Wedding the Wolf: A wolf shifter paranormal romance

by Steffanie Holmes

  No pressure or anything.

  Oak trees bent over the drive as I rolled toward the house, and I had the unsettling feeling I was driving into a gothic horror film. I was also late. Only by seven minutes, but still, that would not do wonders for my reputation. The tires squealed as I shoved the lever forward to brake, avoiding the edge of the stone steps by mere inches.

  The bald butler standing at the open door regarded me with a disapproving expression. Don’t blame me, Jeeves. I’ve only had my license for a month. I’m still getting used to driving.

  “Carol—I mean, Willow Summers,” I huffed as I hobbled up the stairs, carrying my sample folder under my arm. “I’m here to see Alex.”

  He nodded, and beckoned for me to follow him inside. I didn’t have time to pause and admire the ornate entrance hall nor the stodgy dark hallways with the walls covered in gilt portraits of grumpy-looking people. Just keeping up with the butler as he wound his way through the labyrinthine halls took serious effort. For an old guy, he was surprisingly fast. How does he remember where everyone is?

  The butler dropped me into an elegant drawing room, decorated in shades of cream and furnished in a modern Scandinavian style. The room stood in stark contrast to the dark furniture and dusty portraits in the hall. Alex sat on the couch, wearing a cream-coloured dress accentuating her long, bare legs. Both the dress and her legs were splattered with paint. She rose to greet me with a kiss on each cheek.

  “I’m so sorry I’m late,” I puffed as I sank into the chair opposite her. A stab of jealousy hit me in the chest as I regarded her bouncing blonde hair and perfect figure, complete with two working and very shapely legs. Alex had everything – the burgeoning career in the art world, the beautiful figure, the perfect husband, the insane mansion. And soon, thanks to me, the perfect wedding. If she wasn’t so nice, I’d probably hate her.

  Alex reached over and poured me some tea. “It’s fine. I didn’t even notice. Here, you must be thirsty after trying to keep up with Simon.”

  “Thanks. I love this room,” I said, taking the cup from her. I glanced around the room and took in the thoughtful details. Along one wall, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves housed colourful art books and bright ceramics. Floor-to-ceiling windows lined the other wall. Free of the heavy drapes that usually accompanied a house like this, they gave a full view of the wild back garden and allowed light to stream through the room. A stack of bean bags were stacked in a corner. Paintings of galavanting foxes hung over the fireplace. Even though the room was enormous, it seemed cosy and intimate.

  “Thanks.” Alex beamed, although the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I decorated it myself. Ryan and I are slowly redoing all the rooms in Raynard Hall, trying to drag it kicking and screaming into the 21st century.”

  “Well, you’re doing a remarkable job. I see you haven’t quite got to the hallway yet.”

  Alex rolled her eyes. “This house must have twelve miles of hallway. Quite frankly, taking on that job terrifies me. Here, Simon’s made some scones.” Alex gestured to the plate beside us. I picked up a scone covered in jam and clotted cream, noting a delicate ring of gold around the saucer’s rim. Alex’s fingers gripped her teacup so tight, the tension ran all the way up her arm.

  Something’s wrong. I studied her eyes, noting a mix of nerves and … something else. Sadness? What did Alex Kline possibly have to be sad about?

  No, I definitely wasn’t imagining it. I knew someone trying to put a brave face on when I saw it, mostly because it’s something I did most days of my life.

  What do I do? Should I ask her if she’s okay?

  No. Alex was a client, not a friend. Whatever was bothering her was none of my business. If she wanted to pretend she was fine, then I’d do her the decency of going along with it.

  I bit into my scone as delicately as I could, trying not to get cream on my face. Alex crossed one elegant leg over the other, and continued to stare at the teacup clutched in her hand without drinking. “What do you have to show me?”

  “Er … right, yes.” I set down my saucer and rolled out the vision board on the coffee table. My face flushed as I started to talk about the ideas, so I kept my eyes focused on the bright colours and photographs so Alex wouldn’t see. “I’ve taken all the elements you discussed and created an overall theme for the day. I’m thinking a lot of natural tones and textures, creating a kind of whimsical forest grotto. We’ll set up the marquee right at the back of the grounds, on the edge of the forest. We’ll use potted plants and miniature trees to extend the forest around the marquee, creating this idea that the guests are entering an enchanted garden. There’ll be strings of Chinese lanterns, and I have this supplier in London who does chandeliers that project shapes like tree branches. The ceremony will be outdoors, under an arch made of fallen logs, like this—” I tapped the photograph I’d cut from a magazine, and glanced up to check Alex’s reaction.

  She whipped her head away, but not before I noticed the fat tears rolling down her cheeks. Shit. Okay, something’s really wrong. Clients sometimes hated my ideas, but they usually just yelled at me instead of crying about it.

  I opened my mouth to say something, but Alex beat me to it.

  “That all looks lovely,” she croaked, her usually musical voice hoarse. “What are the next steps?”

  “Um …” Okay, so we’re ignoring the tears. Gotcha. “… yes, so I’ll need to order all this stuff, which means I’ll need to charge you for the deposits …” My stomach churned. I shouldn’t say anything. She clearly just wants me to pretend everything is normal.

  “Yes, that’s fine.” Her voice shook.

  “And … um, I’ll arrange a meeting for you with the couture designer we discussed at the last meeting. Her studio is in Crooks Crossing, and I think she’ll be perfect—” Alex’s hand shook violently, and droplets of tea stained her dress. “Alex … um, I’m sorry, but are you … are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” Alex sniffed, wiping furiously at her eyes with the back of her hand. “I just had some bad news, is all.”

  “Do you want me to come back later?”

  “No, no, I’m sorry. Just give me a moment.” She slid the cup onto the table and gripped the edge of her chair as if it were the only thing holding her upright. A river of tears spilled down her cheeks. Thinking quickly, I grabbed my purse and dug out the packet of tissues I kept in there. I handed it to Alex. She tore out one of the tissues and dabbed at her eyes.

  “This is ridiculous,” she sniffed. “I’m planning my wedding. I should be so happy.”

  “What’s wrong? Are you nervous about marrying Ryan?” I’d had a couple of brides who weren’t sure they were making the right decision. They usually sorted themselves out before the big day, and they had some of the happiest marriages, at least according to the tabloids. I mentally dragged up the speech I usually gave to nervous brides, and prepared to launch into it, when Alex laughed – a sweet tinkling sound, like water flowing down a stream.

  “No, no.” She wiped her eyes again. “Ryan is amazing. I’m so happy to have him in my life. I’m really so lucky. It’s just that we decided we were going to have a baby before we got married. We’ve been trying for the last 18 months, but so far … nothing. We’ve been to the fancy doctors and I’m taking these giant horse pills and we’ve been following the calendar and I really thought this time, you know … but I got my period today. Again.”

  Oh jeez. Alex broke down again, burying her face in her hands. I’ve had sobbing brides before, but usually it was because their manicurist split a nail or the caterer couldn’t make a vegan lemon meringue pie. Something panged in my gut. I knew what it felt like to desperately want something and know you’d probably never have it. I felt guilty for envying her, and my heart ached for her.

  “It’s okay,” I said, then instantly regretted it. I had no idea what I should say. “Some people have to wait a long time. Maybe it will be next month?”

  “I had such a good feeling about this mont
h.” She grabbed her tea and gulped at it as if it was a pitcher of wine. “What’s wrong with me?”

  “Nothing. You’re young. You have so much time. I’m sure it will happen. I’m sorry, I’m probably making things worse.”

  Alex sniffed. “No, you’re not. I’m sorry for unloading this on you. You just came to talk about colour samples, and I’m a big mess.”

  “It’s fine, really.”

  “This isn’t like me. I’m usually so … go with the flow. I know that sometimes it takes a while, and there are … other factors that might be having an impact. Maybe Ryan and I aren’t as compatible as I thought.”

  “Don’t say that,” I cooed. I moved across to sit beside her on the sofa, and placed my arm around her shoulders. It felt odd to be treating a client like this, and my stomach flipped with nerves that I might be overstepping a line, but if I’d been in Alex’s position, I’d want someone to comfort me.

  Not that I’d ever be in Alex’s position. No one would ever want to have a baby with someone as broken as me.

  “I just want a baby so badly,” she sniffed. I dug a pack of tissues out of my purse and handed one to her. “I can see what the rest of our lives look like, and I just want to make it happen. I’ve bought all these little baby clothes and now they’re just sitting in a box mocking me. All this waiting makes me feel as though I’m standing still. The others are all pregnant – Anna and Rosa and Belinda – and I bet it will be bloody Bianca next. If they can have babies, then why not me? Where’s my baby?”

  “Hey, hey, hey … “ My own hands shook as I rubbed Alex’s shoulder, not knowing what else I could do. My heart ached for her. “Plenty of couples have gone through what you’re going through. My aunt tried for three years with four different guys to get pregnant, she wanted a baby so bad. There are so many things you can try – not the four-guys thing, unless Ryan is into that – you’ve got plenty of options left. And you’re so young, I’m sure you’ll get your baby.”

  “Thanks, Willow.” Alex screwed up the tissue into a tiny ball. “I’m so sorry to dump all this on you.”

  I shrugged. “It’s all part of the service.”

  “Honestly, the only thing that’s keeping me together is this wedding. I just need something to focus on that doesn’t remind me that I’m a failure as a mate.”

  Mate. At the word, a jolt of shock ran through me. It was such an odd choice of words. It was almost … animalistic.

  The kind of word a werewolf might use.

  Her using that word made me wonder if Ryan was a shifter. He was friends with Irvine and Robbie, so it made sense. But that wasn’t possible. I’d met Ryan at our coffee meeting, and I was 100% certain he wasn’t a werewolf. He didn’t have that smell of wolf about him.

  You’re just reading too much into it because you have werewolves on the brain. Alex is a perfectly normal person, and she’s not marrying a werewolf. You’re fine. You can do this.

  But as I walked Alex through some of the other details about her wedding and she flipped through books of colour samples, a nagging sensation crept into my head. What if I’m wrong? I didn’t know why I could smell werewolves, but maybe it didn’t work all the time. Maybe there were really hundreds more of them hiding all around me, and I didn’t even know.

  And even if that wasn’t true, there was definitely something weird going on in Crookshollow. Apart from my father, who I was too young to remember, I’d only ever smelt five werewolves in my entire life – three I passed randomly in the street on separate occasions, one who came to our house to yell at my mother (we hid in the utility cupboard until he went away), and one in the audience of my college graduation. I’d only been in Crookshollow a month, and already I’d watched Bianca fake-marry a werewolf. Add Irvine and his friend Caleb to the mix and that was three wolves just in this one tiny village. It couldn’t be a coincidence. Why were there so many shifters in Crookshollow, and why did they all seem to know each other?

  A sliver of fear crept through my stomach. Why would so many shifters appear around me as soon as I left the safety of my mother’s house?

  I touched my hair. What if they’d seen through my disguise? What if they’d figured out I was Helen Winters’ daughter, and they were closing in on me in order to get to her?

  Had I just walked into a trap?

  6

  Irvine

  “—and apart from that fact that he hasn’t turned up any decent leads on the ring, he’s now being openly rude to Rolf. I’m starting to seriously doubt if he was a good choice for this mission.”

  I nodded, even though I hadn’t heard a word Caleb just said. He didn’t seem to notice, stopping just long enough to take a slurp from his milkshake before he launched into another rant about Robbie. It would be a comical image if I didn’t already feel like shit.

  After a morning of conference calls with alphas from prominent US bear and wolf packs, we stopped at Bewitching Bites for lunch. Caleb was pleased with the progress we’d made this morning, but I wasn’t so cheery, mainly due to the fact that I’d hardly heard a word that had been said.

  So far, my plan to get Willow Summers out of my head hadn’t exactly worked. In fact, it was a massive fucking failure.

  Willow’s soft, dreamy voice floated around me, crowding out all the other, less Willowless conversation. Her dark curls bounced in and out of my view. And she was—

  —walking into the bakery.

  I blinked. No, I wasn’t imagining it. That was Willow Summers, walking up to the counter, dragging her right leg with a slight limp. She wore a tailored suit that clung in all the right places, and the neckline plunged deep, revealing the hint of cleavage that made my breath hitch. Her eyes scanned the rows of treats on display. She didn’t seem to have seen us.

  “—if I didn’t know better, I’d swear it was like he can’t even read or something—” Caleb was still droning in, as if the hottest girl in the universe hadn’t just walked in.

  I stood up, grabbing my coffee cup. “I need another coffee,” I said.

  “But you haven’t finished that one—”

  I leaned against the counter, placing myself between Willow and her view of the cakes. “Willow Summers, as I live and breathe.”

  Willow jumped. “H-h-hi, Irvine,” she stammered. Her eyes darted toward the door, and she gripped a thick organiser against her chest, sadly obscuring her glorious cleavage.

  “I didnae think this place could get any sweeter, but you proved me wrong.” Behind me, Caleb snorted at my ridiculous line, but from the way Willow’s cheeks were burning red, I ken I’d hit the mark. “What brings you here?”

  Willow bit her lip. “I-I have a meeting with Belinda. We’re going over m-m-menus for a wedding.”

  “Sounds delicious. If you want my recommendation, try the Heaven and Hell cake.” I pointed to the multi-layered cake decorated with whisky ganache and chocolate curls that took pride of place in the cabinet. “It’s innocent on the outside, but wicked bad on the inside. Reminds me of someone I ken.”

  “Um … sure.” Willow barely glanced at the cake. Her dark eyes fell on mine. I lost myself in them. The connection crackled between us, and it took every ounce of self control I had not to slide her up on the counter and tear open that sexy jacket.

  I leaned in closer and lowered my voice. “The thing about Heaven and Hell cake is that sometimes, the first taste isnae enough. You need another taste, and another.”

  Willow swallowed.

  The foot of space between us shrunk away to nothing. The way she was looking at me was even more intimate than the kiss we’d shared. That look said I’m scared, but I want you.

  I’m scared too, Willow Summers.

  Caleb’s arm draped over my shoulder, and he leaned in, shoving his face between us. “Irvine, won’t you introduce me to your friend.”

  Shite. The last thing I wanted was Caleb scrutinising our connection. “Sure thing. Willow, this is my friend Caleb. We’re just having coffee. Caleb, this is Willow
Summers. She recently moved to Crookshollow from London.”

  “My pleasure, Willow.” Caleb held out his hand, shooting her one of his brilliant smiles. Even though I ken he was insanely devoted to his fiancée, Rosa, I had to fight off the urge to deck him.

  “We’ve already met,” Willow said, shooting me a nervous glance. She didn’t take Caleb’s hand, and after a few awkward moments, he retracted his hand.

  “We have? I can’t say I remember you.”

  How can anyone forget someone that gorgeous?

  “It was at Bianca’s wedding. Elinor introduced us. I was the wedding planner.”

  “That’s right. I remember now. Elinor and Bianca have been singing your praises. We’re all friends, and there are probably quite a few couples who could use your services.” Caleb grinned, clapping me on the shoulder.

  “Oh, that’s … that’s great.” Willow forced a smile. I glared at Caleb. Couldn’t he see she was uncomfortable?

  “In fact,” Caleb continued, giving me a sly wink. “We’re all heading to the pub tonight, to celebrate an important merger Irvine and I negotiated. You should join us.”

  Actually, that wasn’t a bad idea. A chance for Willow to get to know more people in Crookshollow, and see that shifters weren’t all bad, even if some of them did want to do bad things to her body.

  And maybe a chance for me to see her in another cleavage-baring outfit.

  “I-I-I have something tonight,” Willow stammered out. “But thank you for the invitation.” Her eyes met mine and she bit her lip. Damn. It was hard to focus when she did that.

  “You should come. Elinor will be there,” I said. “And Alex. Bianca, too.”

  “Not Bianca,” Caleb said. “But it’ll be a fun group.”

  Now it was my turn to arch an eyebrow at him. Not Bianca? Was Caleb really that pissed at Robbie that he wouldn’t invite either of them out with us?

  Apparently, he was, because he gave a curt nod, then turned his attention back to Willow. “I’ll see you there, Willow. Irvine, meet you back at Raynard Hall when you’re done here.”