Kenney, Laina - Vulfen Hunter's Bride [Vulfen Cadre 7] (Siren Publishing Classic)

by Laina Kenney

  All of the men knew it.

  “We should have a plan in place before we mention it,” Harden said. “Maybe if we tell the captain first, and get him to invite Rylek down to the station for the briefing? If Rylek was onboard, we could use the Sidarova connection to gather evidence.”

  Balke wanted to argue, but he held his tongue with an effort. Rylek would hate it, but it could work. And the Cadre would be there to make sure their Alpha did not risk himself or kill anyone in public. With his cherished mate heavily pregnant and due any day, the Sidarov Alpha was well beyond dangerous.

  “We must consider carefully,” Balke said. “My Queen is due to deliver in a week’s time, and the Alpha is understandably on edge.”

  “Grandma says it could be sooner,” John said absently, and Balke stiffened. “She’s got her bag packed and she’s moving into the enclave tomorrow so she’ll be close.”

  John’s Grandmother was the Fox Clan midwife, and she was helping the vulfen Queen and heir.

  “Is your Grandmother moving in to calm Ellie?” Balke asked.

  John grimaced. “Nope. It’s to calm Rylek. Grandma says he’s the one who needs the reassurance. Ellie seems to be taking everything very much in stride, and the baby is strong and healthy, a real presence already.”

  Balke relaxed. Yes, the Alpha was nervous over the birth of his first child. Rylek had lost so much of his family to tragedy, who could blame him for being overprotective?

  Ellie had told his brother Miros, one of Rylek’s seconds, that they were planning to have two or three children if they were so blessed. The Reitn brothers had talked it over and thought that Rylek would relax more with the second child, but until he was able to hold both his child and his mate safe in his arms, he would be unable to be truly calm.

  The birth was fast approaching, and all warriors in the Cadre would be at the enclave that night. Rylek had supported each one of them, at one point or another. No one would think to miss the night when his firstborn came into the world.

  Chapter 9

  Later that afternoon, Balke walked into the dark masculine den at the Sidarov Estate. He stopped before his Alpha and bowed deep to the man who had earned his respect over and over again. His pride in his people overflowed his heart.

  “Rise,” Rylek said. His flowing black hair and Hollywood good looks did not in any way disguise the power and strength of his Alpha nature.

  “I have found my mate, Alpha.” He heard the wonder in his own voice, and he knew his Alpha would hear it, too. “She is human, with traces of magic users many generations back. She is—exceptional.”

  Rylek clasped his hands over Balke’s upper arms.

  “You have my sincere congratulations. You have waited long for this gift. No warrior could be more worthy.”

  Balke bowed his head in thanks. He would have spoken, even with the lump in his throat, had his cell phone not chosen that moment to ring.

  “John Commander?” Rylek asked.

  Balke thought he had long since stopped being surprised by the unknowable things Rylek seemed to know, but how on earth did the Alpha know what ringtone he had selected for Officer John Commander?

  “Hi, John,” Balke said.

  “Xander St. John was released on bail. He’s in the wind.”

  Balke stiffened. His wolf clawed him from the inside, wanting to howl, needing to run. His mate was alone.

  “Iselle is alone in the building. She needed some time to paint. Her friend is at work.”

  “He was released nearly an hour ago, but I didn’t find out until right now,” John said. “I interviewed him, and he seems fixated on the idea of his payoff. It looks to me like he’s been sampling a little too much of his own product. I can’t promise you that he’s smart enough not to go after Iselle.”

  Balke’s fangs dropped.

  “I explained to him in detail how stupid that would be.”

  Eva, the vulfen Queen’s Guard, ran into the room.

  “Alpha, the Queen needs you right now. And Grandma Commander.”

  Rylek leaped to the door, farther and faster than any human could have jumped.

  “Is it time?”

  “The baby is coming,” Eva said, but Rylek was already gone.

  “John,” Balke said, “The Queen is in labor. Get your Grandmother here.”

  John swore. “Grandma called and said she couldn’t wait for me to do it on my lunch hour, so I’m on my way to get her right now. It’ll be a good half hour before we get there, though.”

  “Use the sirens if you must.”

  Vulfen ears were sensitive and sirens gave the little Queen a headache every time.

  “Yeah, Grandma said we’d have to do that.” John sounded resigned to the idea. His tiny magical grandmother was a force of nature. She knew the unknowable and made it seem so reasonable that everyone just took it for granted after a while.

  Balke was already moving toward the door, but he smiled in spite of his worry.

  “Your Grandmother is a treasure, John.”

  “I know it.”

  “I’ll call you from Iselle’s if there’s a problem.”

  “Fuck. Call me before you kill anyone, okay?”

  “Of course, if there is time.”

  Balke clicked off the phone to the sound of John’s curses and ran to his vehicle.

  * * * *

  On the way up Iselle’s stairs, Balke heard a muffled thump and a feminine exclamation from the second floor and then he was running up the stairs two at a time.

  He ripped the door open while moving, shifting in the air into the big black wolf that was so much a part of him. He landed in the middle of the wide living room ready for battle to see his shocked mate scream and drop the glass of water she was holding.

  Water and glass flew all over the kitchen. Iselle screamed again, and blood dripped down from the top of one pretty bare foot to tinge the pooling water pink.

  In a rainbow shimmer, Balke stood as a man. His vulfen senses belatedly told him that the only heartbeat in the room was Iselle’s. His mate was alone and safe and he had scared her half to death.

  Perfect.

  Chapter 10

  “Don’t move,” he said.

  She shook her head vigorously side to side. Her mouth opened and closed without making a sound. It didn’t seem that she was able to speak.

  He swore under his breath. She was standing barefoot in a field of broken glass. He picked up Iselle and wanted to curse when she stiffened in his arms. He carried her away from the shattered glass in the kitchen.

  All his careful planning was for nothing. It was not the way he would have chosen to make his mate aware of the gifts of his ancestry, in shock and splintered glass and blood.

  Iselle screamed again and beat her fists on his chest.

  “What the hell?” he snarled in surprise. He dumped her into the puffy papa san chair. Her braid slapped the wall behind her.

  “What the hell right back at you!” she yelled. Her voice shook and her eyes snapped fire at him. “You couldn’t be bothered to mention that you weren’t human?”

  Balke straightened. “I am not human.”

  Iselle rolled her eyes. “Oh, thank you for telling me now. That’s kind of important, don’t you think, considering I slept with you? When were you going to tell me? Next week? Never?”

  Balke’s blood heated in his veins. She was angry?

  “And you would have believed? Just like that, you would have believed that I am more than a man?”

  He felt like shouting a little himself, but he kept his voice even with an effort.

  “Maybe not, it’s kind of an impossible topic.” Her sarcasm fanned the flames of his anger, but he kept his wolf in firm control.

  “Oh, by the way,” Iselle continued, warming to her subject, “I spend half my time with fur and claws? I might not have believed right away, but you should have tried. God, we’re not even the same species.”

  “But we are compatible, very much so. You
are my mate.”

  Two flags of angry color appeared in her cheeks and her hand cut through the air in a gesture of denial.

  “Don’t even say mate.”

  “I have said it.”

  And he meant it. He would never regret such a gift, even if they were arguing. He crossed his arms over his chest. She would just have to get used to the idea, because he wasn’t going anywhere.

  “So, you’re a werewolf? A werewolf in Boston?” Iselle laughed, but the sound was tight, painful. “I’m human, I’m normal, and I had enough trouble believing that you would want to be with me when I thought you were human, too. How long will you even stay? And how am I supposed to deal with the idea of a werewolf in my bed?”

  “I am vulfen,” Balke said, keeping hold of his fraying temper. “We are not werewolves nor are we moon-mad, as the legends would have us. We work and build. We celebrate our ancient culture and we put family above everything. Yes, my vulfen nature is strong enough that I become the wolf sometimes. Is that so difficult to accept?”

  “I’m not the type to just quietly take your word for it. I want proof.” Her voice shook like her hands, but she met him glare for glare.

  “What are you asking for? It wasn’t enough proof that I shifted before your eyes, not once but twice? That I gave you the mating bite to bind us together? It wasn’t enough that as a teenager you dreamed of me and painted me waiting for you? You know me as I know you. I can feel your soul yearning for mine. It is on that canvas for all to see. There is your proof.”

  He gestured to the Maiden and The Wolf, and Iselle stopped, shocked. She stared at the painting for a moment.

  “It’s you,” she whispered. “It is you.”

  Balke dropped to his knees in front of her chair and her eyes turned back to him.

  “I have waited for you and only you for the whole of my adult life. I loved you before I knew your name. Mate,” he said and the word rang in his soul. “Mate.”

  “It is you,” she repeated.

  She touched his face with a trembling hand while tears poured down her face like rain. He leaned in to kiss her, but her hand slid between their mouths.

  “You have to go.” Her voice trembled like her cold fingers on his face. “My mind is a mess right now. I need to think and I can’t. You have to go.”

  “I will not leave you,” he said immediately.

  “I can’t think about it right now. I can’t think,” she said. “Not I don’t want to, or don’t intend to, but I can’t. You’re a wolf. You’re my wolf. I painted you when I was in college and dreamed of you for years before that. I thought you were a dream and you’re somehow standing right in front of me. This is not normal. You need to back off and give me some time with this.”

  “Why? What will time do except let you come up with reasons to justify sending me away?” His teeth snapped together at the thought and he felt fur ripple under his skin. “I will not leave you.”

  “Back off.”

  Her voice held a warning and a plea, but she asked for the one thing he could not give.

  “No.”

  Iselle gave a little scream of frustration.

  “Just go!” She shoved at his chest and though it did not move him, her strength astonished him. “I mean it. And don’t come back for at least the afternoon. At least. I can’t think with you here.”

  She must have seen the intention on his face the moment before he pounced, but she didn’t have time to do more than squeak before his mouth was on hers in a blatant possession. She tried to keep her mouth closed under his, but her body betrayed her and melted against him, accepting the sexual rhythm of his tongue.

  Her body wanted him, he could feel that. She was trying to fight it, but the potent chemical attraction between them was his best ally in the fight to win his mate.

  He broke off the kiss when her knees buckled and she sagged in his arms. Her surrender was sweet. He knew he could have her, but she had asked for time, and as much as he hated the request, he would respect it.

  “One afternoon,” he said arrogantly. “A few hours, no more.”

  When she would have spoken, he cut her off.

  “No more than that. There is still danger, and this time is more than I want to give you. Do your thinking and make your decision. Be prepared to give your answer when I return.”

  He released her and walked out the door while he still could leave her.

  Chapter 11

  Iselle scratched her cheek with a knuckle and pushed her hair back with the end of her paintbrush. She had been painting long enough that it was automatic, but nothing else was coming easily.

  Her studio was well-stocked and well-lit, an artist’s dream with a large tilted work surface and a standing easel.

  She had begged for some time to think about the shock of Balke’s revelation. He had reluctantly granted her the afternoon and she went straight into her studio to paint. She usually thought well while she was painting, as if waking her creative side freed another part of her mind to wander through solutions.

  She had tried and tried to concentrate on the preliminary sketches for the book collaboration, and the sketches she had produced were well-proportioned and technically sound, but somehow static, lifeless.

  Eventually, after littering the floor with crumpled paper, she had given up and pulled out her acrylics.

  She put on some low, experimental jazz in the background, set aside her deadline, and gave her imagination free reign.

  Gradually, from swaths of background color, a landscape took shape. Darker vertical lines in the background became the dense trees of a forest scene. Under the canopy, to one side in the clearing, stood a little stone cottage with a thatched roof. A babbling brook ran laughing over stones by the feet of a medieval sorceress who stood gazing into the forest where the subtle shape of a black wolf seemed to be waiting for her.

  Iselle stood back for a moment and examined the painting with a critical eye. In terms of technique, the painting was good. And the conflict and craving between sorceress and wolf jumped off the canvas.

  It wasn’t difficult to see where the inspiration for the painting had come from. The woman had long brown hair and the wolf was black with a faint sheen of blue, just like Balke. If only she could capture some of that residual passion and transfer it to her current illustrating project.

  She could feel her cheeks heating and took up her brush again, but a low sound made her turn.

  The object of her daytime fantasy stood behind her, watching her out of glowing green eyes. He seemed even bigger in her tiny studio, and in spite of his jeans and button-down shirt, more primitive. Clothing did nothing to disguise the predator under his skin.

  “I couldn’t stay away any longer,” he said, and she heard the apology and the bafflement in his voice. He was no slave to his emotions. He was a warrior in close control, and he didn’t seem to know what to do about the connection between them.

  Iselle could admit in the privacy of her own thoughts that she didn’t understand it, either. He had blown his well-kept secret to protect her when he felt her life was in danger, and that more than anything told her who he was.

  She had decided what she was going to do. Fate had dealt her a winning hand, and she was just crazy enough to play it.

  He was extraordinary, a wolf in man’s clothing, and still one of the best men she had ever met. She was going to keep him.

  “Can I paint you?” Iselle asked before she had time to think.

  He inclined his head to one side and blue highlights raced over his black hair under the full-spectrum light.

  He nodded his assent and her heart leaped.

  She took a moment to cover her painting tray with cling wrap and drop her brushes in to soak.

  Grabbing up a handful of dry brushes, she advanced on the man whose sculpted muscular body had driven her crazy since the first moment she had laid eyes on him. She wondered dimly if he had any idea what she had in mind, but decided that it didn’t matter. S
he had the feeling he could more than handle anything she could dish out and it made her want to try every single thing she had ever heard of and a few that she hadn’t.

  He made her want to be wild.

  “Take off your shirt.” Was that breathy voice hers?

  Balke blinked, but before she could repeat the instruction, his hands moved to the buttons of his shirt. One by one, he opened each button and revealed his strong muscular chest. When he dropped the shirt to the floor, Iselle just stood for a moment. His shoulders looked a mile wide and his chest was magnificent. She wanted to lick and nibble, but first things first.

  She stepped close and brandished a brush, tracing over the smoothly delineated muscles until a shiver chased over his skin. His body hypnotized her and she explored at length.

  The silence was broken only by the sound of their harsh breaths and the hushed swish of soft bristles over hard flesh.

  She continued until his grunt of pleasure or agony broke the silence, and the sheen of sweat over his chest lured her in to taste. The clean musk of his male flavor made her hum in approval.

  She dropped the brush and popped the button on his jeans open, reaching in to free his thick cock from its captivity.

  “This is where art meets function,” she said, stroking up and down his length.

  Balke groaned. “This is art?” he asked on a half laugh, thrusting the swollen purple head through her tightening grip.

  Iselle’s voice was dreamy when she answered. “Yes. Primitive art.”

  She licked her lips in unconscious need and was startled to see a drop of pearly fluid weep from the engorged tip.

  “Your body promises ecstasy, not pornography. And you fulfill every promise,” she said, staring, and he groaned again.

  Her knees hit the floor with a gentle thump and she cradled his hardness in both hands. It took both of her hands to measure the full length of his blatant erection. There was nothing of shyness there, only jutting masculine demand.