Wolf's Choice

by Carina Wilder

  “We are going to get married,” he told her in a whisper. “Soon.”

  “What?” Clarissa shrieked, throwing her arms around his neck and squeezing so hard that he let out a comical gurgling sound. “Oh my God! That’s amazing. I’m so excited.” She pulled back to look at him, but by now his eyes had darkened a little. “I thought you were such a shit head,” she said, “but you were so good-looking in that bar—like, I thought you were going to rip Ari’s clothes off and jam your dick inshide…I mean inside…her right there…” She made an astonishingly rude gesture, ramming one fist into her other hand. “I totally thought you two were made for eash other…” She started to stumble again, and this time Tristan caught hold of her. “She loves you so mush.”

  “I know,” said Tristan, shooting me a glance. “I’ve never doubted how much she loves me.”

  I glared at him playfully. We both knew perfectly well that he’d once doubted it.

  “Okay, maybe for a minute,” he chuckled. “But I got over it pretty fast.”

  “Good man,” said Clarissa, patting him hard on the shoulder like she’d suddenly turned into a 1940s male aristocrat. “Good man.”

  With those last words, she spun around and charged over to James, who caught her just as she was about to go careening into a punch bowl.

  “So I don’t know about you,” I told Tristan, “but I’m itching to rip this polyester monstrosity off my body.”

  “I’m itching to rip it off you, too,” he said. “Preferably with my teeth.”

  “Saucy,” I told him. “And wholly appropriate.”

  “Let’s get out of here,” he said, grabbing my hand.

  We raced towards the doors, but had only made it halfway when Clarissa’s sister leapt out in front of Tristan. Apparently she was as drunk as her sister, because she grabbed him by the lapel and pulled him close.

  “You’re the most handsome fucking man I’ve ever seen,” she said, like she hadn’t already made that obvious about six hundred times in the last twenty-four hours.

  For a second I thought she was going to lick his face. I balled my hands into fists, wondering for a moment just how strong Kara’s Valkyrie blood had made me. Would I be able to break her cute little nose with one punch?… or would it take two?

  “Come home with me,” she purred into his neck as she nestled her body against his. “I want to lick your special parts.”

  “You know what?” he replied, politely circling her wrists with his fingers and prying her hands loose, shoving her back in as kind of a manner as possible. “I think I’ll say a whole-hearted no to that. I have someone else to go home with, and I have absolutely no intention of ever letting another woman near my special parts.”

  Maria eyed me up and down, a sneer scrunching her features. “Why her? I mean, no offense, Ariana, but you’re not exactly in his league. He deserves someone amazing.”

  Tristan raised an eyebrow and looked at me like he was waiting to see if I’d land a right hook on her jaw.

  “You’re right,” I replied. “He does. I guess that’s why he chose me over the likes of your drunk, garbage-person ass. See you around, booze hound.”

  As Maria stared at me open-mouthed, I grabbed Tristan by the tie and led him along with me towards the door.

  “That was some impressive restraint you showed back there,” my lover said, slipping his hand onto my lower back and pressing his fingertips into me.

  “I wanted to take her head off,” I said, “but hitting a drunk bitch seems a little cruel.”

  “There are other ways of hitting her,” he said with a knowing smile. He made a show of stopping me, pulling me close and kissing me hard and long, his hands pulling my body so tight to his that I could feel his erection swelling against me.

  “Thanks,” I whispered when he’d pulled away.

  “If you really want to thank me, do it with your body in a few minutes,” he said.

  I turned to take a final look at Maria, who was standing some distance away, arms crossed defiantly over her chest. When I shot her a haughty glare, she cupped a hand over her mouth and shot off towards the rest rooms.

  “Poor thing,” I said. “Our love makes her sick.”

  “Funny that,” Tristan replied. “It makes me very, very healthy. Though I think you might be craving a dose right about now. If you don’t let me administer my nightly injection soon, you might fade away.”

  With a laugh, I raced towards the door. “Let’s get that needle in me stat,” I said as I pushed it open.

  Chapter 9

  We flew home the morning after the wedding and tucked ourselves comfortably back into our lives in Tristan’s penthouse apartment in Manhattan. I was so ready to begin planning our quiet Louisiana wedding.

  We’d decided on the flight home that we were going to head to New Orleans in three weeks, a timeline which was his somewhat mysterious suggestion. When I’d asked why we weren’t going sooner, he’d said, “We…can’t.”

  “Why not?” I’d asked. “Can’t you shuffle some business meetings around?”

  “It’s not that,” he’d told me with a shake of his gorgeous head. “It’s that I have a surprise for you…but it’s going to take a few more days to arrive.”

  “You mean to arrive here?”

  “No. Down south.”

  “You know I always like a surprise down south,” I’d said with an arched eyebrow and a suggestive smile.

  After that, I’d let the topic go. His surprises were always amazing, and far be it from me to put a wrench in the works.

  For the next several days, I worked at my theater each day from nine to five. I’d all but forgotten what it felt like to be a regular person with a job; Tristan had spoiled me to the point where I’d grown accustomed to feeling more like pampered royalty. Ever since my lover had offered me the deed to the theater early in our relationship, he and I had pored over architectural designs, plotting our renovations. Already we’d had the backstage area rebuilt, which meant that I had a new office on the second floor, overlooking West 44th Street. The dressing rooms, too, had been spruced up, fitted with new furniture, closets, and mirrors. That change had been Tristan’s request, as he didn’t want me wandering into the space where I’d been attacked several weeks back.

  Now the building felt new again. The only step left was a complete overhaul of the seats and carpeting in the main theater—which was a huge project that would delay our season by over a month.

  Everything about my new office was beautiful—corner floor to ceiling windows, leather furniture, an antique desk hand-picked by Tristan. He knew how I liked old things, and often commented about how he was living evidence of it. Of course the man looked like he was all of thirty-three years old; his shifter blood meant that he hadn’t aged in two hundred years.

  My job had evolved from designing (and occasionally even hand-painting) sets to overseeing the design work for all advertising, the playbills, even contributing occasionally to plans for costumes. We’d already sent out flyers for the upcoming seasons, and cast all the major roles. I loved my job.

  But even more than my work, I loved the moment when the sole of my shoe hit the street outside at the end of a long day, guiding me towards the life I now shared with the man of my dreams.

  Late on Tuesday afternoon, though, it occurred to me that I hadn’t seen Marcus in what felt like weeks. So instead of heading back to Tristan’s place, I popped by my old apartment in hopes that I’d find my housemate there. He was working for Tristan now, but his hours were limited—which was likely a result of the fact that his health had been declining for some time. The last time I’d set eyes on him, he looked like he’d lost about twenty pounds of muscle. His skin had been pallid, his eyes sunken. He and Tristan had each explained to me that it wasn’t an uncommon state for Lessers, those with shifters’ blood who required approval by their leaders before they could find their mate and unleash their inner beasts. But Marcus’ suffering had been drawn out. He’d moved from
one leader to another, and only now was he close to receiving Tristan’s trust, which would ultimately lead to his blessing.

  When I got to Marcus’ building I let myself in through the front door and took the elevator upstairs. Even though I still paid him rent I no longer felt comfortable walking in unannounced, so I knocked instead of barging in.

  When Marcus opened it a few seconds later, I gasped.

  He looked like he’d lost about another fifteen pounds in the couple of weeks since I’d seen him. His cheeks were sunken, his skin clammy, like he was riddled with fever. It was awful seeing him like this; he’d always been such a handsome, strong man. I hated the thought that his body was suffering because Tristan hadn’t given his blessing to move on to his next stage.

  “Oh my God, are you okay?” I asked without even thinking what a rude question it was. I reached a hand out and tried to press it to his forehead, but he jerked backwards, almost as though the thought of my touch repulsed him.

  “Fine,” he said, slipping back inside the apartment. I followed him in, shutting the door behind me. “I’m fine, Ari.” His tone and expression were irritable. Not surprising, given that he looked like death.

  “You don’t look fine. Does Tristan know you’re…?”

  “A mess?” he asked, pressing his hand against the island that separated the small kitchen from the living area. He looked like he might topple over if he didn’t hold onto something. “I don’t know,” he said. “I mean, yeah, I guess he does. He told me he has one final assignment for me before he sets me free, which means he knows I’m pretty desperate to move on.”

  I stared at him in spite of myself. I couldn’t begin to imagine how any man in his state could find a mate. He didn’t only look ill; something in his eyes looked a little…off, like a quiet madness was setting in. I was almost frightened to be in the same room as him.

  “One more assignment? That’s ridiculous,” I said. “I’ll talk to him tonight. He needs to set you free now.”

  “Ari,” Marcus said with a vague twitch of a smile, “it’s okay. He’s doing everything the way he’s supposed to. I get it, you’ve never seen a Lesser in this state, and it’s scary. But trust me, I’m stronger than I look. Besides, this last task of Tristan’s is something I actually want to do.”

  I cocked my head skeptically. “What is it?” I asked, hoping Tristan wasn’t putting one of my best friends in danger. If he was, he’d be hearing from me tonight. I might even withhold sex from him.

  As if.

  Marcus turned away and walked towards the couch, where his laptop was sitting open. When I slipped over behind him I saw that he was clicking on a web page whose heading was “Become An Ordained Minister Online In Three Easy Steps!”

  My mouth dropped open. “Is that…what I think it is?” I asked, my heart jumping for joy in my chest.

  Marcus nodded and turned his head to shoot me a happy smile. “I can now legally marry you two.”

  “Really?” I squealed, wrapping my arms around his neck in spite of the fact that I was slightly worried that I’d break him. “Are you serious? This is amazing!”

  “Tristan thought you might like to have me there when you two tie the knot, and I wasn’t about to say no to that offer. Once it’s done, he’s setting me free. That’s our deal.”

  “That’s so great. I wish we could do it today.” I stared at him, sadness infiltrating my chest again. “I know you say this is normal, but you look so…”

  “Weak. I know. Look, it’s complicated,” he said. “He needs to give me his blessing, present me to the pack he’s chosen for me, and they have to accept me. Once that’s done, I’ll start to get stronger right away.”

  “So it’s the pack that makes you strong?” I asked.

  Marcus nodded. “The wolf who’s dormant inside me needs a home. But my human side needs to prove that I’m worthy of it, and since I indirectly worked for Krane…”

  “Right. You have to work harder to prove yourself. I know.” I laid a hand on his shoulder. “But after you’re accepted into a pack, then…”

  Marcus’ lips twisted into a smile and he nodded. “Yeah. Then comes the fun part.”

  “Finding your mate,” I said. “You’ll make some woman so happy. I can’t wait to meet her.”

  “Me neither,” he replied with a chuckle. “In the meantime, I’m really glad you’re getting married. I’ve…I’ve only ever wanted your happiness, Ari. I hope you know that.”

  He shot me a look that confused me, as if he was apologizing for something he’d done.

  “I know,” I said. “Of course I do.”

  Marcus had only ever been a loyal friend to me. He’d protected me when a shifter called Craster had barged into our place. He’d looked after me the night of the Midsummer Ball, consoled me when I was crushed. If there was anyone on earth who had nothing to apologize for, it was him. “I know,” I told him with a squeeze of his shoulder. Pushing any and all negative thoughts out of my mind, I raced around the couch and plopped down next to him. “So what do I call you, now that you’re a man of God? Minister Marcus? Father Mark? Oh Holy One?”

  “Your Awesomeness will do, thanks.”

  I punched his shoulder.

  He didn’t break.

  He was going to be just fine.

  Chapter 10

  Tristan and I flew down to New Orleans the day before our wedding. The trip took no time, yet for some reason it seemed to last forever. Kara was co-piloting the plane from her usual seat, which made me feel like everything was right with the world.

  Before the flight I’d tried a few times to get her to tell me what Tristan was up to—what errand he’d sent her on while we were in Chicago, what his top secret surprise was. But like the infuriatingly loyal Valkyrie that she was, she’d refused to say anything. She’d just smiled and said, “You’ll see.”

  I couldn’t help but wonder if it had something to do with what I’d be wearing when we actually got married. I hadn’t bought a gown for the occasion; instead, I’d packed a few perfectly decent dress options that seemed more suitable for an outdoor wedding. Getting married at the Magic Lake—which was really just a small pool of fresh water next to a beautiful waterfall—meant wandering through wet grass and standing on muddy ground, and somehow the thought of a priceless wedding dress made my eye twitch. Tristan may have been a billionaire, but I still couldn’t stomach the idea of burning through cash like it grew on trees.

  Despite the fact that Marcus had assured me he was ready to officiate for us, he wasn’t on our flight. He’d headed down a few days in advance after telling Tristan he wanted to get to know New Orleans a little, and I was happy to hear it. He could probably use a change of scenery. Besides which, he was in the throes of mentally preparing for the change that was about to consume his life, which was cause for celebration. A little vacation would do him some good.

  After an hour in the air, I found myself fidgeting with my engagement ring, my eyes possessed by the sparkling gemstones. The rubies reminded me of Tristan—of his love of all things red. He’d always enjoyed seeing me draped in crimson garments; something about the color aroused him in a way that got me going, too.

  But right now, the shade of the ring’s tiny gemstones was reminding me of the woman he’d once been engaged to. In the painted portrait that was tucked away inside the ancient locket, her hair was flaming red. Fiery and beautiful, just like the woman herself. I couldn’t help but wonder if my fiancé’s attachment to the color had something to do with her.

  For some reason, right now I couldn’t get her out of my mind. I couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that the last time Tristan had planned on getting married, things had gone so horribly wrong for him—and for her.

  Elodie had been pregnant at the time. Her father had sent her off to Europe, where she’d died in childbirth. Tristan had lost the woman he loved and his child, all at once.

  What if it happened again? What if our wedding somehow got derailed?


  Stop it. History won’t repeat itself, I told myself. Besides, you’re not pregnant. Stop imagining worst case scenarios.

  “You nervous?” Tristan asked, and I realized his eyes were fixed on me, and probably had been for some time. I was chewing my lip, my fingers obsessively pulling the ring up the length of my finger and pushing it back down again.

  “Nervous? No. Yes…No.” I looked over at him, grateful to have my attention drawn away from my inner paranoia. “Yes, I guess I am.”

  He was dressed in low-riding jeans and an old, thinned out gray t-shirt. It was my favorite look on the man who so often wore tailored Italian suits, though I loved those, too. Whatever he put on his body, my fiancé always managed to look sexy. He knew how to dress to bring out the best in his perfect body—his powerful chest, those strong, chiseled arms that made me feel so safe when they were wrapped around me. Staring at him for a second, I nearly forgot what I’d been worried about. “I mean, I’m nervous,” I said, “but not about marrying you.”

  “So what’s bothering you, lover?” he asked, rising from his seat, crouching down in front of me and taking my hands in his.

  “I don’t know,” I told him. “I just have this feeling that something’s going to go wrong. You know what I mean?”

  “You’re a worrier. You can’t help it.” Tristan drew his gaze towards the cockpit. The door was shut, but I sensed that he was thinking about our Valkyrie copilot. “It’s her blood inside you,” he said.

  “Huh? That’s…a weird thing to say, Mr. Wolfe. What are you talking about?”

  “In case you’d forgotten, you got a blood transfusion from our Valkyrie co-pilot,” he told me. “One who’s constantly preoccupied, trying to make sure the world’s as good a place as it can be. You and she always shared that trait, but I think your constant desire to fix everything may come from Kara.”

  “I had noticed that she’s…diligent,” I laughed. “I just figured it’s her personality. She cares about the people around her, especially you. I think she’s so concerned with everyone else’s happiness that she’s never bothered to look after her own.”