by Minda Webber
Clair cocked her head, chewing on her lips. "Just how old are you, Ian? How long do weres live? For centuries, like vampires? I know Asher is over four hundred years old."
The earl's name brought an instant scowl to Ian's face. He didn't like the fact that Asher had fallen in love with Clair. She was his, and the handsome master vampire had better never forget that. Still, Asher had saved Clair's life.
"Ian?" his wife prompted, her eyes round with concern. She feared she would grow old and gray while Ian remained handsome and vigorous. She would be on a cane, and he would be running circles around her.
"We can live to be a hundred and thirty. I'm forty-three in werewolf years. We age more slowly."
Clair shook her head sorrowfully. "Drat. I'll be an old woman when you're still a spring chicken. Will you still love me when I'm sixty-four?" She tried to make her voice light, but inside she was hurting. She would have wrinkles, and he would have trollops winking at him.
"Of course I will, darling. You are my mate for life. I won't mate again," he answered truthfully. "By the time you're fifty, I'll be fifty-nine in werewolf years, so we'll both have a gray hair or two," he assured her. He held her close and let her feel his love. "Like I said, all new couples have to make adjustments."
His answer soothed her, just like his hand, which was rubbing circles on her back. Yes, Clair supposed she had a few adjustments to make, marrying a werewolf. But how hard could it be? The bed linens would probably have paw prints on the full moons when it rained. But, then, as a child she had slept with her dog, a large collie, and that had been both warm and comforting.
Ian would probably need to shave twice a day. Clair wondered briefly about fleas, and if she might sometimes join him baying at the moon. It had actually looked rather fun.
Yes, she decided, she would be fine. The adjustments would probably be few and far between. She would tackle them with her usual Frankensteinian fortitude. Besides, how many women had a real wolf in their bed?
"You do know, Ian, that I am still going to be competing for the prestigious Scientist of the Decade Award. Instead of werewolves and vampires, I'll go back to my ghost research."
Ian nipped her ear. "I had hoped to have you started on motherhood as soon as possible," he urged, his large, capable hands caressing her stomach.
"As soon as I win the Award, we can have all the children you want."
Ian started to argue, but Clair placed her finger over his lips. "You have no room to complain about my working for the Award, not when you are moonlighting as a werewolf."
He arched an eyebrow, then nodded and grinned. "I think I'll like having the Scientist of the Decade for a wife."
Clair laughed. "You know the trouble with you, Harry Ian?"
He leaned back and studied her. "What?"
"Absolutely nothing."
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