by Michele Hauf
“Yes?” She stood on tiptoes, pushing her palms up his chest, to peer into his eyes.
“Please wear clothes when you go out with my mother.”
“Gotcha.”
“And, uh...you might not want to mention the whole half-breed vampire thing. Not until we know for sure what you really are.”
She gave him a thumbs-up. His mother would be a challenge, she sensed that from his worried remarks. She could handle her. Maybe.
* * *
Bea was nervous about her clothing choice. She had no idea how a pack wife was supposed to dress. But the television shows she’d been watching about housewives and divas had given her a few ideas. Bling seemed very important. Of which, she had some, thanks to Kir’s generosity. But she wasn’t sure if she’d balanced bling with style well enough.
Skyclad would have been much easier.
As she stepped out of the limo that Kir’s mother, Madeline, had sent to pick her up, she tugged at the short pink skirt, trying to pull it to her knees. Normally short stuff felt great because it was as close to naked as she could get. And the green high heels that laced around the ankle had added to the sex appeal she’d felt looking in the mirror as she’d dressed.
But as Madeline stepped forward to greet her, the werewolf matriarch’s smile fell and her eyes dropped to Bea’s breasts, which were nicely pushed up by the tight, hugging fabric the salesgirls had raved over. Latex, the thing to wear. And Kir’s eyes had almost dropped out of his skull at the sight of this dress when she’d modeled it for him.
Seeing Madeline’s horrified expression, she compared her ultra-sexy housewives-meets-divas look to her mother-in-law’s tidy plaid skirt and top set that was tailored to emphasize her narrow waist yet revealed no bosom whatsoever. And her black red-soled shoes were understated and classy.
“You must have brought clothing from Faery,” Madeline commented as she leaned in to buss Bea on both cheeks. A curl of subtle spice perfume lingered after her retreat.
“Actually, your son bought this dress for me. Is it wrong? Kir said it was lunch and the day is bright, so I wanted to wear something summery.”
“Dear, you should be cautious whom you expose your assets to. I don’t want my son’s wife to look like a hoyden.”
Bea wasn’t sure what a hoyden was, but she didn’t think it was good. Resigned to nod and play along, she followed Madeline into the back of a quiet, cozy restaurant that boasted high ceilings with massive ferns hanging along the walls and framing the stained glass windows. It was bright but proper, too.
Madeline introduced Bea to three women from pack Valoir. Marielle was a pretty, dark-haired wolf who wore her collars high and her skirt hem low. Too thin, as well. Bea thought her hand might snap in her grip when they shook hands. She was engaged to the pack scion, Jacques Montfort, who was also the pack principal’s son, Madeline explained. Marielle tried not to look at Bea’s breasts as they shook hands but was incapable of disguising her dismay at the sight of them.
Bea suddenly wished she had a purse so she could hold it over her chest, which did expose a good bit of her breasts. So the dress had been a wrong choice. But surely they must be impressed by her bling? The shiny rhinestones on her wrists clanked and glinted and made her so happy.
The other two women were hastily introduced. Valery and Paisley. Apparently, they didn’t warrant face time because they had not a high-ranking male underarm. Valery was married, but Paisley, with gorgeous corkscrew blond curls, seemed young, perhaps still in her teens.
Bea sat before the round table that was decorated with a silver tea service and a pristine white cloth. At least she didn’t have to worry about her bare legs bothering stern ol’ Madeline. It was hard to believe the woman was Kir’s mother. Where Kir was open, Madeline’s lips were drawn so tight thin lines radiated up from her top lip toward her nose. And Bea wagered if she wanted a kind word from her she’d have to commit hara-kiri and hand the woman the sword when she was finished.
After tea was served and a few terribly insufficient sandwiches were downed, the questions started in. Bea was happy to entertain the younger women’s curiosity because it was easier than trying to make conversation with the mother-in-law.
“Are you finding married life exciting?” Marielle asked eagerly. Bea assumed the woman would be most comfortable if she were wearing an apron and with a kid propped at her hip.
“Yes, Kir is very kind.” She glanced to Madeline. The woman tapped her teacup with long, pink fingernails. What else to say? She couldn’t drop the sex bomb, how she and Kir did that more than anything else. “I’m looking forward to having a family of my own.”
Where had that confession come from?
It was true. Bea had always wondered what real family could be like, and so the idea of creating her own and doing it with someone who loved her appealed. Though certainly she was nervous about whether or not she could pull off the whole domestic thing. And motherhood? She had no example to follow.
Bea sighed. Perhaps it was best if she stuck to sex and keeping her man happy.
Madeline scoffed and set her teacup down with a click. “Faeries don’t know the meaning of family. Of close bonds and devotion to one’s blood. Do you even know what love is?”
“Well—”
“Yes, my son is kind,” Madeline continued. “He takes after me. It’s a pity that he was saddled with a species not our own.”
Bea fluttered her gaze to the other women, who all occupied themselves with the stupid sandwiches. Apparently, they were as cowed by the woman as she was.
“I’m doing my best,” Bea offered, finding she had to shove her shaking hands under the table to keep from spilling tea. “I know it wasn’t an ideal situation. For either of us. But I want to make your son happy.”
Again, Madeline scoffed, then busied herself with straightening the silver spoons to the right of her plate.
Bea felt tears wobble in her eyes and a pulling strain that threatened to turn into a torrent. Why couldn’t the woman like her as her son did? In spite of her heritage, was she so awful? Truly, she was the dark one. The half-breed that did not deserve kindness. She quickly sipped her tea, hoping no one would notice the teardrop that landed in the lukewarm brew.
The remainder of lunch was spent in near silence, with a few comments about the elite shops along the rue Royale. The women had planned to spend time shopping, but after the bill was paid Madeline announced she had another appointment she’d forgotten about and apologized for not taking Bea along.
Of course, Kir’s mother left with her three protégés. None of them offered Bea a parting glance.
Alone in the cab Madeline had summoned for her, Bea kicked off her shoes and tilted her head against the leather seat. It was apparent if Madeline didn’t accept her, then no one else in the pack would. And she suddenly hoped that her husband’s marriage to the half-breed faery would not result in his losing face with the pack. She didn’t want that for him.
How to win the pack’s approval? And did she want to? This marriage was a sham. It had been a political move on the pack’s part, an opportunity to dispose of the dark one on her father’s part. She’d be surprised if Malrick allowed Valoir to continue to hunt in Faery for much longer. Couldn’t have rabble streaming in.
Such as his daughter?
Crossing her arms, Bea sank deep into the soft leather seat. She closed her eyes, but that didn’t stop the tears from streaming down her cheeks.
* * *
Demons and werewolves. And vampires.
Kir couldn’t connect them, but he was determined to do so. More and more, he believed the vampire they’d watched get staked by his girlfriend had tried to communicate something about demons to him and Jacques.
Jacques knew a guy who knew a guy who could hook them up with a demon informant, so until he heard from his partner, the rest of the day was a bust. He’d considered contacting Edamite but would use that contact as his last recourse.
“I’ll try the info
rmant first,” he muttered, to assuage his guilt over not trusting the half brother he had no reason to hate but, deep down, knew that he did.
But really? Hate? After he’d told Bea such a vile reaction wasn’t for him?
“Yeah,” he muttered. “Demons deserve my hatred.” Because his eight-year-old self was never going to forget what his father had done to the family.
Leaving the office, he hopped in the Lexus. With rain splattering the sidewalk, the sky had darkened early. It was nearing supper time, so he stopped at a Greek restaurant and purchased a big order of chicken gyros and pomme frites with extra tzatziki sauce.
His phone rang as he was pulling up in front of his home. The doctor’s office.
“You’re in the clear, Monsieur Sauveterre. I can find no vampire taint in your blood sample.”
“Thank you, Doctor. That’s what I wanted to hear.”
He hung up and, with his spirits soaring, skipped up the steps and into the house.
Bea greeted him with a ho-hum kiss and took the take-out bag from him to dish the food out on plates.
“What, no ‘Hi, honey, I missed you’?” he asked. Way to bring a man down from his elation.
“I didn’t have time to miss you today,” she said, sorting the food onto the plates. “And really? Honey? I hate you.”
“Ah. Right. Forgot about that.”
She was in a fine steam today. What had happened between last night—when they’d had great sex—and now to make her so irritable? And then he remembered. “So you must have had an interesting outing with my mother.”
Bea sorted through the utensils for forks and knives. She didn’t meet his gaze, and yet he thought he saw her roll her eyes.
“Bea? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing at all.” She gestured with a flutter. She set the forks by the plates. “I had a lovely tea with your mother and three others from your pack. Paisley, Valery and... I forget the other one.”
“Marielle?”
“Yes, right. The apron wearer.”
“The what?”
“They were all so...domestic.” Bea’s entire body performed a disgusted shiver.
“What’s wrong with that?” He sat at the table as she poured a goblet of wine for each of them.
She slid across the table from him with only shredded lettuce and pomme frites on her plate. Her sigh told him so much.
“There’s nothing wrong with being domestic, Bea,” he said. “It simply implies those women like making a home for their husband and families.”
“Family,” she said softly. She prodded at the wilted fries. “Do you think I need to be domesticated?”
“There’s a big difference between domestic and domesticated, Bea. You will never be tamed. And should not. But as for caring for the home...” He bit into the gyro stuffed with savory shaved chicken.
“You want me to be the little housewife who cleans and cooks? I watched some of your television. I prefer bling and high heels. I don’t think I can work the apron.”
“What if that was all you wore? Just the apron?”
Her eyebrow quirked. He’d earned a little smile from her.
Kir clinked his goblet against hers. “To naked faeries in aprons.”
Her reluctant smile grew larger. “Just make sure the apron is pretty and has lots of ruffles.”
“What if I can find you one with rhinestones?”
“Then I will so do the domestic for you. But seriously? Am I to be stuck in this house always? Your backyard is greatly lacking in size and the garden is a desert. And in case you didn’t notice, I’m a faery. I thrive on nature. I need to breathe, Kir. To let out my wings. What about that park you said you’d take me to?”
A park was still no place for wings. But...
“I’ve got something even better.” He couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought of it until now. It would be a gift to her that would put her over the moon. “If you can wait until the weekend.”
“What is it?” Her eyes twinkled. “Will I need my pink shoes with the red soles or the green sandals with the lace-up straps?”
“Neither. You can go as naked as you desire. I own a cabin about two hours out of the city. Nothing but forest for leagues in every direction.”
“Oh, blessed Herne! I think I don’t hate you at this very moment.”
He winked. “I’ll take that non-hate and raise you a genuine like.”
Bea perked and leaned across the table to kiss him. “I’ll count the minutes until the weekend starts. And so long as I don’t have to go anywhere with your mother ever again, I’ll be the good little wife you desire.”
“That’s not what I desire, Bea. What I desire is your happiness. Happiness for myself, as well. Together, we can probably figure that out, eh?”
“Your mother thinks I’m wrong for you.”
“Madeline believes wolves should marry other wolves. She wasn’t pleased to learn about me drawing the—”
Bea looked up from her food and defied him with her gaze.
“She’ll get over it,” he offered. “Give her time. Once she gets to know you, I can’t imagine her not liking you. You’re a very likable faery.”
She wiggled on the chair at that compliment. “I am, aren’t I?”
“Except for when you attack me with a samurai sword.”
“You should be thankful I know how to protect myself when you are not around.”
“I am, and I’m not. I don’t want you to ever worry about being unsafe. I promise to protect you should you ever need it.”
“My knight in shining armor.”
He shrugged. “It’s not so shiny.”
“So long as it’s not fashioned from iron, you’re good.”
“How about leather?” He rapped the leather vest he wore.
“Perfect. You’ll have to tell me about the designs worked into the vest you wear. It’s so intricate. Is it a family crest?”
“No, but that’s an idea I might have to try next time. I did this myself.”
“What? You made that?”
“It’s a hobby. A guy in the pack tans the hides and makes the leather workable, then I put the design on it.”
“Wow. Make me something.”
“I thought you weren’t cool with leather.”
“I can be cool if it’s made by you. For me.” She clasped her hands near her cheek and fluttered her lashes. “Maybe a sexy little corset or bustier?”
“As you wish.”
“So simple as that? You’ve given me everything I ask for, Kir. What can I give you?”
He didn’t want anything more than her bright smile and effervescent presence. But if she was asking... “Your like. And no more hate.”
Bea’s pink eyes beamed. “Done.”
Chapter 11
They’d had sex the first night they arrived at the cabin. And the next morning up against the kitchen counter while Kir had been making eggs and bacon. In the afternoon when he’d taken her on a walk to show her the family of partridge who nested near the stream, they’d torn away their clothes and satisfied their insistent hunger for each other, and that night they’d fallen asleep entwined in one another’s arms after delicious orgasms.
Usually Kir headed out to the cabin every full moon. It was only the half-moon and yet he’d let his werewolf out on the second night because—well, because he could. He’d run most of the night while Bea had been tucked in the cozy bed, knowing what he was doing and happy that he could escape to the wild.
On the third day, after Kir had spent the afternoon chopping wood for the fireplace, he’d helped Bea to make a stew. (His mother actually prepared the stew and froze it in Ziploc bags, so all he had to do was heat it up. Bea had felt so accomplished.)
They clinked their wine goblets and Kir leaned in to kiss Bea’s nose. “Tonight,” he said, “we’re going to make love.”
“That’s what we’ve been doing, big boy. Or did you somehow lose all memory of our antics when you wolfed out and pushed me
up against the tree yesterday afternoon?”
“Bea, you know what I mean by making love.”
“Right, the slow, touching stuff.” She wiggled on the chair and blushed. “Not that there’s anything wrong with sex. I like sex. Stones, I love sex. And I happen to know you do, too.”
He chuckled. “I do, but tonight, I’m going to make love to you. Slowly.”
He kissed her eyelid, softly, gently. Bea felt the kiss tickle down her cheek, over her lips, and scurry to her breasts, where an inhale lifted her nipples against the silk robe she wore. Her body ignited.
“Sounds good,” she whispered. “But why the sudden need to make love?”
“Because I care about you.”
“You do?”
“Yes. Why does that surprise you?”
She stopped herself from saying because that’s never happened to me—ever and instead shrugged.
He kissed her lips, lightly brushing them as if to savor, always linger. “And I want to show you that I care about you.”
“I’m yours, lover boy. But, just so you know, I think you’re too good to be real. I’ve been walking in a dream ever since coming to the mortal realm. I hope the dream never ends.”
Leaving the supper dishes for later, he lifted her in his arms and carried her up the stairs to the dark bedroom. Flicking on the light switch with an elbow softened the unbleached timber walls to a warm glow. But he didn’t lay her on the bed; instead, Kir sat on the bed, with her on his lap, and moved aside the hair from her neck. He kissed her at the base of her hairline, tendering the skin as if to learn every pore.
“Wings out?” she asked on a tone that belied her desires with a hushing gasp.
“Not yet. We’re taking this slowly.”
Damn, he was determined to prolong the foreplay. How many guys that she had known in her lifetime had wanted to do that? She could dig it. But really? Could she last that long before getting to the big bang? The wolf always managed to instantly find her hot zones and zap them like a muscleman hitting the bell with the big hammer. This slow, methodical exploration—his tongue now traced the top of her spine—would try her patience.
Kir tickled his tongue in circles, seeming to move one vertebra at a time. The silk robe slipped to a puddle at Bea’s hips, and she crossed her arms over her breasts and bowed her head as an agonizingly delicious trace of hot tongue over her skin stirred up a moan.