Inking the Wolf: A wolf shifter paranormal romance (Wolves of Crookshollow Book 3)

by Steffanie Holmes

  A lump formed in my chest. So Robbie did show up, after all. He didn’t completely hate me.

  I actually felt nervous. But why? This was a fake wedding. I wasn’t marrying Robbie. Well, I mean, I was, but it didn’t mean anything. He hadn’t replied to my text, so everyone was obviously imagining his attraction to me. He was just a friend doing me a favour. That was all it was going to be.

  I’d misread everything, and worked myself up for no reason at all. Now it was time to go downstairs and face my fake-husband and make it through my fake-ceremony without succumbing to the urge to jump his bones.

  I straightened my bodice, and the girls lined up behind me. Willow ran down the stairs, her gorgeous little ass sliding around in her silky dress, and told Eric to cue the music. The first sombre strains of Ghost Symphony’s latest single, Requiem for a Dying Rose, wafted up the stairs. My stomach fluttered.

  “Here I go.” I flashed Eleanor a grin, and descended the first step.

  12

  Robbie

  “That’s the cue.” Ryan’s mother Clara wrapped her wizened hand around my arm, her kind eyes staring into mine. “You ready, love?”

  I nodded, my stomach twisting, as I shuffled into position at the front of the makeshift stage in the corner of the ballroom. My kilt itched like hell, and I longed to scratch my bare thigh, but as the oddly-dressed crowd shoving their way closer to get a good view for the ceremony, it didn’t seem like a good time.

  From a larger stage in the opposite corner, the music swelled as Eric drew his bow expertly across the strings. A single spotlight danced off his flowing black hair. Behind him, the rest of his band picked up the tune – drums marching a slow beat, bass thumping, the electric guitar swelling along with the violin. Was it a wedding march, or a funeral dirge?

  As the drummer rolled the snare, a second spot lit up the doorway to the hallway opposite the grand staircase. The guests’ heads turned away from me, giving me relief from their piercing judgement. Every eye in the room focused on the stairs, waiting for Bianca – my bride – to make her entrance.

  I shifted my weight from foot to foot, my fingers tightening around my sporran. Half of me – the wolf half that lurked dangerously close to the surface tonight – longed to run for the open window, leap into the forest and never return. The other half kept my feet glued in place, watching the shadows dance at the edge of the ballroom, waiting for my first glimpse of her.

  All day, Bianca’s SMS replayed over and over before my eyes. I’M ESPECIALLY LOOKING FORWARD TO THE KISS. I’d barely been able to belt my kilt this morning, I was so hard.

  My wolf snapped at my skin, spurned on by my constant state of arousal. I’d typed a hundred messages in reply, then deleted each one without sending it. I couldn’t figure out what it meant. Was Bianca just teasing, or … was she saying she felt the same way I did?

  Eventually, I’d given up trying to comprehend it, and I showed it to Marcus. Big mistake. I’d had to wrestle my phone from his hand so he wouldn’t send her something foul in reply. “She’s playing with you, mate,” he’d said. “You can’t go through with this. She’s going to mess you up.”

  He could be right, but … I had to take the chance. If Bianca wanted to play … I’d take it. I’d take anything she was willing to give—

  There she is.

  Bianca rounded the corner of the staircase, and swept into the ballroom. She wore an electric blue corset and fishtail skirt, embroidered all over with swirls of black beading. Her lips were a slice of ice-blue, and atop her head sprouted a crown of twisted black metal, like an ice princess or a faerie queen. Her eyes locked on mine, and her lips drew back into a dazzling smile.

  I gasped, her beauty stealing my breath. The whole room faded, the colourful outfits and judging faces of the crowd blurred into background smudges, dulled by her radiance.

  Bianca floated across the marble floor, her body carried by the haunting music. She reached the stage and stepped up to stand opposite me. The bridesmaids’ lined up behind her, grinning and waving to the crowd.

  “Hi.” She grinned, her face lighting up. She’d never looked more beautiful.

  “Hi, right back.” My hands itched to draw her close, feel the softness of her body against mine. I wanted nothing more than to be the one who undid the strings of her corset, revealing the smooth skin beneath. The words of her SMS flashed in my mind once more.

  Camera flashes went off across the floor. Eric faded out the song. My gaze briefly settled over the crowd, recognising Caleb, Rosa, Irvine and Rolf standing together against the back wall, Ryan and Cole over near the band, Bianca’s parents frowning as they inched away from a scantily-clad tattooist in the front row.

  We were here. We were really doing this.

  As one, we turned to Clara, who began to read from a large black book about the sanctity and ancient traditions of marriage. Bianca had written the ceremony herself, and it was filled with crude jokes that Clara delivered with gusto. In minutes, the room was in uproar.

  I didn’t hear a single word. I kept staring at Bianca, unable to believe this was real. She was really standing here with me, becoming my wife. My inner wolf clawed against my skin, desperate to reach out and claim her as my mate.

  Soon, we’ll kiss again.

  It’s not real, Robbie, I told myself, over and over, trying to calm the wolf inside me that wanted desperately to lay claim to his mate. She’s only your wife in name. She doesn’t really belong to you. Hell, she’s probably standing there thinking about Willow.

  Clara droned on about the symbolism of wedding rings and Viking oaths. She nodded at me and I lifted Bianca’s hand, my fingers grazing her knuckles. The pull of our connection sizzled between us. Marcus handed me her ring – a tungsten carbide ring engraved with my fingerprint – and I slipped it onto her tiny finger, pushing it down over her finger tat.

  “With this ring, I bind my life to yours,” I repeated, the words falling from my mouth. As I spoke them, the connection tightened. “Wear it, and know that I love you.”

  Bianca raised her eyes to me, her irises sparkling. She pursed her lips, as though she wanted to say something. Then Clara handed her my ring – another tungsten carbide piece engraved with her fingerprint (a friend of hers made them) – and her mouth faltered. Bianca gripped my hand, her fingers like fire against my skin. She turned my finger toward her, and pushed the ring past my knuckle.

  “With this ring, I bind my life to yours. Wear it, and know that I love you.”

  The words echoed in my mind. I wish like hell they were the truth.

  My inner wolf growled with agony. Clara said something, but I didn’t hear it. Bianca’s face mesmerised me, those sparkling eyes drawing me in. What are you thinking right now? What does this mean to you?

  “You may now kiss the bride.”

  I froze. The moment I’d been waiting for, and suddenly, I couldn’t move. I stood, transfixed by her, utterly flummoxed by the whole situation.

  “Kiss her! Kiss her!” The crowd roared, like it was a rock concert.

  The corners of Bianca’s lips turned up in a smile. I willed myself to shuffle forward, to take her in my arms, the way I’d always longed to do, and claim her lips with mine. To show her once and for all that I wanted her. My inner wolf howled with frustration as my feet remained rooted to the spot.

  Bianca reached up, wrapped her arms around my neck, and pressed her lips to mine.

  A surge of energy shot through my body, reaching right down into my boots. My arms enclosed around her tiny frame, gripping her waist. She felt so good in my arms, like she fit. Our faces mashed together, our lips enmeshed.

  Bianca kissed me.

  The ballroom erupted with applause. Bianca drew back, her breath brushing my lips. “I told you I was looking forward to this.” She grinned, her arms still wrapped around me. “You can’t keep me waiting, Robbo, or I’ll take matters into my own hands.”

  “Bianca, wait. Does this mean—”

 
But Bianca grabbed my hand and thrust it into the air. Thunderous applause washed over us. People hooted and stamped their feet. The band struck up a raucous tune, a cover of Eye of the Tiger. Eric’s violin screeched as he played the main riff.

  Bianca’s beautiful face broke into a wide grin. She squeezed my hand, and I couldn’t keep an identical grin from spreading across my face. The room erupted into chaos. People swarmed around us, hugging and kissing and congratulating us. Confetti littered the air. Glitter sprayed in all directions. I took it all in with barely a glance, so focused was I on the warmth of Bianca’s hand in mine, and the tingling of her presence on my lips.

  Bianca kissed me. She kissed me. She feels the same way.

  “This is some party.” Caleb slapped me on the shoulder. “Your wife really knows how to throw a fake wedding.”

  Your wife. The words were so foreign, but they felt so, so good.

  The “fake wedding” part, not so much. They snapped me back to reality. I gazed around the darkened ballroom, searching for Bianca. I hadn’t seen her for a couple of hours, ever since I’d lost her to a horde of heavily-tattooed Germans. She’d be somewhere in the centre of the fray, downing G&Ts like they were water and being the life of the party.

  I told myself that I didn’t mind that she’d gone off without me, but it was a lie. She’d barely said a word to me since our kiss.

  That’s your fault, you coward. I couldn’t work up the courage to go find her. I’d liked her for so long, and the idea that she might feel the same way … it was everything I’d dreamed, but what if I was wrong? I couldn’t deal with it, not tonight, when it was supposed to be her night, her triumph.

  So instead, I stood against the wall, occasionally shuffling behind some brightly-dressed artist to avoid being spotted by Bianca’s parents, who were currently standing in a corner looking like they needed to be rescued from Hans. The last thing I wanted was to get pulled into an awkward conversation about Latin verbs. I downed several sugary cocktails and watched people in bright-coloured costumes mosh to Ghost Symphony, and wished like hell I had some balls.

  My inner wolf wished it, too. My stomach churned with the effort of holding the wolf at bay, so desperate was the desire to claim my mate. With Irvine and Rolf floating around together, the desire to leap into my wolf form was ever more present.

  Now, Caleb was here, trying to make small talk like he thought I needed a babysitter. Great.

  “Bianca’s hoping she’ll get written up in all the underground press in London,” I said, gesturing to a group of woman standing in the corner, talking into their mobile phones. The girl we’d met yesterday, Serenity Jones, stood off to one side, snapping pictures with a long-lens camera. “If word gets out about The Prim, she’ll be able to start filling the rooms and running events, and make this place turn a profit.”

  “Good. That’s good. You guys have really done a great job on the place.” Caleb lowered his voice. “Anything new on the Benedict Ring?”

  I shook my head. Of course, Caleb couldn’t go a single night without mentioning the ring. My failure to find it hung in the air between us, an invisible billboard screaming I’M A SCREWUP about as loud as an invisible billboard could. “I’ve come up with nothing but dead ends since Bianca’s father showed me the jewellery.”

  “A ring that powerful doesn’t just get lost,” Caleb growled. “Keep looking. We’re getting desperate. Irvine and I are on the cusp of an important alliance, but we’re going to need to demonstrate our power with that ring to seal the deal.”

  “Who with?”

  “The Wulfric pack.”

  My head jerked up. That’s insane. Caleb had grown up beside me, had lived through long and bitter battles with both the Bairds and the Wulfrics. Now, my stepbrother was deliberately aligning his pack with our family’s oldest and most bitter enemies.

  I touched the waistband of my kilt, reminding myself that the Macleans weren’t my family anymore. I’d invited my parents and my brother Angus tonight, but my mother had written me to say that my father had torn up my letter, officially declaring that he disowned me. She wished me the best, but that she wouldn’t be able to get away without angering Colin.

  It had taken me nearly an hour to read that letter, and not just because I struggled with the words. I couldn’t go back, which meant that if things with Bianca didn’t work out, and if I couldn’t find the ring, then I’d really be on my own.

  And now Caleb was deliberately aligning with another old enemy, with a guy he knew had it out for me. It seemed like he was already making his choice. But if he was aligning with them … than what was Rolf doing at the library? Was he following me, trying to get a look at my research?

  “Don’t you think that’s dangerous? You know better than anyone what the Wulfrics are capable of. And after I saw Rolf at the library going through the archives—”

  “He’s allowed to be at the library. There’s not exactly a lot to do in Crookshollow while he waits for us to iron out this alliance.”

  “What if he’s just biding his time while he tries to beat us to the ring? If they get their hands on the ring, they won’t need an alliance.”

  “That won’t happen. They don’t know we don’t have the real ring.” Caleb held up his hand, where he wore a pewter ring – two snake heads entwined around a blood-red stone. It was the fake ring he’d got from Ryan’s mother Clara in order to trick my father, but it was close enough to the historical descriptions that it could pass for the real thing. “This isn’t your business to worry about, Robbo. Irvine and I are dealing with it. Just do your job and find that ring.”

  “Aye, right. Of course.”

  Caleb nodded. His eyes darted behind me, and his face broke out into a smile as he sighted someone he actually wanted to talk to. He ducked into the crowd, leaving me on my own.

  As soon as he left, I missed him. At least he tried to include me in the pack and give me responsibilities to help me prove myself. It wasn’t his fault I was failing miserably.

  I scanned the faces in the crowd, searching for someone friendly. Many of them were strangers, known to me only by Bianca’s animated descriptions. There was Hans, the German tattoo artist who had his entire face decorated like a panther, and Lux, a Serbian guerrilla artist who’d only recently been released from incarceration after she was caught painting her country’s parliament buildings bright pink. Over in the corner was Odette, who was indeed fucking hot, and whose face would feature alongside Bianca’s in many a late night fantasy of mine for years to come. The one stilted conversation we’d had at the bar – filled with too many words I couldn’t understand – put to rest any possible future we might have had.

  I didn’t want her anyway. I had eyes for only one woman … my fated mate.

  “Robbie!” I breathed a sigh of relief as Elinor pushed through the crowd, her red dress sparkling under the flickering lights as she waved a glass of champagne under my nose. “I saw you looking a little lost, and thought I’d come and rescue you.”

  “You’re an angel,” I yelled back, accepting the glass, even though my stomach probably couldn’t handle too much more liqueur. In the corner, the band had returned from their break. Any moment now they’d start up again, blasting their unique blend of industrial goth, and at least I wouldn’t have to make any more small talk until their set was over.

  “Killer party! Bianca really knows how to throw a rave.”

  “Yeah, she’s amazing.”

  Eric’s band struck up at full volume, and all conversations in the room dimmed to screaming. These guys usually played to sold-out concert venues and arenas. To get them here, at a tiny house party, was pretty crazy. Elinor grabbed my hand and dragged me toward the front. I glanced around for Bianca, but couldn’t see her in the fray. People jostled against me, moving in time to the pounding beat. An elbow knocked my hand, splashing sticky champagne down my shirt.

  Eric straddled a foldback, his fingers sliding over the strings as he tore at his violin with t
he bow. His black black hair flew around his face, and sweat streamed down his broad forehead. Girls in the audience grabbed at his legs, but his intense gaze remained locked on Elinor, who tossed her arms in the air and screamed his name.

  That’s love. My stomach churned, and not just because it was filled with an insane cocktail of absinthe and gin and bubbles. I wanted that kind of love so bad. I wanted Bianca to stare at me the way Elinor was gazing up at Eric, to see me as something other than the illiterate loser everyone else saw.

  Every bone in my body ached to be close to her, and my inner wolf was practically clawing me to pieces in desperation to go and claim her before another wolf did. I’d barely managed to make it through our wedding day. I’d never be able to survive this marriage if I had to continue to pretend I didn’t have feelings for her.

  It was my wedding day, and I’d never felt more alone.

  I can’t keep on hiding this. The realisation hit me along with the pounding drums, the thundering bass driving my determination. I need to talk to Bianca, and I need to do it now. I’ve got to tell her the truth. What she does with it is up to her, but I can’t carry this bloody secret around anymore.

  I drowned the rest of my glass, and dropped Elinor’s hand. She grabbed my arm and mouthed something to me, but I had no hope in hell of hearing it. I yanked my arm away and dived into the press of people.

  I shoved and ducked between gyrating, moshing bodies, copping an elbow in my cheek and several slaps on my ass. Lights spun overhead, casting brilliant discs across, making their faces appear like speckled demons. My wolf senses stood on high alert, drunk on the myriad of scents and excretions that permeated the hot room.

  I scanned every grinning, leering face, but couldn’t see Bianca anywhere. I shoved my way toward the back of the ballroom, heading to the bar. Where is she?

  At the bar, I grabbed another champagne, and drowned it. The alcohol buzzed in my veins, mingling with my agitation. My inner wolf clawed against my skin, desperate to free itself. I picked up a whiff of Bianca’s scent, and dived back into the fray, heading toward the door to the hallway, on the other side of the room.