so much I can’t wait until he gets home.”
Tossing the comb onto the vanity and skipping down the stairs, she decided to explore, as Kir had suggested. It felt great to walk around skyclad, wings unfurled. She didn’t mind the narrow hallway that bent back her wings as she strode into the kitchen.
The note on the counter detailed a phone number and was signed “Kir.”
“Like he thinks I won’t guess who the note was from? Silly wolf.” Though she traced a finger over the name and lifted the paper to give it a quick kiss. “My hubby.”
Tiptoeing about the vast stone-tiled kitchen, she ran her fingers over the granite countertop, not sensing the energy that she normally felt from stones. But the fieldstones paving the kitchen floor were alive, which lightened her steps as she spun and traced her fingers across the glossy stovetop and the sink. No iron here!
At the icebox, she flung open the door and peered inside. Lots of clear plastic bottles holding energy drinks in various pale colors. Fruits and vegetables. “Go, wolf.” And meat. Sliced, chopped, chunked, shredded and cut. “Blech. My hubby likes to eat things that once had a heartbeat. Bad wolf.” She’d married a carnivore. That would be a new one to deal with.
On the other hand, she couldn’t claim complete vegetarianism. Now that she was in the mortal realm, she’d get the opportunity to feast on mortal blood. And that had a heartbeat. Getting a sip of wolf last night had been like popping her red-blood cherry. Blessed be, he’d tasted good.
And she wanted more.
Plucking out a vine of green grapes, Bea danced through the kitchen and into the next room, which was a cozy living area walled on two sides with books and carpeted in what looked like ancient tapestry. Deeply varnished wood and curvaceous carvings gave the room a medieval appeal. It felt solid and earthy.
“Just like my wolf.”
Sitting on the back of the big leather couch, she tilted back her head and nibbled the grapes from the vine. Toppling, she laughed as her feet went over her head and she tumbled off the sofa and onto the floor. She upset the books stacked on the coffee table, and one landed on a wing.
“Ouch.” She pulled up the heavy book and read the title, Exotic Fantasy Figures.
Inside were gorgeous colored plates featuring fantastical creatures that she felt sure did not exist in the mortal realm or Faery. Though a few depictions were close to some of the sidhe she’d known. The text said they’d been created using a computer. She wasn’t familiar with mortal technology but had learned about computers during her mortal realm lessons. The devices were carriers of information.
She needed to get her fingers all over one of those computers if she was going to track down her mother.
Flinging aside the book to land splayed open, she sprang up and skipped to the floor-to-ceiling window and pressed her nose to the glass. Outside lay a small yard with browning grass and some pitiful flowers.
Bea’s smile wilted. “Poor grass. I’ll have to give you some tender loving care.”
A shed stood at what she guessed was the back of Kir’s property.
“Doesn’t own much land. Hmm...let’s hope that means he put all his money in gold, because this girl needs to do some shopping.”
Popping another grape into her mouth, she twirled and flung out her arms, delighting in the warm sun that shone through the window. She only stopped her dance when she felt the odd sensation that she was not alone.
Standing in the archway between living room and kitchen was her new husband, his mouth hanging open and hands to his hips.
* * *
“What?” Bea pulled a wingtip forward and preened it over her shoulder. “Close your mouth, big boy. You act like you’ve never seen a naked faery before.”
Kir’s astonishment dropped and his eyes crinkled. The man’s gentle laughter scurried over her naked skin like warm summer rain. And she did love to dance in the rain.
“I have some work in the area, so I stopped in to see if you’re doing okay. I guess you are.”
“Peachy! Your shower rocks!”
“It does.” He walked in and picked up the book she’d tossed on the floor, carefully placing it back on the table. “Let me guess. You need clothes.”
“Why?” She propped her hands akimbo. “You got a problem with naked faeries?”
“Uh. No. I don’t think I do.”
His eyes took her in from feet to knees to loins, and up where he lingered at her breasts. Bea felt his desire follow that warm rain like delicious sun. Mmm, come here, hungry wolf.
“But all creatures wear clothing in the mortal realm,” he said. “So. You need clothes.”
“And combs and jewelry, shoes and purses. Makeup. Perfumes. All that girl stuff. And to get that I’m going to need some mortal cash. Please tell me you have bajillions of the stuff.”
“Bajillions?” Another soft chuckle. “Sorry to disappoint.”
Bea’s shoulders sank, as did her wings.
“But I am comfortable, as they say. You won’t starve or be forced to live in a cardboard box anytime soon. I promise.”
A cardboard box? Did mortals do that? Bea shivered. She’d once had an aunt who would curl up to live in a crustacean shell. Ugh.
“What’s your job?” she asked. “Brit said something about you being an enforcer. Is that like a wolf cop?”
“In essence. Our pack polices the werewolf packs in Paris. Keeps an eye on them. Investigates the blood games and tries to ensure that no wolf makes the front page of Le Monde. That’s the local world newspaper.”
“Cool. So when do you have to guard the portal to Faery?”
“Not sure. Etienne, my pack principal, suggested I probably would not, since I’ve already gotten—”
“The short stick. I remember. You’ve sacrificed so much for your pack. Taking on a wife who is actually interested in having sex with you whenever you desire? Whew! That is so tough. I shed tears of pity for you, wolf.”
“Whenever I desire?” The wolf’s eyes twinkled. Actually twinkled.
“Pretty much.” She fluttered her wings.
“I thought you hated me.”
“Oh, I do.” She crossed her arms and tucked her wings down tightly, a forced show of dislike. Her new hubby’s chuckle made it difficult to keep her nose up and her back straight. So she put her wings away. “Wings are too much for you to handle.”
“I bet they are. I can take you shopping later,” he said. “Uh, you might need to wear something of mine, though.”
“I do have my wedding dress.”
“Which was so sheer every wolf in my pack blushed.”
“Not cool for shopping?”
He shook his head. “Paris may be avant-garde when it comes to fashion, but I don’t think it’s quite ready for a half-naked faery. Look through my closet and see what you can find.”
“You are twice as big as me. You’re troll size. Dwarf troll, at least. And I’m not keen on working the leather. You know an animal used to wear those pants before you decided to tug them on? But I’ll see what I can do. So, you got time for a quickie before you go back to work?”
He quirked a brow. “I thought you hated me.”
“Oh, I do. But I like this.” She danced up to him and drew her fingers down his chest and tapped his cock through the leather pants. “You saying you don’t like this?” Flinging her hair with a tilt of her head, she thrust back her shoulders, proudly displaying her breasts.
The wolf lunged and encircled her in his arms, his mouth landing on her nipple. Bea squealed in delight as he lifted her and laid her on the couch. “I have time,” he said.
* * *
Jacques always rode shotgun and, yet, mastered the radio when they were out on a job. He’d flicked the radio to a rap station, so Kir had turned the volume down. They compromised like a married couple.
Is that what marriage was about? Compromise? Seemed to Kir he and Bea got along just fine. When naked together. An afternoon quickie had put him in a great mood. Even if work was intense.
He’d heard about a pack in a northern banlieue, a city suburb, that was into something weird, and vampires were dying in stranger ways than the usual starvation, death by blood loss, or fighting to the death that some packs had a tendency to inflict upon them. They’d received a frantic phone call from a vampiress who was not in a tribe. Her boyfriend had escaped imprisonment from a pack and now lay on her floor, puking up black blood.
They arrived at the address in record time. Kir shifted the vehicle into Park and looked to Jacques, who smirked and stared at his hair. “What?”
“My man, you sparkle.”
“I— What?”
Jacques couldn’t hide his goofy grin. “So I guess it’s true what they say about faeries when they come, eh?”
What the hell did they say about faeries coming? And who were they?
Bea had come quickly this afternoon on the couch—ah. Kir glanced in the rearview mirror. Sunlight glinted in his hair. He slapped at the faery dust. “It’s all over me.”
“It has been since you came in this morning, but it looks like more since that quick stop at home.” Jacques’s laugh thundered inside the car.
The stuff was hard to get off, and he had some smeared above his temple. Still, he didn’t regret the quickie. Though he wasn’t going to allow Jacques one more moment of mirth.
He slammed his hand up under his friend’s jaw and silenced his laughter. “One more chuckle and you’ll be chewing spine.”
Jacques put up his hands in defeat and Kir dropped him immediately. It was an empty threat. They both knew the other would never hold good on a promise to violence, teasing or otherwise.
“Is it that noticeable? Maybe I shouldn’t go inside.”
“You got most of it off. Call it a night at the club. Let’s go in and check this out. Vamp shields up?”
“Activated,” Kir replied. Since childhood the two of them had shared an aversion to vampires and had playfully pulled an invisible shield of protection over themselves when they’d play vampires and werewolves.
If only he could do as much with his wife.
A wolf should be more upset about being married to a vampire—even if she was only half. But did a wolf who hated vampires have sex with one three times within a twenty-four-hour period? Something wrong with that.
And, yet, something so not wrong with sliding inside Bea and losing himself against her soft, petite body, drawing in her sweet perfume, drowsing him into some kind of all right.
“You coming?”
Jacques had started up the front walk while Kir was still contemplating running home for another round with his half-breed, pretty-smelling wife. But he couldn’t afford to let his thoughts stray in a vampire’s house, he thought, and followed Jacques inside. Vamp shields up, indeed. It wasn’t possible for a werewolf to do that—put up some kind of magical protection shield—but just thinking that he could bolstered his confidence. He knew to avoid the fangs, and the cross on the stake he’d stuck in his back pocket gave him reassurance.
A male vampire, probably late twenties, lay on the kitchen floor in a pool of black liquid. It looked like blood, but Kir couldn’t be sure what it was. Vampires bled red blood. Demons, and a handful of other species, bled black. And the victim’s girlfriend, who was sprawled beside his body, insisted he was all vamp, formerly a mortal who had been attacked and turned only a year ago by a tribe of vampires that had then abandoned him.
“Is he going to live?” the blonde with a skimpy top that emphasized her narrow waistline asked. Her red-painted fingernails were stained with the black substance that seeped from her boyfriend’s mouth.
Kir looked to Jacques. His friend’s brow lifted. Both knew the answer. And was the vampiress blind? Her boyfriend was literally skin and bones, starved to the marrow. They could see his veins, and those veins were not plump with blood. And what was he coughing up in thick black globs?
“You got a stake?” Jacques muttered.
“Of course.”
“What?” the girlfriend shrieked. “I trusted you guys!”
Kir grabbed the woman by the arms, trying to settle her. “Your boyfriend is not going to survive. He’s in great pain. The stake will be a kindness. Can you understand?”
Eyes frantic and filled with tears, her lips tightened and she winced. She collapsed against his chest, her breaths heaving out. Her fingernails dug into his arms, but she wasn’t trying to hurt him. She was trying to accept.
Kir couldn’t relate to such a painful loss. And then he could. His father had left him and his sister when they were little. He could never fill that hole left behind in his soul.
Just when he reached to put a comforting hand on the woman’s shoulder, she stood up and whispered, “I’ll get something.” When she returned to the room, she handed a stake to Kir. It had a pair of initials carved on it. “It was a backup in case either of us wanted to jump ship. He didn’t ask for vampirism. He wanted the stake months ago, but I begged him to stay alive for me.”
The vampire on the floor whispered, “I love you,” to the vampiress. And then he said, “Get them. The...the...”
Kir and Jacques both bent close, hoping the vampire would give them a clue that would lead to the pack that had kidnapped him.
“The what? Who?” Jacques urged. “Can you tell me what pack did this to you?”
“The...denizen...” The vampire’s body stiffened, his muscles tightening and his jaw snapping shut.
“The denizen?” Jacques looked to Kir.
Denizen was a term for a group or gathering of demons. The very idea of demons being involved caused Kir’s jaw to tense. The last breed he wanted to deal with was demons.
The girlfriend grabbed the stake from Kir’s hand. Before he could take it from her to perform the offensive task, she lunged over her boyfriend and staked him in the heart. Jacques grabbed for her, but it was too late. They’d get nothing more from the pile of ash.
While the girlfriend wept over the ash, Jacques and Kir stepped outside the house. “Demons?” Kir asked. “So, this isn’t werewolves?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, if it’s not, it’s not our problem.”
“Right.” Kir clenched and unclenched his fists. “Let’s give her a minute, then see if she’ll let us search his things for clues.”
The wolves waited out on the front step until the sobbing settled. A half hour later, quietly and respectfully, they went through the house but found nothing of use for the investigation.
“You have a safe place to go for a while?” Kir asked the vampiress.
“You think they’ll come after me? The pack?”
“Not sure. Why do you think he was taken by a pack? He said something about a denizen. That’s demons.”
She shrugged. “He’d mentioned something about a wolf following him a few days before he disappeared. I assumed.”
“Usually the packs grab a vamp off the street. I don’t know what the hell your boyfriend was coughing up. Or what a wolf could have done to him to make that happen.”
She nodded. “I have a friend who will let me stay with her. Thank you.”
“You shouldn’t thank us for what happened here.”
Her eyes wandered to the stake sitting on the pile of ash. “I couldn’t have done it alone. I wish he could have been more help to you.”
“We’ll find the pack or denizen responsible for his death. I promise you that.”
Leaving her at the door, Kir joined Jacques in the car.
“Let’s hope it is demons,” Jacques said. “We have enough on our plate already.”
“I promised her we’d help her. No matter what.”
“Ah, man.”
“She’s a woman. Alone. Who lost her boyfriend.”
“She’s also a vamp, and it’s not clear wolves were responsible for that vamp’s death.”
“I’m won’t let her down.”
Jacques sighed and shifted into gear. “You and your damned sense of honor.”
Damned or not, if it wasn’t a pack, and they weren’t required to bother with this crime, Kir wanted to stand true to his word. Because he couldn’t stand back and allow anyone, even a vamp, to die for reasons unknown.
Chapter 6 (#ulink_8ca32244-509f-531b-8020-58d8667fa4db)
The faery had never been shopping before. Bea had told Kir that in Faery she could pull on a glamour to change her clothing and look, but since arriving in the mortal realm her glamour was weak and it was a no-go for clothing changes. So when she strode into the high-end clothing shop on the rue Royale, her squeal might have been heard by dogs.
As well as by wolves.
And Kir liked the sound of her joy. It went a long way in erasing the lump that sat in the pit of his stomach after the call to the vampiress’s house this afternoon. He never liked to destroy another living being or witness it. Since he wasn’t able to get in to see the doctor he’d contacted until tomorrow morning, he decided putting some clothes on his wife would relax him after a long workday.
A salesgirl with brilliant red lips to match her nails led Kir and Bea into the back area of the shop that was more private than the sales floor. He sat on the designated “boyfriend couch,” which was shaped like a huge pair of red lips, sipping champagne and refusing the chocolates offered by the cooing salesgirls while he waited for his wife to slip into the first outfit the staff deemed fitting for her.
The dressing room door opened and out wobbled a faery in a white sheath that hugged her petite figure yet went all the way up to her neck. Pink high heels, higher than the Eiffel Tower, hampered her walk as she clung to the wall and tried to stand upright and maintain a modicum of dignity.
“High heels are new to me,” she said. “Who’d have thought, eh? So is lace. There’s so...much of it. I don’t think white is my color.”
“Nope,” Kir said.
Bea’s lips dropped into a sad moue.
“I won’t lie,” he offered. “It’s too much,” he said to the saleswoman. “She’s brighter and more fun. And sexy.”
“And maybe not so tall?” Bea said as she wobbled behind the saleswoman back into the fitting room.
The next outfit was introduced with a jump as Bea landed expertly on heels half as high as the previous ones. She wore black suede thigh-high boots that were laced with white ribbons from thigh to ankle. The skimpy black dress was cut out at the torso to reveal both hips, and the neckline exposed her breasts nearly to the nipples.
“Now, this is me,” she said, sashaying before Kir. She bent over and flashed him a view up under her skirt. Hot-pink panties. “You like?”
Kir croaked, then he checked himself and sat up straighter, catching the saleswoman’s knowing smirk. “Uh-huh, that one’s good. Shows off your...fun. Right, your fun stuff.” He cleared his throat. “But you need more than one outfit. You can’t wear that all the time.”
“I’ll mostly be wearing nothing around the house, but if you insist...” Bea twirled into the dressing room and called for more, more and more.
Wearing nothing at all around the house? Kir could handle that. He’d probably have to put up curtains, though, since the neighbors’ yards hugged his closely. He didn’t want to risk anyone catching a glimpse of his naked and winged wife. He worked hard to maintain his secrecy among the humans. If they were to learn his true nature, it could affect not only him but the whole pack.
But he suspected Bea was going to be one hot little number to keep under control. Yet, if he could appease her with clothing and jewelry, he didn’t mind doing so. The joy and the utter delight she displayed at receiving such things went a long way toward securing his comfort with her.
Maybe this marriage thing wouldn’t be so awful. His new wife appealed to his lust. He wouldn’t mind having sex with her daily, if she was on board with that. The fangs were an issue, but he’d keep her in line. And he didn’t feel a hunger for blood, so he was crossing his fingers the doctor said he was in the clear. And she was self-sufficient, taking care of herself while he worked. So far, this marriage was a win-win situation.
Next up: a pink dress. It was made out of high-gloss latex that hugged her body and pushed up her small breasts nicely. Black thigh-high stockings that sported matching pink bows at the tops ended in pink heels as glossy as the dress. Kir gave the look two thumbs-up.
A punky black number with a big white cross slashed across the shirt that stopped just below her breasts was paired with tight red jeans that sported black zippers down the sides. Black sandals that exposed her delicately marked feet? Yes, please.
Bea danced out of the dressing room wearing a long sheer black dress that had patches of flowers embroidered here and there. The embroidery covered nipples and her crotch—and nothing else. She wore a black fedora pulled down over her eyes. Her hips shimmied seductively, having mastered control of the high, black heels. He could see almost everything beneath the dress, and what he couldn’t see he could imagine running his tongue over and tasting until she came in shouts of pleasure.
And faery dust. He absently brushed his fingers over a temple.
“My favorite,” he offered, setting the champagne goblet aside and focusing on the sashaying faery.
“You want me, werewolf?” she teased, dashing out her tongue and tipping up the brim of the hat with one finger. A nod of her head toward the dressing room spoke louder than any audible invite. “I sent the sales chick away for a bit.”
Kir lifted a brow. Here in the store? He had no argument with that; nor did his erection, which had sat up to take notice.
Standing, he tossed Bea over his shoulder and strode into the dressing room, closing the door behind them. The floor was scattered with dresses and various pieces of colorful clothing. Shoes toppled here and there. He stepped on a long heel and wobbled but landed an arm against the wall, pinning Bea’s back against the floor-to-ceiling mirror.
Pink eyes danced with his. He could feel her smile moving over his skin and teasing at his desires. He shimmied the long skirt up around her thighs as he dived against her neck to kiss up under her chin. She smelled like the perfume she’d been doused with upon entering the store. Chemical but a little spicy. He preferred her natural candy scent.
Grinding his hips against her mons, he milked a wanting moan from her. Her fingernails dug in at his shoulders. Yeah, he liked it rough. Kir growled and bit at the fabric over her breast. No time for complete undressing. He wanted inside Bea now.
Fortunately, the pink panties were history. With a flick of her fingers, she unbuttoned his leather pants and drew down the zip. He shuffled them down to his knees. Bea wrapped her legs about his hips and coaxed him closer.
As he glided inside of her, his wife said, “Oh, yeah, that’s the sweet spot, big boy. You’re so thick. You really want this, don’t you? Yes!”
He pumped inside her twice before he came in a shuddering, thundering orgasm. But he never forgot about the woman. Thumbing her clit as he came gave her a rousing cry of release only moments after his.
“I love shopping,” Bea said as she wilted against his chest, panting.
“Hell of a lot more interesting than I’d expected it to be.” Who the hell cared that Bea had been loud and the whole store might have heard?
“Whew! We’re going to have to buy this dress now that it’s gotten a workout.”
“I have no problem with that at all. You think you got enough for a while?”
“Enough? Hardly...” She glided her hand down to her breasts and fluttered her lashes at him. “Oh! You mean clothes, not sex. I’m good. But let’s hit the jewelry store next. I need some sparkly things.”
Kir laughed against her hair as he felt his erection soften while still sheathed within her. She was already at the next store, and he was just getting his breath back. The woman liked sex. But maybe it was like candy to her. She wanted more and more and could eat it or not, but never refused a treat if offered.
Pulling out and zipping up, he stepped back as she tugged down the dress skirt and sorted through the shoes on the floor. He ran his fingers through her hair lightly; she didn’t notice the touch.
“You know what you want?” he asked.
She popped upright, her pink eyes flashing on him like some kind of Christmas lights inviting him closer for a present.
“I mean with the clothes,” he said. Stroking a hand down his chest, he took some pride in the fact that she wanted him. But upon inspecting his hand, he noted the faery dust.
“Everything,” she said, nodding, hands on her hips. “Absolutely everything.”
* * *
Bea sat on the king-size bed surrounded by clothing, jewels and shoes. She’d never thought personal items could mean so much, but these frilled, glossy and sparkling bits of pretty were all hers. No one could take them away.
She pulled the T-shirt with the rhinestone skull emblazoned on the front over her head. Who would have thought mortal fabrics could feel so sensual against the skin? The pink panties with the bright purple bows at each hip were more decorative than to actually cover anything. Didn’t matter. She wore them because they were pretty. And the blue high heels with the red soles were her favorite.
Or maybe the chrome heels with the spikes on the toes.
No. She grabbed the green sandals with the gossamer laces that wrapped up her ankle and put on one of those. Kicking out her feet, one still wearing the blue shoe, the other in the lace-up sandal, she squealed.
“I take it you are pleased,” Kir said as he landed on the top of the stairs that opened into the attic bedroom. He strode over. “I ordered in some food. I’m starving.”
“Me, too. And, yes, I am pleased with all my goodies. You like?”
“The whole look?” His eyes danced over her attire: skull shirt, pink panties and mismatched shoes. “I don’t think you should be caught on the streets in that getup, but it works for me.”
“I bet I know which part of this outfit you like the best.” Bea rolled onto her palms and knees and wiggled her derriere at him.
The wolf lost his footing against the mirror and had to catch himself in an awkward save.
“I don’t understand why mortals like to wear a string between their butt cheeks, though. It’s uncomfortable.” She tugged off the panties and flung them toward Kir.
He caught them and crushed the pink fabric in a fist. “So, that’s what it takes to make you happy? Pretty shoes and sparkling jewels?”
She dangled a fine silver chain before her, deciding she could weave that into her hair later. “Mostly. Though I have to be careful with mortal metals like this. Can’t wear it for too long without getting a rash.”
“You’re easy.” He crossed his arms and brought the panties to his nose. “Mmm...”
“I know what it takes to make my wolfie husband happy, too.”
He looked at the panties, as if realizing what he’d been doing, then shoved them in his pants pocket. “There is that. But isn’t there anything else?”
“What do you mean?”
“Like something you want to do. To aspire to? What would make you happy beyond the material things?”
“Wow. Heavy conversation much?”
He shrugged and sat on the corner of the bed and toyed with a tuft of purple fringe on one of the dresses. “I have my work, and that, to me, is satisfying. You’re new to the mortal realm and have much to learn and discover, but I have to wonder if there wasn’t something you used to do in Faery, or dream about, that you still aspire to?”
“Huh.” Leaning forward to toy with the glossy leather toe of the blue shoe, Bea mulled over how keen the wolf was to learn about her. And here she’d thought him only capable of sex and howling. Not that either were offensive...
Could she tell him? She didn’t trust him yet. They’d known each other only a few days. But he was her one friend here in this strange and wondrous realm. And he was much nicer than she’d initially thought him to be—though, in principle, she still hated him. “I do aspire to something.”
“Great. Tell me?”
“You first. Tell me about this job of yours.”
“What do you want to know?”
“What do you do? I mean, I always thought wolves ran in packs and that was their family, and...well, what else is there to do?”
“In the mortal realm we need to hold jobs to make money so we can survive.”
“Sounds tedious.”
“I suppose being royalty you’re not familiar with the concept of work.”
“Nope. Should I be?”
He chuckled and that sexy crinkle at the corner of his eyes drew Bea’s attention like an arrow to a target. She’d kiss him there if he were a little closer.
“You don’t have to work, Bea. I’ll take care of you. That was an implied promise I made with our marriage vows.” He studied his hand, the one with the bonding mark that faintly showed against his lightly tanned skin. “Pack Valoir was chosen by the Council to be enforcers a couple years ago. The Council is a sort of governing body made up from all paranormal breeds. So my job description is an enforcer.”
“So that’s what, like, wolf cops?”
“Sort of. Like I said before, we police the packs in Paris and the surrounding area. Mainly we focus on controlling the blood games, trying to keep them minimal. I’d love to stop them completely, but that’ll never happen.”
“Is that where the wolves pit vampires against one another to the death?” she asked eagerly.
“Yes.” He narrowed a brow on her. “I’m sensing far too much curiosity in your tone. Don’t tell me you’d actually watch such a match.”
“Uh...” Apparently, a bloody good match did not appeal to her new husband. It had been a great way to pass the time in Faery, watching the trolls beat the rock-shifters to a dusty pulp. “No. ’Course not.”
She’d best not tell him about the kelpie matches that had entertained the court on many occasions. She had made a pretty mint betting on those fights. She did have her talents.
“Bloody fights? Ugh.” She screwed her mouth into a distasteful moue. “That’s nasty stuff.”
“It is. As well, we keep an eye on all irregular activity among the local packs. I’ve a new case that landed on my desk. It’s a strange one. Vamps who have escaped from the packs’ clutches are dying. In strange ways. Lots of investigating in the coming days, I’m sure.”
“Sounds boring. Except the part where you might have to break up a fight.”
“Admit it. You love a good fight.”
“For the right reasons.”
“When is fighting ever for a good reason?”
“When it’s to protect yourself from the stupidity of others,” she said without thinking. “Just because a person is different doesn’t mean it’s okay to beat on them.”
Kir tilted such a concerned gaze on her that Bea had to think about what she’d just said. Oops. That had revealed a little more than she’d intended. She didn’t trust him that much. Time to redirect this conversation.
“So let me guess, you must have some kind of record book on all the wolves, eh? A means to find out information about them?”
“We do, but it’s not a book. Our files are digital. The database is vast and covers other species, as well. We recently managed to tap into the Order of the Stake’s computer database and downloaded their files before they could put up a firewall.”
“Everything you said sounded like gobbledygook to me. And I tend to like gobbledygook. So long as it’s warm.”
Kir stood and paced to the triangular window sized as large as the wall that looked out over the front yard and the street below.
“Let’s just say we can look up info on pretty much any paranormal species within Europe and the outlying countries. Comes in handy when we need to crack a case.”
“So, do you list faeries in that database?”
“No.” He returned to the bed and sat beside her. Brushing the hair from her face, he lingered with the tip of his finger on her ear-point. “Your realm is like another planet to us who live in the mortal realm.”
“Yeah, well, this realm is more than kooky. I mean, mortals walk around with dogs on leashes. How cruel is that? And cars.” She shuddered. “So much iron.”
“Why all the questions about the database?”
“I, uh...” She toyed with the green sandal strap.
Dare she tell him? If she didn’t, she had no clue where to begin her search in this big, vast city. A city that may not even be the correct starting place for her search. How to know where to begin?
Going up on her knees before him, Bea trailed her fingers down the front of his leather vest, landing at his hip, where a tuft of her pink panty stuck out from the pants pocket. “There is something I want, beyond all these pretty material things you’ve given me.”
“Tell me. I’d like to know what would make you happy.”
She believed that he did, too. The wolf was kind. He had valiantly accepted the challenge his pack had asked of him because to refuse would go against some kind of honorable code he obeyed. At least, that’s how she dreamed he was. This knight’s armor was fashioned from leather and truth.
“Bea?”
“It’s something I’ve wanted since I was a child and I used to sit in the shadows watching my half sisters and brothers play. They’d always exclude me because Malrick made it known how unfavorable I was. The dark one.”
He stroked her hair, and she flinched at the soft touch. She hadn’t expected such tenderness from a growly wolf. And when her teardrop landed on his wrist, she quickly swiped it away and turned her shoulder to him, coiling forward as she sniffed back more tears.
What was this? She didn’t cry. She was too tough for that. Her skin had hardened to armor over the years of neglect and abuse. Where had she put her blade? Stones, but she had lost track of it!
Kir embraced her, and he tugged her against his chest even as she tried to pull away to escape the unwanted kindness. She wasn’t deserving. She was the dark one. The one no one wanted to touch.
And then something inside her cracked open and reached out for the touch. For a moment of understanding. She sank into Kir’s arms and he cradled her to his warm chest, his heartbeats lulling her, urging her to curl up against him and tuck her head beneath his chin.
“All I want,” she whispered, “is to find my mother.”
Chapter 7 (#ulink_a2082bde-ed1e-5946-bfda-d9677ab5f17d)
Dinner arrived via delivery and Kir set out the plates and poured red wine while Bea pulled herself together upstairs. He’d held her weeping and shivering in his arms. Never had a woman opened herself up to him like that. It had felt fragile to him, a moment he’d best handle carefully and with a reverence, given the faery’s tears. He felt honored she’d shared that with him.
But how to help her find her mother? Bea had no clue who the woman was. Malrick had never given her a species, so she literally had nothing to go on. She wasn’t positive her other half was vampire. And the database the enforcement team kept wasn’t so precise a guy could type in a random faery name such as Bea’s and get anything beyond a blinking cursor.
And really? If any in the pack knew he was allocating precious work time to help his wife track a suspected vampire, they’d have harsh words for him, for sure.
Yet he was compelled to do what he could. He preferred Bea giggling and fluttering about—even naked, if she chose—so he’d see what he could do.
Thinking about fluttering... A lithe faery skipped down the stairs and landed on the parquet floor with a barefoot bounce. Sashaying into the kitchen, her wings fluttered behind her bare shoulders. And bare body.
Kir’s eyes took in skin and softness and nipples and, oh...that sweet vee between her legs. “Uh...usually dinner is eaten clothed.”
Why had he said that? He had to get his head around the notion that the woman preferred skyclad. And, as a man, he was all for the blatant tease. But he did need a few safe respites from the kick in his libido. Like eating. Mealtime should be clothed. Maybe?
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Michele Hauf
Love against all odds... Kirnan Savauterre’s loyalty to his werewolf pack is absolute – which is the only reason he agrees to an arranged marriage. He didn’t expect his bride to be an utterly enticing mystery. Beatrice is half-faery, maybe a little bit vampire, and altogether delightful. But a relationship that began as a political alliance is soon threatened by discord between the Unseelie court and the werewolves of Paris. And Kir’s investigation into Bea’s lineage reveals disturbing truths. Their love is strong – but so are the forces arrayed against them...
Kir couldn’t concentrate on the words the officiant spoke because beside him stood her.
The woman soon to be named his wife. And after that they would dance and drink, and, well, he’d heard there was a honeymoon cabin erected not far from here.
Much as having sex with a woman he’d only just met didn’t appeal, Kir couldn’t think about that, either. Something sweet, like flowers or fruit, or maybe even sugared fruit topped with flowers, tickled his nostrils. The petite woman who stood beside him, the crown of her head below his shoulders, smelled like dessert.
He did like dessert.
He didn’t want to like her. Because that would mean he was cool with this stupid agreement. One that stuck him with a woman he didn’t know or want.
For the rest of his life.
Werewolves could live three centuries or more. That was a hell of a long time to spend with one woman. Especially a woman he had not chosen.
MICHELE HAUF has been writing romance, action-adventure and fantasy stories for more than twenty years. France, musketeers, vampires and faeries usually populate her stories. And if Michele followed the adage “write what you know,” all her stories would have snow in them. Fortunately, she steps beyond her comfort zone and writes about countries and creatures she has never seen. Find her on Facebook, Twitter and at www.michelehauf.com (http://www.michelehauf.com).
Enchanted by
the Wolf
Michele Hauf
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
This story is for everyone who believes in faeries.
They believe in you.
Contents
Cover (#u2f0e2962-5788-5fda-bf1b-f31d04efb0b4)
Introduction (#ue5809878-fa02-54aa-8eca-6b13a8c9cdec)
About the Author (#u1190e82e-7212-5fa5-a14c-103fbc578432)
Title Page (#u5652a26b-a4c1-50c7-a313-6e713ed20853)
Dedication (#udf541ab5-355e-5a00-b8c6-c76b6192a73a)
Chapter 1 (#uca8493ea-56cf-5cf5-9294-b987aeee4b92)
Chapter 2 (#u4f82a487-9d71-5040-adda-00018e3f897f)
Chapter 3 (#u1c5582b5-3b44-55a2-9c04-1d174b08017a)
Chapter 4 (#u729bd19f-fb28-57a1-968a-0c3cbf033c4a)
Chapter 5 (#ub8079c66-08db-515b-98ff-2be93f21ca40)
Chapter 6 (#ub5060885-dc3a-54a4-8327-d1d256d48eb0)
Chapter 7 (#u57a95d15-fa48-5b45-92a4-dd8726cc7c24)
Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 13 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 14 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 15 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 16 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 17 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 18 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 19 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 20 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 21 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 22 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 23 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 24 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 25 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 26 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 27 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 28 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 29 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 30 (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 1 (#ulink_9c3449df-fb21-5eeb-b4a2-2398b26248b8)
“What’s going on behind closed doors?” Kir asked Jacques Montfort, the pack’s scion, and his best friend. The men stood outside the pack principal’s office door, and Kir had caught Jacques with an ear tilted to listen through the door.
The dark-haired wolf, who was built like an MMA fighter, shrugged back his shoulders and lifted his chin. “An emissary from Faery is in there with my dad.”
Kir whistled and leaned against the concrete-block wall. Etienne Montfort was principal of pack Valoir, an old and revered group of werewolves that had been a cohesive group for centuries. Kir had been born and raised within the pack.
Both men tilted their heads toward the door. With their heightened werewolf senses, they could hear much through thick walls, but something about the conversation was muted. Faery glamour? The idea of a being from Faery visiting their pack was too interesting for either one to stop eavesdropping. And neither could deny they had a tendency to get into trouble together. They’d been raised side by side, more brothers than most siblings could claim.
“You ever meet a faery?” Jacques asked. His blue eyes twinkled with curiosity.
Kir shrugged. “I’ve seen them in the nightclubs. They’re...colorful.”
“That’s for sure. And their wings are freaky. So, you ever...you know.”
Kir knew Jacques’s unspoken implication was that he wanted to know if he’d had sex with a faery. “Haven’t had the pleasure. If you can call dodging wings pleasurable.”
“I hear they’re delicate.”
Smirking, Kir let that one go. Jacques was the one with the fiancée. And a raging curiosity for all things female that had gotten him in more trouble with the little woman than a man should have to deal with. But his bride-to-be was a werewolf, so Jacques won the King of the Perfect Score award in the men’s minds. It wasn’t often werewolves mated with their own kind, because of the rarity of the female. Even those wolves in packs often had to look elsewhere for a mate because most of the female pack members were spoken for upon birth.
Jacques was a lucky wolf.
Kir, on the other hand, had gone without a date for months. The idea of a delicate faery didn’t appeal to him. A match with a fellow wolf would feed his sexual desires perfectly. Beyond his species, the only other option was mortal women. Some proved open to his aggressive needs. He could also withstand the occasional witch, but they tended to be unpredictable and sometimes just plain creepy.
Ah, hell, wasn’t as if he was looking for love anyway. He didn’t believe in love.
Hookups were fine for now. Besides, there was a certain danger involved when pursuing a wolf from another pack. Packs tended to protect their females fiercely.
On the other hand, life wasn’t worth the ride without risk.
“Twenty bucks says he’s trying to negotiate the hunting grounds again,” Jacques said.
Etienne’s goal was to appeal to Faery so the pack could be allowed to hunt in their realm. The more the mortal realm evolved and the cities pushed out into the country, the less safe it became for a werewolf to hunt without risking discovery by humans. Their breed required vast acreage unhampered by hunters with guns and curious human eyes. Faery offered that. And, if a portal to Faery were opened right here in Paris, the trip to the hunt could be quick and easy.
“Let’s hope, for the sake of the pack, you won that bet,” Kir said, “and that he’s successful.”
* * *
A harpie in human guise sat across the office desk from Etienne. Arriving without notice, she’d waited ten minutes in the office while he’d been summoned on this bright weekday morning that had seen him lingering in bed beside his wife’s warm body.
The visitor was tall, slender, wore her hair in a short black bob, with eyes equally as dark. Her skin was dark brown, smooth and utterly flawless, and yet Etienne avoided staring at her overlong. Look at one of the sidhe the wrong way or too long? A man could sprout horns.
“I’ll get right to the point,” the harpie said. She spoke French with ease. Etienne knew that the sidhe had the ability to pick up languages foreign to them almost as if by magic.
“First, if I might have your name?” Etienne asked carefully. Faeries did not give their full names freely, but he could hardly refer to her as Mademoiselle Harpie.
“You may call me Brit. And you are Etienne Montfort, principal of pack Valoir, oui?”
He nodded. He’d been principal since the 1940s and had witnessed remarkable changes in the mortal realm. But he’d rarely had experience with faeries until lately. Apparently, someone had taken note of his campaign to gain access to hunting grounds.
“To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”
“I have been sent as an emissary representing the Unseelie king, Malrick.”
Etienne sat up straighter. This sounded promising.
The harpie splayed her long, graceful fingers before her over the wood desktop. “You are aware there are portals to Faery here in your mortal realm?”
Etienne nodded. He was aware but had no clue as to their location. Not that he hadn’t, on occasion, considered searching. He did know that unless a portal was marked with faery glamour, it wasn’t visible to any but the sidhe. Yet he would never attempt to breach Faery without permission. He prided himself on maintaining strong alliances with the various species.
“A portal has recently been unlocked by sorcery and it opens directly onto Unseelie territory,” Brit stated in a businesslike tone. “This is a source of much misfortune and annoyance to my kind.”
“I can imagine. Are mortals entering the Faery realm?”
“All sorts. It is, in a word, disgusting. My king, Malrick, requires a guard posted on this side of the portal until specific magics can be conjured to close the portal. It is a difficult task summoning such powerful magic to seal a portal that we did not open, so it will take some time.”
“A guard?” Etienne suddenly sensed the gist to this visit. Perhaps not as fortuitous as he’d hoped.
“On behalf of the Unseelie king, we would request pack Valoir take on the task of guarding the portal. It would not require more than one man posted outside the portal. You could assign shifts. Fighting back curious humans should cause you no more trouble than growling at them.”
“Indeed, it would be a simple post.” And pack Valoir was large enough to provide the wolves for the job. “Have you an estimate on duration?”
“Your mortal time moves much differently than ours.” She shrugged, obviously at a loss.
“We’ll leave it as an open standing agreement.” But Etienne wasn’t about to shake hands just yet. “And what would my pack receive as recompense for taking on such a task?”
The harpie spread her hands on the desk and smiled warmly. Her eyes glowed violet now. Etienne was ever charmed by sidhe eyes. Or was it that their charm was so powerful he could not resist? He had to remind himself not to stare.
“The Unseelie would grant pack Valoir the right to hunt on our land,” she offered.
“In Faery?” Etienne said on a gasp.
“Indeed.”
That was immense. To be allowed such freedom in a realm that offered what was rumored myriad hunting opportunities? Why, it was unprecedented. “Pack Valoir will be allowed free rein. Only, we request you do not hunt as a pack. Only one wolf in timed intervals. A measured means to hunting.”
“That can be done.”
“Do you accept the assignment, Principal Montfort?”
Etienne sat back in his chair, not bothering to hide the grin that curled his mouth. His pack would shout and howl at such fortune. And, truly, the task of guarding the portal would be minimal. It would not disrupt their lives, and he shouldn’t think those who worked enforcement would have to be tasked for the job.
He nodded decisively. “Yes, I agree. On behalf of pack Valoir, I accept the bargain issued by your king, Malrick.”
“Excellent. And know, because of the unique nature of this agreement, my king requests a specific requirement to sealing said contract and to make it binding.”
“Uh... Oh, oh, yes.” Twining his fingers together, Etienne leaned forward. “What exactly is required?”
“It won’t tax your pack, I promise. In fact, it will only require the compliance of one pack member of your choosing.”
Damned faeries were all about ceremony and pomp. And Etienne suspected that one pack member would not like what the harpie next requested. But if it would allow the entire pack to hunt freely? Sacrifices must be made for the good of the pack.
* * *
When the door had opened to let out the visitor, Jacques and Kir shuffled down the hallway. They watched her walk by, and just when they thought the coast was clear to slip around the corner and out of the back door, Etienne called out to Kir.
Damned werewolf senses. No wolf could hide from another’s sense of smell. Jacques nodded to him that he’d see him later.
With the office door closed behind him, Kir waited with hands stuffed in his back pockets.
Etienne paced over to a window that overlooked the Seine in the 16th arrondissement. “You drew the short stick,” he said to Kir.
“I wasn’t aware there was a drawing, Principal Montfort,” Kir said lightly. “What nasty task have I been assigned today?”
“This weekend, actually.” The leader steepled his fingers before his lips. Pale brown eyes assessed. “Sunday. In the forest edging Versailles, where the pack often celebrates midsummer’s eve. Malrick, king of the Unseelie court—”
“A faery?”
“Yes. I’ve just finished speaking with a liaison he sent with a most exciting offer that will benefit the entire pack.”
“You’re bargaining with the sidhe now? Do you think that wise?”
“Of course, if it will grant us access to Faery for hunting.”
Kir’s jaw dropped open. So his guess had been right. Etienne had actually managed to snag hunting rights in Faery!
“That’s a generous offer,” Kir said. “What did you have to offer in return?”
“Kirnan, this deal affects the whole pack.” The sudden serious tone in Etienne’s voice alerted Kir. His principal saved that dour bass tone for announcing bad news or chastising those in need of an attitude adjustment. “Seems Malrick is concerned about a portal from this realm into Faery,” Etienne explained. “It’s been cracked by common humans, and the Unseelie are experiencing an influx of the idiots landing in Faery. He wants our pack to guard the portal until the proper magical spell can be conjured to close it.”
“How long will that take?”
“Not sure. Could be weeks, months. Hell, the way the time is screwy in Faery, it could be years. It is a minimal task, according to the liaison with whom I spoke. And we’ve the manpower. I expect you and Jacques will not be required to hold post, since you both have the enforcing that keeps you busy.”
“The enforcement team is solid. If you should need one or the other of us, I’m sure we could manage a day now and then.”
“Good to know. So in exchange for us guarding the portal—a simple task that will require one-man shifts round the clock—our pack gets to hunt in Faery. In an orderly and scheduled fashion, of course. Malrick doesn’t want the entire pack running loose in his realm, but a few wolves during the days preceding and of the full moon will be tolerated.”
“Of course, you accepted this offer?”
“I would have been foolish not to!” The principal’s enthusiasm spilled out in a gleeful clap of hands.
And Kir was right there with him with the enthusiasm. Until he recalled what Etienne had said to him when he’d entered the office. “So where do I come in holding this short stick?”
The principal’s demeanor drew to a solemn yet regal stance. An uneasy feeling trickled up the back of Kir’s neck. Etienne was a kind, elder wolf who rarely used aggression or faced down his pack members to keep them in line. He left that to his scion, Jacques, who took to such tasks with relish. Yet he sensed in the man now a certain dire reluctance.
“The sidhe have ceremonious ways to seal bargains. Something we merely consider good fortune may be considered a grand boon to them. And the liaison pointed out that this is a unique bargain that must be honored. So to seal this pact, Malrick proposes to offer one of his daughters to marry one from our pack. The couple will bond, thus providing the final seal to the deal.”
“A marriage? That’s...extreme.”
“Not for the sidhe. Their bonding rituals, which are elaborate and varied, are the stamp of approval, so to speak, for such an extraordinary bargain. Either that, or they request a life sacrificed or one of our firstborn. You know how the sidhe can be.”
No, he did not. As he’d indicated to Jacques earlier, Kir hadn’t much contact with the winged ones. Marriage seemed a bit much to ask. On the other hand, a sacrifice or handing over one’s firstborn seemed more extreme.
The poor wolf who had to step forward to marry some faery he’d never seen before would certainly not like it.
Kir met his principal’s hopeful gaze. His leader was pleased to have scored such a propitious arrangement for the pack. Indeed, it was a valued prize—but a marriage?
“Sunday,” Etienne said. “You will be ready for a day of ceremony and pomp.”
“Of course.” Likely the entire pack would have to don suits and pin on tiny flowers or whatever it was wedding parties were required to wear. He could deal with that.
“You’re taking this rather well. Good man, Kirnan. Good man.”
“Whatever details you need me to arrange, I’ll see to them. I assume that’s what you intended when you said I drew that short stick?” He smiled, but his leader only matched it with a shake of his head. And an imploring lift of brow. “Wait.”
The more he thought about it... If he had drawn the short stick...
Kir’s heart stopped beating for a full three seconds. He swallowed, flexed his fingers at his sides and then croaked out, “You mean me?”
Etienne nodded. “We went down the chain of command. I, of course, am happily married to my beloved Estella. Eighty years and counting. And my son and the pack scion, Jacques, as you know, is engaged to sweet Marielle. So the task falls to the third in command.”
Kir spoke before thinking. “Oh, hell no.” Now that he understood he was the unlucky sap, he smacked a fist into a palm and paced before Etienne’s desk.
“It must be done, Kir. You are young. You have no current romantic entanglements.”
Not for lack of want. A guy didn’t need to be in love to have a good time.
“You are an excellent offering.”
“An offering?” Kir winced at the word. It sounded so...sacrificial. A burn of bile stirred in his throat.
“I shouldn’t have put it that way,” Etienne added.
“I can’t marry a woman I don’t know. Principal Montfort, when I do marry I want to marry for love.”
“Are there any females in the pack whom you desire?”
“No, I—” Kir shoved his fingers roughly through his hair. “As you’ve said, I’m young yet. Twenty-eight years is but a pup in a werewolf’s lifetime. I have never given thought to marriage. Well, hell, yes, I have. I do want family and a happily-ever-after. But I want to date freely until I’ve met the one.”
“The one.” Etienne smirked. “Estella and I were an arranged marriage. Do not rule out the possibility of an interesting match, Kirnan.”
“Interesting?” The word felt vile on his tongue. Interesting was not love. “You and your wife are an amazing couple, Principal Montfort. But I’m not like you. Not patient or, apparently, so accepting.”
And, hell, his dad had screwed up his marriage; what made Kir think he could manage a loving family without an eventual nasty divorce? And abandoning the children to scar them forever?
“I’ve my work with the enforcement team that keeps me busy,” Kir tried. “I don’t have time to dote on a wife and...do the things a husband needs to do.”
Like what, exactly? He didn’t know. And he didn’t want to know! Not...this way.
“Isn’t there another wolf in the pack with equal standing?”
Etienne shook his head. “It would shame Valoir were we to offer a male who had not an esteemed rank. You are the highest ranked wolf who is available. Please, Kir, I’m asking you to do this as a favor. I’m not commanding you.”
Pacing before the window, Kir’s brain zoomed from standing at a dais and getting a first look at a woman he must vow to shelter and love forever to running away from the pack, becoming a lone wolf, free—yet forever ostracized and alone. Like his father.
He didn’t want to repeat the sins of his father.
“She will be one of the Unseelie king’s daughters,” Etienne added with a hopeful lilt.
One of them? How many daughters had he that the man could deal one out as a seal to the many bargains he may make?
“Our breed gets along well with the sidhe,” Etienne tried. “Er, regarding when it comes to mating. And faeries are very often quite lovely. I don’t think you should worry about how she looks. And I have heard that wings can be quite—”
Kir put up a hand to silence his principal. He needed to think about this. Sunday was two days away. He was captain of the enforcement team, alongside Jacques, who was the lieutenant. His job required he police the wolf packs in Paris, and it kept him busy much as a nine-to-five job would.
He didn’t need a wife. He wouldn’t know what to do with a wife. If his own family’s history was any example—well, that was it; his family was no example of how to live and love in a happy, healthy relationship.
Kir wasn’t prepared to welcome a woman into his home. Nor did he want to stop looking at other women. He didn’t want to stop having sex with other women. What must that be like to sleep with only one woman? For the rest of his life? And to be castigated by a wife for looking at another woman?
Heart pounding, he caught his palm against his chest.
“So it’s agreed, then,” Etienne finally said. “The ceremony is scheduled to begin at twilight. I’ll have my wife arrange all the necessary suits and whatever else is needed. All that wedding frippery, you know. You’re a good man, Kirnan. Thanks for doing this for pack Valoir. I’ve got to rush out now.”
Etienne walked Kir to the door and down the hall to the front door of the nondescript concrete building the pack used as a headquarters. The principal flagged down his driver, who waited at the curb, and, with a wave, was off, leaving Kir standing on the sidewalk, hands hanging at his sides and jaw dropped open.
Married in two days? To a woman he’d never met.
Kir felt like the last one standing on the gym floor after all the rest had been chosen for sides. And he was the odd man out, not needed for either team, both of which stood on the sidelines laughing and pointing at him.
And, to make matters worse, he had no one to confide in, no one to ask for guidance. His father he had not seen for a decade. His younger sister, Blyss—it had been years since she had been estranged from the pack. They spoke on the phone because she summered in the United States with her new husband. But she wouldn’t be interested in his dilemma. She had just given birth to a new baby and was busy with life and marriage.
That left his mother, Madeline, whom he tolerated and begrudgingly respected at best.
“Married?” he muttered.
The clenching in his chest seized up his breath and he gripped his throat.
Chapter 2 (#ulink_5a113871-32a8-5457-835e-5ebdb4ad03d4)
The forest shivered with a warm midsummer breeze that seemed to sing in a language Kir recognized but could not interpret. It was a joyous sound, which helped to settle his crazy nerves. Overhead, thousands of tiny lights darted within the tree canopy. Faeries. Kir was surrounded by his pack and all sorts of sidhe. Jacques stood at his right side, shrugging his shoulders within the tight fit of the rental suit. The scion’s attention also wandered high to follow the flickering lights.
The woods had glowed from afar as pack Valoir had arrived en masse. A stage set for a performance, waiting for him, one of the main players. Faeries had clasped Kir’s hand and bowed to him, greeting, acknowledging, surmising. He’d not been introduced to the Unseelie king and wasn’t sure the man was even here. Etienne had briefly introduced Kir to Brit, the harpie who had brought the deal to the table. She’d been stunning in a silver sheath that had revealed more than it hid.
But it had all been a whirlwind since he’d arrived. Dozens of strange and interesting faces, elaborate and glamorous clothing and costume, delicious peach wine and tiny cakes that tasted either sweet or savory but was always too small to satisfy his fierce appetite. And the greetings and silent perusals. He hadn’t had time to think in the few hours that had passed since his arrival.
Or to escape.
And now he stood, knees locked and fingers flexing nervously at his sides. The suit was tight across his shoulders and it was hot. He wanted to scratch at the starched shirt collar but wasn’t sure his fingers could perform the move because they felt so far away and detached from his body.
Kir couldn’t concentrate on the words the officiant spoke because beside him stood her. The woman soon to be named his wife. And after that they would dance and drink, and, well, he’d heard there was a honeymoon cabin erected not far from here.
Something sweet, like flowers or fruit, or maybe even sugared fruit topped with flowers, tickled his nostrils. The petite woman who stood beside him, the crown of her head below his shoulders, smelled like dessert.
He did like dessert.
He didn’t want to like her. Because that would mean he was cool with this stupid agreement. One that stuck him with a woman he didn’t know or want.
For the rest of his life.
Werewolves could live three centuries or more. That was a hell of a long time to spend with one woman. Especially a woman he had not chosen.
He wanted to look down—the top of her head was capped with flowers and fluttery butterflies that seemed to hold the veil in place—but he dared not make the blatant once-over with the audience behind him. He’d remain stoic and say all the right things. His pack was watching. He was doing this for them. They had better appreciate his sacrifice.
The ceremony officiant rambled on about loving the other until death did part them and enduring magic most vile and exquisite through eternity.
Vile magic? What the...?
Kir closed his eyes. His heart did a weird dive and then free-fell within his rib cage. It didn’t land with a splat, though, because something distracted his imaginary death-dive. She smelled really good. His mouth actually watered, and he cursed inwardly for not having eaten all day. Too nervous.
There would be food later. And drink.
There was not enough whiskey in this realm to get him to the point where he could accept this situation.
Behind him, he felt the gentle sweep of wings as the woman beside him shifted on her feet. As she’d walked down the aisle, she had worn a long sheer pink veil over her head that fell over her body and to her bare feet. Her feet were decorated with bright arabesque violet designs, like some kind of mehndi artwork. Her wings were unfurled to display gorgeous violet and red gossamer with darker shading in the veins. Her hair was dark. He could see that much beneath the veil. But he could not determine if she was pretty.
They’d wrapped her up as if she were a gift, and he didn’t like it.
Suddenly feeling as though he was forgetting something important, Kir lifted his chin and focused as the officiant announced the twosome had been joined in matrimony by the authority of the Unseelie court. And later they must seal that promise by bonding.
What a way to start a marriage.
When he had, at the last minute, thought he’d need to buy a ring for his new bride, the liaison harpie, who had arrived early to ensure the details had been handled properly, stated rings were an offense. Mortal metals must never be worn by the sidhe. All that was required was that the two bond as Faery decreed.
A ring would have been so much easier.
“Join hands,” the officiant announced. “And bind yourselves to one another.”
What? Right here? The bonding? Kir looked over his shoulder and caught Etienne’s eye. The elder wolf nodded. And beside him stood his mother, Madeline, with a tear in her eye.
Oh, this was not cool. He couldn’t—
His new wife lifted her hand beneath the pink veil and Kir took it, deciding it was fragile and felt too light. He might break her bones if he squeezed. Awful thought to have. He would never harm a woman. But he felt as if she were something that must be protected and watched over.
He didn’t have time for watching over a tiny faery. She had better be able to care for herself.
Her head did not tilt up to look at him. He breathed in through his nose and exhaled in preparation. If they had to bond before an audience—and his mother.
Pushing aside the veil, the officiant wrapped a red silk band about their joined hands, draping the ends over their wrists. As he recited some words that Kir assumed were in the sidhe language, he traced an elaborate symbol in the air above their hands.
Behind them, the audience of sidhe began to...hum. It was a beautiful, wordless melody that twinkled in the air and stirred the leaves. Animals scampered nearby in the forest and Kir felt the hairs on his body prickle with vital awareness. Connection to nature. Elation expanding his lungs, he noticed a design began to show on the top of his and his new wife’s hands. A gorgeous, delicate tracing that wound in and out and curled and arabesqued like something etched upon a Moorish ruin. Or perhaps it was similar to the designs on her feet and ankles. It didn’t hurt and, in fact, felt as if a piece of ice was being traced under his skin. The tracing crept over the side of her hand and Kir felt the design spread across his skin.
“Bonded,” the officiant announced.
With applause from the sidhe court, the design on their hands suddenly glowed brightly, then faded to the pale etching. But seriously? That was the bonding? Whew! Kir could not be more thankful that Faery’s means to bonding was different than his breed, which meant having sex.
His new wife dropped her hand and then her attendant pulled the veil away from her head. Slowly, the pink fabric glittered under the glow from the faeries overhead, and her dark hair, woven through with tiny blue flowers, was revealed. She looked up at him with a small smile. It was forced.
Not so pleased about this marriage, either, he guessed. Poor woman.
Poor, gorgeous woman. As a consolation he had gotten a pretty one. And yet, what color were her eyes? Pink?
When the officiant said they should kiss, the audience clapped and cheered. Kir felt a blush ride his neck, and that disturbed him. Performing for an audience? Yikes. And, yet, the kiss was a standard wedding tradition.
With a smirk, his wife reached up and bracketed his head with her hands, boldly bringing him down to her level. And then...
She kissed him. It was soft and tentative at first but quickly warmed and grew bold. Her lips were soft and pliant. Sweet to taste, as sweet as her scent. And quietly stunning. She knew how to kiss, and parts of him stood up and took notice. He could kiss her all day. If he hadn’t an audience.
So there was a bright moment to this horrible day.
And when she opened her eyes, he saw that, indeed, they were not the usual sidhe violet but instead pink. Which indicated she was a half-breed.
Kir’s heart suddenly did drop to his gut. What the hell had he married?
* * *
Following the vows, and that unexpectedly delicious kiss, Bea had danced the expected dance with her husband. It was an ancient sidhe dance that required barely holding hands and walking down an aisle of fellow revelers. It involved bows and hops and all that ceremonial nonsense that her elders so adored.
Her new husband’s name, which she had only learned during the ceremony, was Kirnan Sauveterre. And his hand, when it had finally touched hers, had felt warm but shaky. Nervous? Surprising, coming from a big, bold wolf such as he. The man had filled the air beside her with a reluctant confidence. Yet she sensed he was a force when not out of his element, such as they both were now.
After their kiss, he’d barely spared her more than a few glances. And during the dance his eyes strayed everywhere but onto her. Was she so hideous to look upon?
After the dance, Bea excused herself to find something to drink. Her husband had let her go without a word, turning away to quickly find and chat with one of his pack mates.
Perhaps he was as freaked by the whole event as she was. She guessed that, because he’d stood stick straight amid a swarm of congratulating friends, his eyes unfocused as he nodded mechanically. And she suspected that tiny smile was more a what-the-hell-have-I-done? smile than of genuine nuptial bliss.
Pity. The wolf was sexy. Tall, too. She liked them big, tall and strong. And now that he’d relaxed a bit, he radiated a stoic command. The dark brown beard wasn’t her favorite, but he kept it neatly trimmed, and the mustache, as well. She’d have sex with him if she had to.
And she did have to.
“For the rest of my freakin’ life,” she muttered, and grabbed a wooden goblet of mead from a passing waiter’s tray.
Downing the sweet amber liquor in one shot, Bea winced at the honey bite. The bees that had made that batch must have gotten into a patch of thistleberry. Always gave the drink a tang. Then she grabbed another to have something to hold in her hand while she wandered among the well-wishers and those who had imbibed far more mead than she had.
“Let the drunken debauchery begin,” she declared to no one but herself. “Might as well celebrate the end of my life with a good ol’ rainbow yawn in the morning. Not like I expected something better in life, eh?”
Princess though she was, growing up in Malrick’s household had been a lesson in endurance. Bea had never strived for more than survival among her dozens of sidhe siblings; the majority of them were full-blooded faery. She, being a half-breed of dubious heritage, had received the brunt of Malrick’s disdain.
So to stand now amid the revelers and receive their congratulatory handclasps only increased the nervous roil in her belly. It was a show they put on, a product of much mead and the desire to please their king. They cared little about her.
As did her father, who was, not surprisingly, absent this evening.
The hum of voices and laughter receded from her thoughts. Bea understood the French language with ease. The sidhe could assimilate any mortal realm language merely by listening to it. Fortunately, France had always interested her. If she were to visit any place in this realm, she was glad she’d landed in this country.
Wandering to the edge of the merriment, she found and followed the flower-petal-laden path that twisted through the dark forest depths until the laughter and conversations grew to but a murmur. A trio of sprites danced in the air before her, sprinkling the path with their violet dust. Beyond an arch of fern fronds, she followed the sprites to the nuptial cottage, which had been erected for their wedding-night bonding. The walls were formed from plane trees growing high, and their branches curved and spread out thick leaves to fashion the roof. It was private, save for the narrow alcove nestled near the doorway, where she knew the witness would be positioned while she and her husband did the deed.
Yes, someone had to witness their wedding-night bonding. Bea shivered at the thought of performing the sexual act with a witness. Faeries were big on ceremony and the observance of royal deeds. And since her father was the Unseelie king, that made her wedding a Big Deal.
Not that she’d ever felt remotely princess-like. Shouldn’t a girl’s father, at the very least, show up for her wedding?
She ran her fingertips over her embroidered and bepearled pink gown. Beneath the gossamer layers she felt the blade she always wore strapped to her thigh. Growing up in Faery as a half-breed should have been a wonderful thing. The sidhe embraced half-breeds; they even sought to procreate with most other breeds to create such progeny. With all but the darkest, which included demons and vampires.
Bea’s non-sidhe half—of which she wasn’t clear what it was, though certainly she’d assumed it vampire—had made her a pariah among her own. Through his inattention, her father had made it very clear she disgusted him. Which explained why he’d been so eager to offer her as a seal to this bargain with the Valoir pack.
“Unwanted and unloved,” she whispered. “And now I’ve been thrust into a realm that frightens me and will be forced to live with a wolf I don’t know.”
A shiver traced her skin and she wrapped her arms across her chest in a hug that felt more pitiful than comforting.
There was a bright side to look at. She’d always dreamed about escaping her father’s household.
“Perhaps I’ll like the mortal realm,” she decided. “And maybe my husband will even grow to like me.”
Turning to gaze back toward the celebration, her wings fluttered and she had the thought to fold them away. Wings and sex, well...she wasn’t ready for such soul-deep intimacy with the new husband. Stones, she just hoped to get through the evening without saying something stupid or landing in an awkward sprawl on the bed.
She spied her husband near the feast table, speaking confidently to another wolf she guessed was a good friend, for he had stood beside Kirnan during the ceremony. Kirnan Sauveterre. She wondered about his surname. What did it mean? It felt honorable and bold as she whispered it.
Kirnan stood the tallest amid the crowd save for a few sidhe. He held his head proudly, shoulders back. Soft brown hair curled about his head, and a slightly darker beard and mustache framed his long face. A regal nose. And ears tight to his head. No points, though, Bea noted as she stroked the gently pointed tip of her ear. So she’d learn to like him despite that physical fault.
A hand-tooled black leather vest stretched across a broad, muscled chest, and his leather pants wrapped muscular thighs that she imagined often ran through the forest, both in man form and as a wolf. The sprig of dandelion in the boutonniere he wore at his breast pocket portended faithfulness.
If only she could get so lucky. She touched the blue anemone in her hair. Chosen for luck.
Bea sighed. Her husband looked like every woman’s dream of the rescuing knight. All he needed was the white stallion and a suit of silver armor.
And perhaps he should look into that set of armor. Because she was armed and would not allow anyone to harm her. If he turned out to be an aggressive, demanding wolf, she would have to put him in his place. No one from this realm was going to mess with her. She’d had enough practice sticking up for herself that she never took a step without first casting a look over her shoulder.
After wandering into the wedding cottage, Bea sighed and plopped onto the end of the massive bed. She stroked the bond mark on the back of her hand. The first seal. Sex would close their bond.
She inched her gown up along her leg, and, from the thigh strap, she tugged out a gleaming violet blade and stabbed it into the tree branch that formed the canopy bed frame.
“Please let him be kind,” she whispered.
Chapter 3 (#ulink_82b4ed1a-fe75-5624-a24d-7aa9550817da)
Kir stumbled into the wedding tent. He’d put back a few drinks but hadn’t thought he was drunk. Must have been that tree root at the threshold. Although, the honey mead had been some powerful stuff. Whew! He and Jacques had done a couple mead shots before Etienne had suggested he go seek out his bride.
His bride. The words felt foreign tinkering about in his brain.
Tilting back his shoulders and taking things in, he could only marvel. How this makeshift tent slash honeymoon debauchery cottage had been erected was beyond him. The walls grew up from the ground—mature trees that had long ago rooted—and the branches bent over to form a roof as if they’d grown that way decades earlier.
And it smelled great in here. Like flowers, honey and sweet things, and...her. Yeah, she’d smelled like candy. And her scent had found a place in his nose. And that was a bit of all right.
The new wife stood on the opposite side of the cottage, fingers nervously tracing the bed linens. Clad in sheer pink silk that imitated flower petals, she looked like a lost girl, veiled in black hair with bright eyes. Her wings weren’t out, or maybe they were folded behind her back.
What was with those eyes? Pink? Kir had thought all sidhe eyes were violet. And if she was a half-breed, then he wanted to know what her other half was before they got too cozy. He didn’t do creatures like vampires and demons. There was a vast range of “other” she could be if she were not full-blood faery.
Either way, you have to do this. Right. What a way to ruin a good drunk. Sex with a stranger, who would then follow him home. And stay there. He’d thought getting the mark on his hand was the whole bonding ritual. Not so, Brit had explained to him, when he’d asked after his bride after losing sight of her at the revelry.
“Hey.” She waved at him. She remained by the bed, perhaps as nervous as he about this? Surely the idea of having sex with a man she’d known all of a few minutes could not appeal to her.
At least, Kir hoped that kind of sex didn’t appeal to her. A fast-and-loose faery wasn’t his idea of perfect wife material.
Ah, heck, why was he being so judgmental? They were in this together. And if his guess about her nervousness was right, then he’d do what he could to alleviate some of that worry. Starting with a firm attempt at clinging to the last vestiges of his sobriety.
“So, let’s get this over and done with, eh?” He stretched an arm toward a little nook at the entrance, where she could catch a glimpse of their witness. “We do have a spy to entertain. But, so you know, I really don’t want to do this with you.”
“Way to make your wife feel loved, big boy.”
“Love? Are you—” He eyed the carafe on the bedside table and aimed for it, but when he drank, he found it was only fresh, clear water. Kir spit out the not-alcohol over the moss floor. “Are you on board with all this?”
“I haven’t much choice,” the woman said. “Nor do you, apparently. Sacrificed for the good of your pack, eh?”
What was her name? Oh, yeah. Beatrice.
“Listen, Beatrice, if sex is what is required by your kind to seal the bargain, then sex it is.”
“Yes, we sidhe are a weird bunch. And daddy Malrick is a twisted bit of dark sidhe.”
“Says the half faery.”
She lifted her chin at that statement. Defiant? Defensive?
“Your eyes,” Kir said, pointing at her face. “Am I right?”
She nodded.
“So what is your other half?”
She shrugged. “It’s not important. Is it?”
Not with a swimming head and the strong urge to dive onto the bed, close his eyes and wish the nightmare would end.
“Nope. Guess not.”
* * *
Kir tugged off his vest and shirt and tossed it to the floor, his back to her. Bea could see that the wolf was raring to go. And would you look at those muscles? They bulged and rippled and formed a vast, solid surface. She felt sure she’d not seen the like, ever, in Faery. And she had dated more than her share of sidhe in all shapes, sizes and even colors. This wolf? He was, by the blessed Norns, beautiful.
She dashed her tongue along her lower lip. If she had to do this, she may as well try to enjoy it. Take one for the team, right? Let the big, handsome wolf put his hands all over her naked body? She’d force herself if she had to.
As his fingers drew down the zipper of his leather pants, he turned. “So how do you want to do this?”
“Down and dirty.” Bea shed a thin strap from her shoulder. “Get ’er done.” Because if not now, she’d lose her bravery and fly for safety.
“I agree. Quicker is easier.”
Flicking off a strap from her shoulder, her wedding dress dropped to a puddle at her feet. And the wolf’s eyes dropped to her breasts. They were small but high and perky. She was well made for aerodynamic flight.
Kir exhaled and averted his gaze to the side. Was he getting all shy on her? Or perhaps a gentleman hid behind the steely muscles and bite-worthy abs? Aw. Sweet.
But Bea couldn’t get behind forced niceties after that wince she had seen him make during the ceremony. It was her eyes. They freaked him. The dude did not like her. And if the werewolf knew what her other half was? He’d go running with his tail between his legs.
Now all she had to do tonight was keep her dark half subdued. Fingers crossed.
“Pants off,” she said, turning toward the bed and patting the mattress. “We’ll get into the swing of things, then you can shift, and we’ll seal the deal.”
Kir chuckled. “Is your definition of foreplay the swing of things?”
“Yep. You got a problem with that, big boy?”
He narrowed his gaze on her. “Are you always so cold?”
“Nope. But how many times have you been required to have sex with someone you’ve known only minutes? And with a witness not a leap away whose heavy breathing I can hear!” she said loudly.
The heavy breaths were instantly muffled. Bea rolled her eyes.
Kir smirked at the obvious disaster that had become their lives. “Right. Sorry. This is tough for us both. I just want you to know...”
He hooked his hands at the waistband of his leather pants and stared off toward the ceiling. Above, tiny sprites hovered, but Bea didn’t mind. They were always around in Faery. She was quite sure she’d never had sex with a man completely alone. But sprites didn’t tell tales. Unless you pissed them off.
“What I want you to know,” he started, “is that despite the surprise of only learning about this two days ago, I’m going to give this my all. This marriage. I never do anything half-cocked.”
Bea laughed and averted her eyes to the opened fly on his leather pants. “Half-cocked?”
“It’s an expression. And even though I don’t know you, any woman deserves my best.”
“Honorable words. Have you been practicing that speech all day?”
“No, it’s— Hey, take me or leave me. I drew the short stick. Now I intend to do the best with the situation.”
“The short stick?” Bea crossed her arms over her breasts, feeling not at all embarrassed by her nudity, but oh, so curious at the wolf’s comment. “What in mossy misery does that mean?”
“The short stick? You know. When there’s a less-than-desirable task to be done, someone breaks a bunch of sticks and holds them in his hand, with their length concealed in his fist. Whoever draws the shortest stick is the loser.”
“I see. So I’m your short stick?”
He shrugged and offered a wincing nod.
“Peachy.” She swallowed back the scream that vied for release. She’d only hoped he would be nice. Not cruel like her father. Foolish of her to wish for so much.
“Sorry, I shouldn’t have explained that to you,” he said, rubbing a palm against the side of his head. “Do you want a drink? I brought in a bottle of wine.”
“No, I’m cool. And I think you have imbibed far too much already.”
“Mead,” he said with a drunken grin.
“Yeah, from the little I’ve seen at the reception, you mortal realmers can’t handle your mead. Let’s get this done with so the witness can go to bed, and I’m really tired, so...”
“Yeah, me, too. So it’s just business between us? Doing this for the home teams?”
Bea smirked. Some home team she was on. “I’m not even on the team. When teams pick sides, I’m always the one left standing.”
He cast her a curious raise of brow. “I‘ve had that same thought. Huh.”
“Right. For the team,” she agreed with as much enthusiasm as she could muster, which was zero.
The werewolf strode closer, and Bea climbed up onto the bed but didn’t take her eyes from his, which swept over her body appreciatively. Was the wolf actually hungry for her? Good. That would make this go quicker. She could do this. She didn’t have to feel anything for him; she just had to go through the motions. Seal the deal. Worry about the whole happily-ever-after crap in the morning.
He slid a hand below her breast and leaned down to lick her nipple. Bea sucked in a breath as that contact flamed over her skin and tickled her into an appreciative wiggle. Wow. Most men would have started with a kiss and worked lower, but she had no arguments about this mode of attack. Business, and all that. The wolf was already at the getting in the getting-’er-done part.
Stones, but he really knew how to stir her system to alert, all nerves fired and ready to receive. He moved to her other breast and laved her tight nipple, then he chuckled.
Chuckled?
“What the heck?” Bea asked. “Why am I so funny to you?”
“You’re not.” He shook his head, then nipped her skin quickly before giving her another deep chuckle. “I’m just...nervous. This is—”
“Weird?” She raked her fingers through his soft hair but enjoyed the sensation so much she abruptly pulled back. “Uncomfortable? So wrong it’s almost right?”
“Yeah. Don’t misunderstand me. I’m hot for your body, Beatrice. It’s just, we’re doing this backward. Normally a couple gets to know one another before really getting to know one another like this.”
“Like we have a choice?”
He followed her gaze to the alcove by the door. The feet were now crossed at the ankle. “I guess not.”
“I’m nervous, too.” She stroked his cheek. His beard was soft, and she tickled her fingers along it. He nuzzled his face into her palm like a cat seeking strokes. Except he wasn’t a cat. And she was as cool with this moment as she could get. She’d love to take the time to run her fingers over his skin and map out his muscles, but... “The longer we put on a show for you-know-who, the freakier it gets.”
“I agree. I’m hard as a rock. Ready to go. But I want you to be ready.”
“That’s thoughtful. But don’t worry about me. You are some kind of sexy. Just looking at you gets me hot. I’ve been ready for a while now. So come inside me, husband. Let’s seal this deal.”
She lay back against the pillows, sitting half-upright, and beckoned him closer. Kir slipped off the leather pants and his erection slapped up against his stomach. Bea sucked in her lower lip. Great Goddess of Goodness, that was a nice one. She could imagine taking her time with that thick column later. When they were alone.
The wolf got on the bed and knelt between her legs, lowering his body over her. Avoiding eye contact. Oh, stones, did she appreciate not having to stare into his gorgeous brown sparklers at this particularly sensitive moment. Just get it done. You can do this.
She grasped his hot length and guided him inside her. He stretched her sweetly. She bit her lip, thinking she’d gotten the long stick for sure.
Heh. This nervous anxiety was making her silly. But better to go with humor than to turn into a crazy, jittery nerve-bucket.
Slowly, he slid in and out of her, the thickness of him tugging at her pinnacle and teasing her insides to a quivering anticipation. This was already better than ninety percent of her dates back in Faery. Because...well, just because. She didn’t want to go there.
Because surrendering to the moment worked right now. It made her forget. About everything. This was actually...pretty freakin’ awesome.
She moaned, and Kir stopped his thrusts. “Am I hurting you?”
“Oh, no, wolf. What you’re doing feels great. Faster.”
“If I go any faster, I’ll come, and that can’t happen until I shift if we’re going to do the bonding correctly.”
“Right, you werewolves bond in shifted shape. I sense this is going to get interesting.”
“Real fast. You ready for my werewolf, little faery?”
No. And maybe. And, stones, yes, she was ready.
This day had been insane, what with being forced to leave her home with nothing more than her bridal gown and the blade strapped to her thigh. No mementos, but she hadn’t needed any. She’d even stood in the forest and watched as sidhe magic built her wedding dais and this bonding cottage, all the while her heart thudding faster and faster, wondering if this world could be worse than her own.
And then to stand beside the wolf, her heart thundering, and promise to love and honor him without knowing what kind of man he was. Kind, domineering, cruel or, perhaps, weak?
But it was going to end on a high note if she had any say about it. And that note would come from her as she cried out in pleasure.
“Let’s do this,” she said, shuffling back on the bed. She wanted to come right now. She wanted...foreplay and emotion and his hands all over her, both inside and out.
But tonight wasn’t for any of that. “Let’s get ’er done.”
* * *
The faery’s bright pink eyes widened as Kir’s body began the shift. It took only a matter of seconds for his bones to change and his skin to stretch over lengthening muscles and shifting interior organs. Fur sprouted from his pores and his jaw grew longer and teeth made for tearing meat filled his maw.
When in his half man/half wolf werewolf form, he had thoughts as a man and as a wolf. He could understand some spoken language, but for the most part, he acted on instinct. And instinct told him a ripe female waited for him.
She scrambled off the bed, seemingly fearful of his towering form, but when she stopped at the headboard, she turned. A tiny smile curled her pink lips and she crooked a beckoning finger at him.
The werewolf recognized that as an invitation.
* * *
Gasping, Bea caught her hands on the headboard fashioned from woven branches while the werewolf howled behind her. He had reached orgasm, as had she. And, man, that had been a cosmic thing. She could now entirely get behind the meaning of bonding in werewolf terms. Big furry wolf man, meet the quivering, sexually satisfied faery chick? Fur and claws? She could deal. And she had. In werewolf form Kir was mostly man-shaped anyway, and his cock was all man.
Yet she was suddenly ravenous. And not for food. She’d been born with an inexplicable hunger, which had been sustained by drinking ichor from her fellow sidhe ever since puberty. Here, in the mortal realm, she had prepared herself for her first taste of mortal blood. Because, if not ichor, the only other option was blood. It sustained. And satisfied. It was tied in to sex and the orgasm and the desire to pleasure herself as deeply as possible.
And she would not ignore that hunger.
Much as Bea assumed the wolf was not going to like what she did next—she twisted about and hugged the big furry lug about his wide, panting chest. Sinking in her fangs at the werewolf’s throat caused him to whip back his head in protest. A talon cut down her thigh as he attempted to pull her off him.
Bea clung. The blood spilling into her mouth was hot and thick and tasted better than mead or even ichor.
Now, this was her kind of bonding.
Chapter 4 (#ulink_116012cb-942e-5880-a74d-4603974c7bb6)
Suddenly the fur Bea had clenched in her grasp receded and her fingers slipped over male skin slickened with his own blood. Kir’s exaggerated form, which had been mostly human in werewolf shape, save the wolfish head, returned to his regular structure. He pulled his neck away from her mouth. Her fangs dripped blood onto her thighs.
Her new husband pushed her into the pile of pillows jammed against the headboard. Kir slammed the mattress with a fist. “What the—” He slapped a palm over his neck, though she had landed the bite much closer to his shoulder than she’d intended. “You bit me!”
“Yeah? What did you expect? You shagged me in the literal sense, buddy. Shaggy fur and all.”
“We needed to bond. You knew that had to happen. You agreed to it!”
“That I did.”
“But what’s the bite about?” He gestured to her fangs. “You...you...”
His panicked expression was comical, but only until Bea realized he had been blindsided, and she should have waited to answer her hunger until after he was more familiar with her needs.
“I was in the moment.” She retracted her fangs and pushed a long tangle of hair over her shoulder. Dragging a finger through the blood droplet on her thigh, she then licked it clean. Mercy, that tasted incredible. “I needed to feed.”
“Feed?” Kir exhaled. “What the hell are you? Oh.” He fisted the air. “Hell no! You can’t be. No, no, no. Please tell me you are not half vampire.”
She sat up pertly and wiggled her hips, more from fresh nerves than defiance. And, really, sarcasm and snark were her best means of defense. “Did the fangs give me away? You are one perceptive werewolf.”
“Bea? Tell me what the hell I married.”
She definitely did not like his angry voice. But, seriously, what had he expected? It wasn’t as though Malrick was going to hand over a valued full-blooded sidhe daughter for marriage.
“I may be half vampire,” she conceded, unable to meet his accusatory glare. “But I don’t know. I’ve lived on ichor all my life. Ichor is equal to blood in the mortal realm. And my eyes are pink. I know, right? Most sidhe eyes are violet.”
Kir crushed his palms across his forehead and over his skull. “I can’t believe this! Malrick is your— What is your mother?”
Bea shrugged. “Never met her.”
“Didn’t your father tell you who or what your mother was?”
“Daddy dearest? Pfft. He likes to keep secrets. Only, he never lets me forget what a disappointment I am to him. Which is, I suspect, why you got stuck with me. Sent the rotten egg of the bunch off to the mortal realm. Like you said—” she pointed a thumb at herself “—short stick.”
Kir wiped at the bite marks on his neck. “I assumed Malrick would not send a favorite. But a vampire is...”
“Not your first pick for a wife, eh?”
“There’s nothing wrong with vampires, I just... You know werewolves develop a nasty blood hunger from a vampire bite? That is not something I want to happen to me. I pray your vampire taint did not have a chance to enter my bloodstream.”
“Sorry.” Way to make her feel special. Not. “If it makes you feel any better, it’s never been confirmed that my non-sidhe half is vampire. But I have been drinking ichor since I was a teen.”
“Never been confirmed?”
“My father won’t talk about my mother. I guess she was vamp, though, because I have these fun things,” she said as she tapped her fang, and she caught her husband’s wince. “Right. I’m used to that look. Now I’m kind of glad I bit you.”
He gripped her by the upper arm. “You will not do it again. A blood hunger is the worst for a werewolf like me.”
“Then you’d be like me. A disappointment.” Bea tugged from his grip and scooted away from him on the bed.
Yeah, so she’d known this wasn’t going to be a romance-and-roses wedding night. She probably should have asked to bite first. Her bad. She had barely gotten a taste, but the drops she’d licked from her lips were hot and thick and so, so tasty. She’d bite him again in an instant. But she had probably spoiled the chance of that ever happening again.
“Yeah, whatever,” she offered, using dismissal as defense. “No more biting. I’m excited to taste mortal blood anyway, because yours was—”
Bea caught Kir’s openmouthed gape. It was too familiar. And she did know how to protect herself by pulling on the cloak of indifference. “Quit looking at me like that. I’m not the enemy. Or evil. You’re just like everyone else. Hating me because I’m different. A dark one. Something Malrick despises. I—I hate you!”
“I hate you, too,” the wolf muttered.
He sat there, fingering the bite wounds at his neck, wincing and growling. She had barely broken the skin! And Bea couldn’t feel at all ashamed for taking what she’d wanted. He’d taken from her. He’d slammed her up against the headboard and filled her with that hot werewolf hard-on. And she had taken it all because—oh, mercy, it had felt great.
Wasn’t that what a marriage was all about? Give and take?
Very well, so she could feel the tiniest bit of regret at having possibly ignited a blood hunger in her werewolf husband. But really? Did the guy even realize his erection was full mast again? He was so ready for round three, or four, or whatever round came next.
And so was Bea. Because the slight blood scent on him had aroused her to some kind of wanting, needy bit of lust and faery dust.
A glance to the doorway and she did not spy the feet dangling from behind the wall. Their witness had fled, evidence secured. Would he report their wedding-night fight? Did it matter? Malrick hadn’t come to the ceremony. He’d gotten rid of the dark one. The daughter he’d wished had never existed. What did he care what happened to her in this realm?
With this wolf. Who was sending out waves of anger that gushed from his skin and surrounded her like a foul mist. Skin that sparkled with glints of faery dust. Faeries had a tendency to release dust during orgasm. Couldn’t be avoided.
Bea looked over her shoulder at her new husband. Stones, he was gorgeous. The perspiration pearling his glinting skin looked lickable. She didn’t need blood anymore. She just wanted more wolf cock. Inside her. Slower this time. And sans audience.
A teasing desire lowered her voice to a hush. She traced a fingertip along his knee and up his thigh. “Want to have sex again? Promise I won’t bite.”
Kir swiped a hand over his neck and studied the blood. He gritted his jaws and growled. She kissed his shoulder and slid a finger down his hard length. “I’ll let you be on top again. I’m wet for you, wolf.”
With a shake of his head, he answered resoundingly, “Yes.”
* * *
A bird chirped outside the wedding cottage. Either it was too early, or Kir had drunk too much last night. Either way, he’d never felt like growling at a bird until now.
It was the mead. Had to be.
He strode about the cottage, picking up his clothes from the cushy moss floor. The leather pants were still clean. Good enough for work, so he pulled them on. Outside the tree-trunk-walled room, the only living beings were the birds and squirrels. The wedding guests had left throughout the night, finally giving them peace. He’d seen the red-capped brownie who had been in the alcove by the door scamper out, as well.
The humiliation at having been watched while having sex was a new one. But it wasn’t as though hundreds of sidhe and wolves from his pack hadn’t been outside and within hearing distance. The music and revelry had been loud. But when he’d howled during orgasm?
Don’t think about it, man.
Well, hell, he’d not thought about it while in the moment. So maybe he wasn’t feeling as humiliated as he could.
He retrieved his shirt from the moss, and when he stood and accidentally elbowed one of the braided tree branch bedposts, the faery on the bed turned over and stretched out an arm. Her breasts were pert and hard, and sunlight sheened across her pale belly. On the top of her feet the skin was decorated with fancy violet swirls, similar to the bond mark on the back of his hand yet much more elaborate. Everywhere she...glinted.
“Faery dust,” he muttered, and swiped a palm over his forearm, which also glinted faintly. The stuff was fine and not easy to wipe off his skin.
He didn’t want to wake her. He didn’t know how to do the morning thing. Were they supposed to do a morning thing? Generally on dates, if he ended up in the woman’s bed, he slipped out early or else offered to take her out for breakfast, which she usually refused because the getting-ready part always took so long. He knew the drill.
He rubbed his neck, feeling the faintest abrasion from the bite mark. After what she’d done to him last night, he was ready to toss her out and let her sleep in the backyard shed.
But really? The sex had been great. And he’d had more sex with her after the bite. What kind of crazy was that?
He just wished he’d had some warning before the fangs had come out. So he could have defended himself. He’d married a half vampire? Or so she thought she was half vampire. How insane was it not to know for sure? Well, it was obvious. Fangs and a hunger for blood? Sure, there were other species that boasted fangs—even werewolves had thick, fanged canines—but how many sought blood for pleasure?
And what now? Would he develop a nasty hunger for blood? This was not cool. First thing he would do when he returned to Paris would be to look up a wolf doctor and have himself checked out.
Beatrice blocked the sunlight with her hands. “Ugh! The sun!”
“Does it burn you?” He looked about for a curtain beside the windows, but there wasn’t one. The sunlight beamed through the twisted tree canopy. No way to block out nature. “Are you okay?” He grabbed the tangled sheet but wasn’t able to pull it up to cover her.
“Dude, what’s your deal? The sun is not going to burn me. Just...who wakes up so early? Do humans actually tread the earth this time of day?” She pulled the gossamer sheet up over her face and spread out her arms to each side. Putting up one finger, she noted, “I’m only half vamp. Sunlight doesn’t bother me. I much prefer the moonlight, though.”
He did, too. But thanks again for reminding him that he was now married to someone who could give him a nasty taste for blood. Doctor’s appointment? Coming right up.
“It’s eight o’clock,” he said. “And, yes, the mortal realm is up and at ’em.”
“Eight? Oh!” She buried deeper into the sheets and pulled the pillow over her head. “Wake me after high sun.”
“I take it that’s the faery way of saying noon? I have to head into work and stop by the, er...” She didn’t need to know how freaked he was about developing a blood hunger. “I’ll give you a ride home.”
“Home? I don’t have a home anymore,” she muttered from under the sheet.
“To my house. Er, our house. Can’t stay out here in the middle of the forest forever.”
“In theory, I could,” she said, her voice muffled. “You could leave me in this little cottage and come visit me every once in a while. When you want sex.” She sighed, the sheet billowing above her mouth. “Just so you know, the sex was fantastic.”
“No argument on that one. Next time I hope it’s just the two of us.”
“I can so get behind that one.”
He chuckled at her levity. And, yes, private sex—without the fangs—was something he could look forward to, as well.
“Seriously, Bea, I have to get going. I work six days a week. Today’s no holiday because I got married last night.”
“Yeah, yeah. And as soon as we both step foot outside this place, it’ll cease to exist. So there goes my plans to hole up here all by myself.”
“Really? It’ll disappear?”
“Faery glamour, don’t you know. Is there a change of clothing laid out for me somewhere?”
“There is.” Grabbing a pale green dress laid across the table by the bed, he tossed the garment onto the bed. “Ten minutes. I’m going out to...”
Relieve himself and hope upon hope that his vehicle was still parked nearby and not decorated with shaving cream or crepe streamers.
* * *
An hour later, Kir parked the Lexus—undecorated—in front of his house and led Bea inside. She leaped from the car, not wanting to touch any part of the steel frame, even after he’d suggested that nowadays human-manufactured vehicles were produced with less iron, and none of that was cold iron. Still, she’d been cautious and fearful.
He was already late for work, so he didn’t do the grand tour. He wanted to grab a clean shirt and head out. He needed to get away from Bea and orient himself to what had happened last night. So many things going on in his brain. He had a wife. He’d had sex with a witness watching last night. The sex had been awesome. Until the bite. A bite that he could no longer feel. His skin was healed. Would Jacques notice? Could he get in to see the doc this afternoon?
“You’re on your own today,” he said, striding down the hallway toward the laundry room. “Take a look around the place. I guess it’s your home now, too.”
“Peachy.” She stood in the hallway with arms crossed over the sheer dress that barely hung past her derriere. Barefoot, the markings on her feet drew his eye. “Get a new wife. Toss her in a little box and head back out to your normal life. I get it.”
He was not doing that. Okay, he was, in a manner. He’d have a talk with her later. Didn’t she understand that people needed to work to live and survive in this realm? If she was a faery princess, the concept may be foreign to her.
“I’ll leave my cell number on the kitchen counter if you have any questions. You know what cell phones are?”
“Yes,” she snapped. “It’s those stupid little boxes humans talk into when they don’t want to talk face-to-face. Duh.”
“Or when they can’t be face-to-face but just want to check in on each other.”
“Is there iron in them?”
“I— No. Very little iron, if any, in the house, too.”
“Fine, but rubbing against it burns like a mother.”
Touching iron wouldn’t kill a faery, but it would give them a nasty burn—he knew that much. And frequent contact with iron? Eventually it would bring their death. Kind of like what happened if he came in contact with silver. A nasty burn. And if it entered his bloodstream? Bye-bye, wolf.
“I’ll try to swing by on my afternoon break to see if you need anything,” he said, tugging on a clean shirt and buttoning it up.
“More sleep for me, less wolf. Peaches and cream, buddy. Peaches and cream.”
“Right.” Slapping a hand to his neck, Kir wasn’t so fond of the faery right now, either. Despite the satisfying sex. He headed down the hallway toward the front door. “I’ll see you later.”
“I hate you!” she called out from the kitchen.
“I hate you, too, Short Stick,” he answered.
A smirk lessened any vitriol he felt with that statement. He’d never hated a person in his life. Hate was not good for the soul. But extreme dislike felt damn good when it involved a bloodsucking faery who had no compunctions about taking a bite without asking first.
Chapter 5 (#ulink_e5048f38-2694-51a7-9324-9c75be080557)
The wolf owned a lot of hair products in bottles that listed so many strange ingredients it made Bea’s eyes cross.
“Makes sense,” she said as her eyes wandered over the array of scented shampoos, conditioners, creams, potions and lotions lined up on a glass shelf in the huge walk-in shower. “The guy is a wolf. I wonder if his werewolf ever showers in here?”
She’d initially been shocked after Kir had shifted to werewolf form. Oh, she’d seen werewolves before and had known what they looked like fully shifted, but she’d never stood so close to one before. Or gazed upon his magnificent hard-on. Or, for that matter, touched said hard-on.
Giggling, she flipped on the shower stream, which blasted her from the walls and overhead.
“Yes!” She skipped about within the water, dancing, arms flung out and head back. “It’s like a rain shower. I could so get used to this.”
She unfurled her wings and let the water spill over them, which sent scintillating shivers along the wings and at the muscles and bones where they connected to her spine. She’d worn them out all the time in Faery yet had been warned that in the mortal realm it was not wise, even if she wore glamour.
She’d never been one to follow the rules. Like what was so wrong with biting your new husband if you hungered for a little sip?
Kir had really been angry with her. Justified, coming from a werewolf.
“Too bad,” she sang, opening her mouth to the water stream and spinning. “You’re stuck with me now, wolf. Deal with it!”
Because look at what she had to deal with: hair, hair and more hair. And a tail. And talons that had cut down her thigh when he’d tried to pry her fangs from his neck. She couldn’t blame him for hurting her. It had been a defensive reaction. And the cut had been shallow; it was already healed.
So now she had a shifter husband who— Okay, so he wasn’t ugly in werewolf form, just big and growly and noisy. He was also a bit of a stick-in-the-mud, from what she could divine. Not pleased to be her husband, that was for sure. Something about drawing the short stick.
Yet they had both given their all for the wedding-night sex. Again and again. And while the sex had been great, Bea wondered how long before the luster wore away and she’d be jonesing for a return to Faery. At least there she’d always been able to find a willing bite. And along with that bite had usually been some reasonably satisfying sex.
“Never going to happen.” She switched off the water and shook her wings vigorously. “I’m not going back!”
Because nothing could make her return to Faery, and the tyranny of her father’s reign over her. She was free. As free as she could be considering the mark on the back of her hand that bonded her to a wolf.
And now that she was here, she could begin her mission. To find the mother she had never known.
Jumping out of the shower, she performed a shiver of wings to flick away the wet, sending droplets across the walls and mirror. She twirled and leaned onto the vanity before the mirror. Eyeing the wet faery, she winked at her.
“Aren’t you a sexy chick? You know the wolf wants to eat you up. But he won’t because you’ve got fangs.”
She ran her tongue along one fang that descended to a pointy weapon. In Faery she’d been a pariah. Half-breeds were favored for strengthening and adding genetic powers and attributes to the sidhe lines. But vampires were shunned. Filthy longtooths. They were nothing but scum who liked to feed on faery ichor as their favorite drug. They were disliked almost as much as demons. A half-breed sidhe demon was labeled The Wicked and was the lowest of the low. So she did have that going for her.
“Not quite the dregs of the barrel, are you, Bea?”
She decided her father had had the affair with her mother for the reason she must have been forbidden fruit. Something lesser than Malrick. Dark and forbidden. He’d wanted to try her out. And he’d never let Bea forget that.
But in the mortal realm vampires must hold a certain status. Bea hoped so. Because she was done with the shame and ostracism. She wanted to shine, to grow and finally become the fierce woman with wings and fangs that had been stifled in Faery.
“So long as the hubby doesn’t get in my way, I’ll be golden.”
Winking at her reflection, she rummaged through the vanity drawer and found Kir’s comb. She hadn’t been allowed to bring any of her things to this realm. The comb was not like the crystal prize she’d once owned, but it smelled like him. Woodsy and wild. It would serve until she could go shopping. But to do that she needed mortal money. Of which, she hoped the hubby had a lot.
Her übersexy hubby who really knew how to get right to the point concerning orgasms.
“I hate him so much I can’t wait until he gets home.”
Tossing the comb onto the vanity and skipping down the stairs, she decided to explore, as Kir had suggested. It felt great to walk around skyclad, wings unfurled. She didn’t mind the narrow hallway that bent back her wings as she strode into the kitchen.
The note on the counter detailed a phone number and was signed “Kir.”
“Like he thinks I won’t guess who the note was from? Silly wolf.” Though she traced a finger over the name and lifted the paper to give it a quick kiss. “My hubby.”
Tiptoeing about the vast stone-tiled kitchen, she ran her fingers over the granite countertop, not sensing the energy that she normally felt from stones. But the fieldstones paving the kitchen floor were alive, which lightened her steps as she spun and traced her fingers across the glossy stovetop and the sink. No iron here!
At the icebox, she flung open the door and peered inside. Lots of clear plastic bottles holding energy drinks in various pale colors. Fruits and vegetables. “Go, wolf.” And meat. Sliced, chopped, chunked, shredded and cut. “Blech. My hubby likes to eat things that once had a heartbeat. Bad wolf.” She’d married a carnivore. That would be a new one to deal with.
On the other hand, she couldn’t claim complete vegetarianism. Now that she was in the mortal realm, she’d get the opportunity to feast on mortal blood. And that had a heartbeat. Getting a sip of wolf last night had been like popping her red-blood cherry. Blessed be, he’d tasted good.
And she wanted more.
Plucking out a vine of green grapes, Bea danced through the kitchen and into the next room, which was a cozy living area walled on two sides with books and carpeted in what looked like ancient tapestry. Deeply varnished wood and curvaceous carvings gave the room a medieval appeal. It felt solid and earthy.
“Just like my wolf.”
Sitting on the back of the big leather couch, she tilted back her head and nibbled the grapes from the vine. Toppling, she laughed as her feet went over her head and she tumbled off the sofa and onto the floor. She upset the books stacked on the coffee table, and one landed on a wing.
“Ouch.” She pulled up the heavy book and read the title, Exotic Fantasy Figures.
Inside were gorgeous colored plates featuring fantastical creatures that she felt sure did not exist in the mortal realm or Faery. Though a few depictions were close to some of the sidhe she’d known. The text said they’d been created using a computer. She wasn’t familiar with mortal technology but had learned about computers during her mortal realm lessons. The devices were carriers of information.
She needed to get her fingers all over one of those computers if she was going to track down her mother.
Flinging aside the book to land splayed open, she sprang up and skipped to the floor-to-ceiling window and pressed her nose to the glass. Outside lay a small yard with browning grass and some pitiful flowers.
Bea’s smile wilted. “Poor grass. I’ll have to give you some tender loving care.”
A shed stood at what she guessed was the back of Kir’s property.
“Doesn’t own much land. Hmm...let’s hope that means he put all his money in gold, because this girl needs to do some shopping.”
Popping another grape into her mouth, she twirled and flung out her arms, delighting in the warm sun that shone through the window. She only stopped her dance when she felt the odd sensation that she was not alone.
Standing in the archway between living room and kitchen was her new husband, his mouth hanging open and hands to his hips.
* * *
“What?” Bea pulled a wingtip forward and preened it over her shoulder. “Close your mouth, big boy. You act like you’ve never seen a naked faery before.”
Kir’s astonishment dropped and his eyes crinkled. The man’s gentle laughter scurried over her naked skin like warm summer rain. And she did love to dance in the rain.
“I have some work in the area, so I stopped in to see if you’re doing okay. I guess you are.”
“Peachy! Your shower rocks!”
“It does.” He walked in and picked up the book she’d tossed on the floor, carefully placing it back on the table. “Let me guess. You need clothes.”
“Why?” She propped her hands akimbo. “You got a problem with naked faeries?”
“Uh. No. I don’t think I do.”
His eyes took her in from feet to knees to loins, and up where he lingered at her breasts. Bea felt his desire follow that warm rain like delicious sun. Mmm, come here, hungry wolf.
“But all creatures wear clothing in the mortal realm,” he said. “So. You need clothes.”
“And combs and jewelry, shoes and purses. Makeup. Perfumes. All that girl stuff. And to get that I’m going to need some mortal cash. Please tell me you have bajillions of the stuff.”
“Bajillions?” Another soft chuckle. “Sorry to disappoint.”
Bea’s shoulders sank, as did her wings.
“But I am comfortable, as they say. You won’t starve or be forced to live in a cardboard box anytime soon. I promise.”
A cardboard box? Did mortals do that? Bea shivered. She’d once had an aunt who would curl up to live in a crustacean shell. Ugh.
“What’s your job?” she asked. “Brit said something about you being an enforcer. Is that like a wolf cop?”
“In essence. Our pack polices the werewolf packs in Paris. Keeps an eye on them. Investigates the blood games and tries to ensure that no wolf makes the front page of Le Monde. That’s the local world newspaper.”
“Cool. So when do you have to guard the portal to Faery?”
“Not sure. Etienne, my pack principal, suggested I probably would not, since I’ve already gotten—”
“The short stick. I remember. You’ve sacrificed so much for your pack. Taking on a wife who is actually interested in having sex with you whenever you desire? Whew! That is so tough. I shed tears of pity for you, wolf.”
“Whenever I desire?” The wolf’s eyes twinkled. Actually twinkled.
“Pretty much.” She fluttered her wings.
“I thought you hated me.”
“Oh, I do.” She crossed her arms and tucked her wings down tightly, a forced show of dislike. Her new hubby’s chuckle made it difficult to keep her nose up and her back straight. So she put her wings away. “Wings are too much for you to handle.”
“I bet they are. I can take you shopping later,” he said. “Uh, you might need to wear something of mine, though.”
“I do have my wedding dress.”
“Which was so sheer every wolf in my pack blushed.”
“Not cool for shopping?”
He shook his head. “Paris may be avant-garde when it comes to fashion, but I don’t think it’s quite ready for a half-naked faery. Look through my closet and see what you can find.”
“You are twice as big as me. You’re troll size. Dwarf troll, at least. And I’m not keen on working the leather. You know an animal used to wear those pants before you decided to tug them on? But I’ll see what I can do. So, you got time for a quickie before you go back to work?”
He quirked a brow. “I thought you hated me.”
“Oh, I do. But I like this.” She danced up to him and drew her fingers down his chest and tapped his cock through the leather pants. “You saying you don’t like this?” Flinging her hair with a tilt of her head, she thrust back her shoulders, proudly displaying her breasts.
The wolf lunged and encircled her in his arms, his mouth landing on her nipple. Bea squealed in delight as he lifted her and laid her on the couch. “I have time,” he said.
* * *
Jacques always rode shotgun and, yet, mastered the radio when they were out on a job. He’d flicked the radio to a rap station, so Kir had turned the volume down. They compromised like a married couple.
Is that what marriage was about? Compromise? Seemed to Kir he and Bea got along just fine. When naked together. An afternoon quickie had put him in a great mood. Even if work was intense.
He’d heard about a pack in a northern banlieue, a city suburb, that was into something weird, and vampires were dying in stranger ways than the usual starvation, death by blood loss, or fighting to the death that some packs had a tendency to inflict upon them. They’d received a frantic phone call from a vampiress who was not in a tribe. Her boyfriend had escaped imprisonment from a pack and now lay on her floor, puking up black blood.
They arrived at the address in record time. Kir shifted the vehicle into Park and looked to Jacques, who smirked and stared at his hair. “What?”
“My man, you sparkle.”
“I— What?”
Jacques couldn’t hide his goofy grin. “So I guess it’s true what they say about faeries when they come, eh?”
What the hell did they say about faeries coming? And who were they?
Bea had come quickly this afternoon on the couch—ah. Kir glanced in the rearview mirror. Sunlight glinted in his hair. He slapped at the faery dust. “It’s all over me.”
“It has been since you came in this morning, but it looks like more since that quick stop at home.” Jacques’s laugh thundered inside the car.
The stuff was hard to get off, and he had some smeared above his temple. Still, he didn’t regret the quickie. Though he wasn’t going to allow Jacques one more moment of mirth.
He slammed his hand up under his friend’s jaw and silenced his laughter. “One more chuckle and you’ll be chewing spine.”
Jacques put up his hands in defeat and Kir dropped him immediately. It was an empty threat. They both knew the other would never hold good on a promise to violence, teasing or otherwise.
“Is it that noticeable? Maybe I shouldn’t go inside.”
“You got most of it off. Call it a night at the club. Let’s go in and check this out. Vamp shields up?”
“Activated,” Kir replied. Since childhood the two of them had shared an aversion to vampires and had playfully pulled an invisible shield of protection over themselves when they’d play vampires and werewolves.
If only he could do as much with his wife.
A wolf should be more upset about being married to a vampire—even if she was only half. But did a wolf who hated vampires have sex with one three times within a twenty-four-hour period? Something wrong with that.
And, yet, something so not wrong with sliding inside Bea and losing himself against her soft, petite body, drawing in her sweet perfume, drowsing him into some kind of all right.
“You coming?”
Jacques had started up the front walk while Kir was still contemplating running home for another round with his half-breed, pretty-smelling wife. But he couldn’t afford to let his thoughts stray in a vampire’s house, he thought, and followed Jacques inside. Vamp shields up, indeed. It wasn’t possible for a werewolf to do that—put up some kind of magical protection shield—but just thinking that he could bolstered his confidence. He knew to avoid the fangs, and the cross on the stake he’d stuck in his back pocket gave him reassurance.
A male vampire, probably late twenties, lay on the kitchen floor in a pool of black liquid. It looked like blood, but Kir couldn’t be sure what it was. Vampires bled red blood. Demons, and a handful of other species, bled black. And the victim’s girlfriend, who was sprawled beside his body, insisted he was all vamp, formerly a mortal who had been attacked and turned only a year ago by a tribe of vampires that had then abandoned him.
“Is he going to live?” the blonde with a skimpy top that emphasized her narrow waistline asked. Her red-painted fingernails were stained with the black substance that seeped from her boyfriend’s mouth.
Kir looked to Jacques. His friend’s brow lifted. Both knew the answer. And was the vampiress blind? Her boyfriend was literally skin and bones, starved to the marrow. They could see his veins, and those veins were not plump with blood. And what was he coughing up in thick black globs?
“You got a stake?” Jacques muttered.
“Of course.”
“What?” the girlfriend shrieked. “I trusted you guys!”
Kir grabbed the woman by the arms, trying to settle her. “Your boyfriend is not going to survive. He’s in great pain. The stake will be a kindness. Can you understand?”
Eyes frantic and filled with tears, her lips tightened and she winced. She collapsed against his chest, her breaths heaving out. Her fingernails dug into his arms, but she wasn’t trying to hurt him. She was trying to accept.
Kir couldn’t relate to such a painful loss. And then he could. His father had left him and his sister when they were little. He could never fill that hole left behind in his soul.
Just when he reached to put a comforting hand on the woman’s shoulder, she stood up and whispered, “I’ll get something.” When she returned to the room, she handed a stake to Kir. It had a pair of initials carved on it. “It was a backup in case either of us wanted to jump ship. He didn’t ask for vampirism. He wanted the stake months ago, but I begged him to stay alive for me.”
The vampire on the floor whispered, “I love you,” to the vampiress. And then he said, “Get them. The...the...”
Kir and Jacques both bent close, hoping the vampire would give them a clue that would lead to the pack that had kidnapped him.
“The what? Who?” Jacques urged. “Can you tell me what pack did this to you?”
“The...denizen...” The vampire’s body stiffened, his muscles tightening and his jaw snapping shut.
“The denizen?” Jacques looked to Kir.
Denizen was a term for a group or gathering of demons. The very idea of demons being involved caused Kir’s jaw to tense. The last breed he wanted to deal with was demons.
The girlfriend grabbed the stake from Kir’s hand. Before he could take it from her to perform the offensive task, she lunged over her boyfriend and staked him in the heart. Jacques grabbed for her, but it was too late. They’d get nothing more from the pile of ash.
While the girlfriend wept over the ash, Jacques and Kir stepped outside the house. “Demons?” Kir asked. “So, this isn’t werewolves?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, if it’s not, it’s not our problem.”
“Right.” Kir clenched and unclenched his fists. “Let’s give her a minute, then see if she’ll let us search his things for clues.”
The wolves waited out on the front step until the sobbing settled. A half hour later, quietly and respectfully, they went through the house but found nothing of use for the investigation.
“You have a safe place to go for a while?” Kir asked the vampiress.
“You think they’ll come after me? The pack?”
“Not sure. Why do you think he was taken by a pack? He said something about a denizen. That’s demons.”
She shrugged. “He’d mentioned something about a wolf following him a few days before he disappeared. I assumed.”
“Usually the packs grab a vamp off the street. I don’t know what the hell your boyfriend was coughing up. Or what a wolf could have done to him to make that happen.”
She nodded. “I have a friend who will let me stay with her. Thank you.”
“You shouldn’t thank us for what happened here.”
Her eyes wandered to the stake sitting on the pile of ash. “I couldn’t have done it alone. I wish he could have been more help to you.”
“We’ll find the pack or denizen responsible for his death. I promise you that.”
Leaving her at the door, Kir joined Jacques in the car.
“Let’s hope it is demons,” Jacques said. “We have enough on our plate already.”
“I promised her we’d help her. No matter what.”
“Ah, man.”
“She’s a woman. Alone. Who lost her boyfriend.”
“She’s also a vamp, and it’s not clear wolves were responsible for that vamp’s death.”
“I’m won’t let her down.”
Jacques sighed and shifted into gear. “You and your damned sense of honor.”
Damned or not, if it wasn’t a pack, and they weren’t required to bother with this crime, Kir wanted to stand true to his word. Because he couldn’t stand back and allow anyone, even a vamp, to die for reasons unknown.
Chapter 6 (#ulink_8ca32244-509f-531b-8020-58d8667fa4db)
The faery had never been shopping before. Bea had told Kir that in Faery she could pull on a glamour to change her clothing and look, but since arriving in the mortal realm her glamour was weak and it was a no-go for clothing changes. So when she strode into the high-end clothing shop on the rue Royale, her squeal might have been heard by dogs.
As well as by wolves.
And Kir liked the sound of her joy. It went a long way in erasing the lump that sat in the pit of his stomach after the call to the vampiress’s house this afternoon. He never liked to destroy another living being or witness it. Since he wasn’t able to get in to see the doctor he’d contacted until tomorrow morning, he decided putting some clothes on his wife would relax him after a long workday.
A salesgirl with brilliant red lips to match her nails led Kir and Bea into the back area of the shop that was more private than the sales floor. He sat on the designated “boyfriend couch,” which was shaped like a huge pair of red lips, sipping champagne and refusing the chocolates offered by the cooing salesgirls while he waited for his wife to slip into the first outfit the staff deemed fitting for her.
The dressing room door opened and out wobbled a faery in a white sheath that hugged her petite figure yet went all the way up to her neck. Pink high heels, higher than the Eiffel Tower, hampered her walk as she clung to the wall and tried to stand upright and maintain a modicum of dignity.
“High heels are new to me,” she said. “Who’d have thought, eh? So is lace. There’s so...much of it. I don’t think white is my color.”
“Nope,” Kir said.
Bea’s lips dropped into a sad moue.
“I won’t lie,” he offered. “It’s too much,” he said to the saleswoman. “She’s brighter and more fun. And sexy.”
“And maybe not so tall?” Bea said as she wobbled behind the saleswoman back into the fitting room.
The next outfit was introduced with a jump as Bea landed expertly on heels half as high as the previous ones. She wore black suede thigh-high boots that were laced with white ribbons from thigh to ankle. The skimpy black dress was cut out at the torso to reveal both hips, and the neckline exposed her breasts nearly to the nipples.
“Now, this is me,” she said, sashaying before Kir. She bent over and flashed him a view up under her skirt. Hot-pink panties. “You like?”
Kir croaked, then he checked himself and sat up straighter, catching the saleswoman’s knowing smirk. “Uh-huh, that one’s good. Shows off your...fun. Right, your fun stuff.” He cleared his throat. “But you need more than one outfit. You can’t wear that all the time.”
“I’ll mostly be wearing nothing around the house, but if you insist...” Bea twirled into the dressing room and called for more, more and more.
Wearing nothing at all around the house? Kir could handle that. He’d probably have to put up curtains, though, since the neighbors’ yards hugged his closely. He didn’t want to risk anyone catching a glimpse of his naked and winged wife. He worked hard to maintain his secrecy among the humans. If they were to learn his true nature, it could affect not only him but the whole pack.
But he suspected Bea was going to be one hot little number to keep under control. Yet, if he could appease her with clothing and jewelry, he didn’t mind doing so. The joy and the utter delight she displayed at receiving such things went a long way toward securing his comfort with her.
Maybe this marriage thing wouldn’t be so awful. His new wife appealed to his lust. He wouldn’t mind having sex with her daily, if she was on board with that. The fangs were an issue, but he’d keep her in line. And he didn’t feel a hunger for blood, so he was crossing his fingers the doctor said he was in the clear. And she was self-sufficient, taking care of herself while he worked. So far, this marriage was a win-win situation.
Next up: a pink dress. It was made out of high-gloss latex that hugged her body and pushed up her small breasts nicely. Black thigh-high stockings that sported matching pink bows at the tops ended in pink heels as glossy as the dress. Kir gave the look two thumbs-up.
A punky black number with a big white cross slashed across the shirt that stopped just below her breasts was paired with tight red jeans that sported black zippers down the sides. Black sandals that exposed her delicately marked feet? Yes, please.
Bea danced out of the dressing room wearing a long sheer black dress that had patches of flowers embroidered here and there. The embroidery covered nipples and her crotch—and nothing else. She wore a black fedora pulled down over her eyes. Her hips shimmied seductively, having mastered control of the high, black heels. He could see almost everything beneath the dress, and what he couldn’t see he could imagine running his tongue over and tasting until she came in shouts of pleasure.
And faery dust. He absently brushed his fingers over a temple.
“My favorite,” he offered, setting the champagne goblet aside and focusing on the sashaying faery.
“You want me, werewolf?” she teased, dashing out her tongue and tipping up the brim of the hat with one finger. A nod of her head toward the dressing room spoke louder than any audible invite. “I sent the sales chick away for a bit.”
Kir lifted a brow. Here in the store? He had no argument with that; nor did his erection, which had sat up to take notice.
Standing, he tossed Bea over his shoulder and strode into the dressing room, closing the door behind them. The floor was scattered with dresses and various pieces of colorful clothing. Shoes toppled here and there. He stepped on a long heel and wobbled but landed an arm against the wall, pinning Bea’s back against the floor-to-ceiling mirror.
Pink eyes danced with his. He could feel her smile moving over his skin and teasing at his desires. He shimmied the long skirt up around her thighs as he dived against her neck to kiss up under her chin. She smelled like the perfume she’d been doused with upon entering the store. Chemical but a little spicy. He preferred her natural candy scent.
Grinding his hips against her mons, he milked a wanting moan from her. Her fingernails dug in at his shoulders. Yeah, he liked it rough. Kir growled and bit at the fabric over her breast. No time for complete undressing. He wanted inside Bea now.
Fortunately, the pink panties were history. With a flick of her fingers, she unbuttoned his leather pants and drew down the zip. He shuffled them down to his knees. Bea wrapped her legs about his hips and coaxed him closer.
As he glided inside of her, his wife said, “Oh, yeah, that’s the sweet spot, big boy. You’re so thick. You really want this, don’t you? Yes!”
He pumped inside her twice before he came in a shuddering, thundering orgasm. But he never forgot about the woman. Thumbing her clit as he came gave her a rousing cry of release only moments after his.
“I love shopping,” Bea said as she wilted against his chest, panting.
“Hell of a lot more interesting than I’d expected it to be.” Who the hell cared that Bea had been loud and the whole store might have heard?
“Whew! We’re going to have to buy this dress now that it’s gotten a workout.”
“I have no problem with that at all. You think you got enough for a while?”
“Enough? Hardly...” She glided her hand down to her breasts and fluttered her lashes at him. “Oh! You mean clothes, not sex. I’m good. But let’s hit the jewelry store next. I need some sparkly things.”
Kir laughed against her hair as he felt his erection soften while still sheathed within her. She was already at the next store, and he was just getting his breath back. The woman liked sex. But maybe it was like candy to her. She wanted more and more and could eat it or not, but never refused a treat if offered.
Pulling out and zipping up, he stepped back as she tugged down the dress skirt and sorted through the shoes on the floor. He ran his fingers through her hair lightly; she didn’t notice the touch.
“You know what you want?” he asked.
She popped upright, her pink eyes flashing on him like some kind of Christmas lights inviting him closer for a present.
“I mean with the clothes,” he said. Stroking a hand down his chest, he took some pride in the fact that she wanted him. But upon inspecting his hand, he noted the faery dust.
“Everything,” she said, nodding, hands on her hips. “Absolutely everything.”
* * *
Bea sat on the king-size bed surrounded by clothing, jewels and shoes. She’d never thought personal items could mean so much, but these frilled, glossy and sparkling bits of pretty were all hers. No one could take them away.
She pulled the T-shirt with the rhinestone skull emblazoned on the front over her head. Who would have thought mortal fabrics could feel so sensual against the skin? The pink panties with the bright purple bows at each hip were more decorative than to actually cover anything. Didn’t matter. She wore them because they were pretty. And the blue high heels with the red soles were her favorite.
Or maybe the chrome heels with the spikes on the toes.
No. She grabbed the green sandals with the gossamer laces that wrapped up her ankle and put on one of those. Kicking out her feet, one still wearing the blue shoe, the other in the lace-up sandal, she squealed.
“I take it you are pleased,” Kir said as he landed on the top of the stairs that opened into the attic bedroom. He strode over. “I ordered in some food. I’m starving.”
“Me, too. And, yes, I am pleased with all my goodies. You like?”
“The whole look?” His eyes danced over her attire: skull shirt, pink panties and mismatched shoes. “I don’t think you should be caught on the streets in that getup, but it works for me.”
“I bet I know which part of this outfit you like the best.” Bea rolled onto her palms and knees and wiggled her derriere at him.
The wolf lost his footing against the mirror and had to catch himself in an awkward save.
“I don’t understand why mortals like to wear a string between their butt cheeks, though. It’s uncomfortable.” She tugged off the panties and flung them toward Kir.
He caught them and crushed the pink fabric in a fist. “So, that’s what it takes to make you happy? Pretty shoes and sparkling jewels?”
She dangled a fine silver chain before her, deciding she could weave that into her hair later. “Mostly. Though I have to be careful with mortal metals like this. Can’t wear it for too long without getting a rash.”
“You’re easy.” He crossed his arms and brought the panties to his nose. “Mmm...”
“I know what it takes to make my wolfie husband happy, too.”
He looked at the panties, as if realizing what he’d been doing, then shoved them in his pants pocket. “There is that. But isn’t there anything else?”
“What do you mean?”
“Like something you want to do. To aspire to? What would make you happy beyond the material things?”
“Wow. Heavy conversation much?”
He shrugged and sat on the corner of the bed and toyed with a tuft of purple fringe on one of the dresses. “I have my work, and that, to me, is satisfying. You’re new to the mortal realm and have much to learn and discover, but I have to wonder if there wasn’t something you used to do in Faery, or dream about, that you still aspire to?”
“Huh.” Leaning forward to toy with the glossy leather toe of the blue shoe, Bea mulled over how keen the wolf was to learn about her. And here she’d thought him only capable of sex and howling. Not that either were offensive...
Could she tell him? She didn’t trust him yet. They’d known each other only a few days. But he was her one friend here in this strange and wondrous realm. And he was much nicer than she’d initially thought him to be—though, in principle, she still hated him. “I do aspire to something.”
“Great. Tell me?”
“You first. Tell me about this job of yours.”
“What do you want to know?”
“What do you do? I mean, I always thought wolves ran in packs and that was their family, and...well, what else is there to do?”
“In the mortal realm we need to hold jobs to make money so we can survive.”
“Sounds tedious.”
“I suppose being royalty you’re not familiar with the concept of work.”
“Nope. Should I be?”
He chuckled and that sexy crinkle at the corner of his eyes drew Bea’s attention like an arrow to a target. She’d kiss him there if he were a little closer.
“You don’t have to work, Bea. I’ll take care of you. That was an implied promise I made with our marriage vows.” He studied his hand, the one with the bonding mark that faintly showed against his lightly tanned skin. “Pack Valoir was chosen by the Council to be enforcers a couple years ago. The Council is a sort of governing body made up from all paranormal breeds. So my job description is an enforcer.”
“So that’s what, like, wolf cops?”
“Sort of. Like I said before, we police the packs in Paris and the surrounding area. Mainly we focus on controlling the blood games, trying to keep them minimal. I’d love to stop them completely, but that’ll never happen.”
“Is that where the wolves pit vampires against one another to the death?” she asked eagerly.
“Yes.” He narrowed a brow on her. “I’m sensing far too much curiosity in your tone. Don’t tell me you’d actually watch such a match.”
“Uh...” Apparently, a bloody good match did not appeal to her new husband. It had been a great way to pass the time in Faery, watching the trolls beat the rock-shifters to a dusty pulp. “No. ’Course not.”
She’d best not tell him about the kelpie matches that had entertained the court on many occasions. She had made a pretty mint betting on those fights. She did have her talents.
“Bloody fights? Ugh.” She screwed her mouth into a distasteful moue. “That’s nasty stuff.”
“It is. As well, we keep an eye on all irregular activity among the local packs. I’ve a new case that landed on my desk. It’s a strange one. Vamps who have escaped from the packs’ clutches are dying. In strange ways. Lots of investigating in the coming days, I’m sure.”
“Sounds boring. Except the part where you might have to break up a fight.”
“Admit it. You love a good fight.”
“For the right reasons.”
“When is fighting ever for a good reason?”
“When it’s to protect yourself from the stupidity of others,” she said without thinking. “Just because a person is different doesn’t mean it’s okay to beat on them.”
Kir tilted such a concerned gaze on her that Bea had to think about what she’d just said. Oops. That had revealed a little more than she’d intended. She didn’t trust him that much. Time to redirect this conversation.
“So let me guess, you must have some kind of record book on all the wolves, eh? A means to find out information about them?”
“We do, but it’s not a book. Our files are digital. The database is vast and covers other species, as well. We recently managed to tap into the Order of the Stake’s computer database and downloaded their files before they could put up a firewall.”
“Everything you said sounded like gobbledygook to me. And I tend to like gobbledygook. So long as it’s warm.”
Kir stood and paced to the triangular window sized as large as the wall that looked out over the front yard and the street below.
“Let’s just say we can look up info on pretty much any paranormal species within Europe and the outlying countries. Comes in handy when we need to crack a case.”
“So, do you list faeries in that database?”
“No.” He returned to the bed and sat beside her. Brushing the hair from her face, he lingered with the tip of his finger on her ear-point. “Your realm is like another planet to us who live in the mortal realm.”
“Yeah, well, this realm is more than kooky. I mean, mortals walk around with dogs on leashes. How cruel is that? And cars.” She shuddered. “So much iron.”
“Why all the questions about the database?”
“I, uh...” She toyed with the green sandal strap.
Dare she tell him? If she didn’t, she had no clue where to begin her search in this big, vast city. A city that may not even be the correct starting place for her search. How to know where to begin?
Going up on her knees before him, Bea trailed her fingers down the front of his leather vest, landing at his hip, where a tuft of her pink panty stuck out from the pants pocket. “There is something I want, beyond all these pretty material things you’ve given me.”
“Tell me. I’d like to know what would make you happy.”
She believed that he did, too. The wolf was kind. He had valiantly accepted the challenge his pack had asked of him because to refuse would go against some kind of honorable code he obeyed. At least, that’s how she dreamed he was. This knight’s armor was fashioned from leather and truth.
“Bea?”
“It’s something I’ve wanted since I was a child and I used to sit in the shadows watching my half sisters and brothers play. They’d always exclude me because Malrick made it known how unfavorable I was. The dark one.”
He stroked her hair, and she flinched at the soft touch. She hadn’t expected such tenderness from a growly wolf. And when her teardrop landed on his wrist, she quickly swiped it away and turned her shoulder to him, coiling forward as she sniffed back more tears.
What was this? She didn’t cry. She was too tough for that. Her skin had hardened to armor over the years of neglect and abuse. Where had she put her blade? Stones, but she had lost track of it!
Kir embraced her, and he tugged her against his chest even as she tried to pull away to escape the unwanted kindness. She wasn’t deserving. She was the dark one. The one no one wanted to touch.
And then something inside her cracked open and reached out for the touch. For a moment of understanding. She sank into Kir’s arms and he cradled her to his warm chest, his heartbeats lulling her, urging her to curl up against him and tuck her head beneath his chin.
“All I want,” she whispered, “is to find my mother.”
Chapter 7 (#ulink_a2082bde-ed1e-5946-bfda-d9677ab5f17d)
Dinner arrived via delivery and Kir set out the plates and poured red wine while Bea pulled herself together upstairs. He’d held her weeping and shivering in his arms. Never had a woman opened herself up to him like that. It had felt fragile to him, a moment he’d best handle carefully and with a reverence, given the faery’s tears. He felt honored she’d shared that with him.
But how to help her find her mother? Bea had no clue who the woman was. Malrick had never given her a species, so she literally had nothing to go on. She wasn’t positive her other half was vampire. And the database the enforcement team kept wasn’t so precise a guy could type in a random faery name such as Bea’s and get anything beyond a blinking cursor.
And really? If any in the pack knew he was allocating precious work time to help his wife track a suspected vampire, they’d have harsh words for him, for sure.
Yet he was compelled to do what he could. He preferred Bea giggling and fluttering about—even naked, if she chose—so he’d see what he could do.
Thinking about fluttering... A lithe faery skipped down the stairs and landed on the parquet floor with a barefoot bounce. Sashaying into the kitchen, her wings fluttered behind her bare shoulders. And bare body.
Kir’s eyes took in skin and softness and nipples and, oh...that sweet vee between her legs. “Uh...usually dinner is eaten clothed.”
Why had he said that? He had to get his head around the notion that the woman preferred skyclad. And, as a man, he was all for the blatant tease. But he did need a few safe respites from the kick in his libido. Like eating. Mealtime should be clothed. Maybe?
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Michele Hauf
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современные любовные романы
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
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О книге: Love against all odds… Kirnan Savauterre’s loyalty to his werewolf pack is absolute – which is the only reason he agrees to an arranged marriage. He didn’t expect his bride to be an utterly enticing mystery. Beatrice is half-faery, maybe a little bit vampire, and altogether delightful. But a relationship that began as a political alliance is soon threatened by discord between the Unseelie court and the werewolves of Paris. And Kir’s investigation into Bea’s lineage reveals disturbing truths. Their love is strong – but so are the forces arrayed against them…