Valentine snarled, but he lowered his saber. “Get out of the way.”
As an answer, Mirella placed herself before the point of his blade. “If you truly believe I’ve betrayed you, kill me.” She pressed her chest against the saber. The sharp edge pierced the soft fabric of her dress, but not even when the blade reached her skin beneath did she move. A thin trickle of blood dripped between her breasts.
Chapter Thirty-Five
The moment Valentine saw the red stain marring Mirella’s white dress, he dropped the saber as if it were poisonous.
“We were drugged,” she repeated the words, without as much as flinching.
He couldn’t help but stare horrified at the blood on her chest. She looked at him, and he couldn’t see deception in her gaze.
“My lady’s maid laced my tea with something that made me fall into a trance. I thought I was asleep, and that you were with me,” Mirella said.
“This what happened to me as well. I told you. I went to sleep alone.” Dragon stepped to Mirella’s side, but when Valentine snarled at him, he moved a few steps away, raising his hands.
“You were moaning in his arms as he touched you—” The pain from his brand and from all the cuts Dragon had inflicted on him were nothing compared to the ache tearing his heart apart when he uttered these words.
“I was crying because it felt all wrong and I couldn’t command my body to wake.” Mirella’s voice shook.
“I reacted to her nearness, but it was just a physical response. I didn’t even think I was awake,” Dragon said.
Unable to say or do anything, Valentine stood before Mirella whose face was lined with silent tears. He tried to gather his thoughts and think through the events of the night before. Dragon helped by Ronda and another of his courtesans, barely able to climb the stairs. Mirella suddenly sleepy soon after they had reached her room and she had sipped her tea. And later, in Dragon’s bedroom, she had seemed confused, while Dragon had not even tried to block Valentine’s blows.
More than anything else in the world, he wanted to believe his bride.
“Can you prove that you were drugged?” he asked Mirella.
She shook her head. “Do you need proof to know that I could never let another man touch me?” she asked, her hand resting over her wedding bracelet, circling the band with white fingers.
Her question cut him deeper than any previous wounds, surpassing the pain by a magnitude he didn’t think possible. Images of Mirella and Dragon together in his bed played for him in a sick loop, but his wolf cried, then the beast pushed those memories away and replaced them with others.
Mirella smiling at Valentine after they had made love. His body contoured around her small one in the peaceful aftermath. Her virginal blushes. Her throaty moans. Her laughter. Those moments when she looked at him unguarded. Her bold requests. That first time when she had shattered under him. The last time she had screamed his name in the throes of pleasure.
And finally, the present moment when he realized that it didn’t matter if she could prove her words or not.
“Kitten,” he whispered, reaching down his hand to her. He couldn’t stand the sight of his bride kneeling before the whole crowd and helped her up. Then he hugged her and felt finally at peace.
Epilogue
In the commotion that followed, and for several days after the botched duel, Valentine had to deal with several loose ends.
Balenus came to him the next day with the results of the tests he had run on the broken teacup.
“The Blessed Bride was indeed drugged and I must assume the High Lord was equally poisoned. The traces I found were minimal because the cup had been thoroughly cleaned, but valerian, belladonna, and basil, when combined with Lupine's mandragorian, can induce a form of narcolepsy from which is very difficult to wake,” the medicus explained.
Valentine nodded. “This concoction’s recipe, is it common knowledge?”
“No, I wouldn’t say it is. It takes a certain set of skill to mix the herbs in the right percentage.”
“How many people on Lupine do have that kind of skills?”
“Besides me, maybe four or five.”
“Can you give me their names?”
“Of course.” Balenus scribbled the names on a piece of paper Valentine gave him. “Now, let me take a look at that brand,” he said and proceeded to clean and disinfect Valentine’s wound.
Soon after Balenus’ visit, Valentine spent a few hours talking with his security chief who didn’t have good news for him.
The lady’s maid’s body was found in the early hours of the morning. Apparently, she had tried to leave the mansion on foot and drowned when a flash flood swept her away. Whoever had given the girl the herbs had gotten away with it.
Later, Valentine walked to Dragon’s apartments and requested an audience with the High Lord.
“Apologies are in order,” he said as soon as he entered the guest studio where Dragon was taking his dinner. “Again.”
“Please.” Dragon made a sign for him to sit.
Valentine pointed his chin in the general direction of Dragon’s head. “At least you look good without hair.”
“And I’ll have something to show to my wives one day.” He pointed at his brand, which was as red and angry as Valentine’s.
“I’m sorry—” Valentine started.
“Don’t.” Dragon shook his head and shrugged. “Anyone would’ve jumped to the same conclusion you did. I’m glad your second stopped you before you killed me.” He paused, then asked, “Do you know who’s behind this vile attempt to discredit your bride?”
“Not yet, but I’m sure it’s the same person who ordered her attack at the Vestal House and Dallian’s assault as well.” Valentine felt the bile rising in his throat. “I won’t rest until I find him.”
“I know you won’t, my friend,” Dragon said with a nod.
They exchanged a few more words, then Valentine left, heading toward the right wing, and bracing for the most difficult visit of the day.
He hadn’t seen Mirella since the day before. His emotions had run too high and his wolf had been driving him crazy with its incessant demands to visit her. So, he avoided his bride.
Nervous like a green cub at his first date, he knocked on her door, instead of barging in as he had always done.
“Come in,” her lilting voice welcomed him. Sitting on the sofa facing the fireplace, she had her back to him and was looking at the painting of the ocean.
“Mirella,” he whispered from the door, and she turned.
“Valentine.” Her green eyes were staring at him in surprise.
Unable to stand their estrangement a moment longer, he closed the distance between them and knelt before her.
“Kitten—” He kissed her hands, then sought her lips.
“I thought I’d lost you,” she whispered, suddenly shaking with sobs. “I thought I wasn’t going to see you ever again.”
“Never.” He brought her down with him, cradling her in his lap. “You never lost me.” His mouth took hers in a fiery kiss. “Even when I hated you I couldn’t dislodge you from here.” He took her hand then pressed it over his heart. “I still wanted you. Despite everything, I still longed for your warmth.”
“I can’t live without you.”
“And you won’t because I’ll never let you go.” Valentine took her to the bed, where he pet her and kissed her for the rest of the night.
When the wee hours of the next day found them embraced, Valentine whispered in her ear, “My beloved,” then finally slept, at peace with his heart for the first time in his life.
The decision had been made. He would never succumb to his wolf’s dictates ever again and endanger Mirella’s life with a pregnancy.
Valentine Lobo, Eleventh Master of the Werewolf House of the Lobos, would be the last werewolf on Lupine.
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Monica
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Acknowledgments
As usual, I must thank my kids and my dad for just being the wonderful people they are.
Claudia, Lorraine, Debi, and Rebecca, for being awesome beta readers.
Ava K. Michaels, for being an incredibly supportive author and friend.
Katie, Kory, and Angela from my critique group, for their keen eyes in catching typos and their insightful comments. Valentine Lobo's story is way better thanks to you, magnificent ladies.
All my friends, who are always very supportive and don't complain when I disappear for days.
Roberto, because he is the true inspiration behind my heroes.
Bio
Monica La Porta landed in Seattle several years ago, where she lives with her family. Despite popular feelings about the Northwest weather, she finds the mist and the rain the perfect conditions to concoct new universes. When Monica isn’t writing or reading, she can be found painting on her digital tablet or sculpting. Whenever the sun shines, she comes out of her cave and treats her beloved beagle, Nero, to long walks into the Washington wild.
Monica La Porta’s blog: www.monicalaporta.com
Facebook Author page: https://www.facebook.com/monicalaportaauthor/
Amazon Author page: http://www.amazon.com/Monica-La-Porta/e/B007DZFP8W/
Goodreads Author page: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5757332.Monica_La_Porta
Twitter: https://twitter.com/momilp
The Fifth Moon's Wolf (The Fifth Moon's Tales) Page 19