Enchanted By The Wolf. Michele Hauf
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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