Читать книгу Enchanted By The Wolf - Michele Hauf - Страница 9

Chapter 3

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.