“I don’t remember you being a sarcastic little shit.”
“I was eight when you left, but I assure you I have always been thus. There’s a nightgown in there. Please dress her when you return to the house.” He took a breath, as if mentally crossing off another item on his list. “That’s it. Papa and I will find the beast. If you won’t go to the house—”
“Stay here. I know.”
He woke a reluctant Solenne, dressed her in the nightgown, and coaxed her to eat a bit of bread and drink the tea. When her eyes grew heavy with sleep, they resumed their position with her snuggled against him while he stayed on guard.
He counted heartbeats until dawn.
Solenne
Dawn crept over the horizon.
Solenne snuggled into the blanket, burying her nose against Alek’s chest and allowing herself to soak up his heat. Birdsong warbled, and his hands brushed back her hair. Eventually, it registered that his chest was free of the excessive fur he wore the previous night, thus he was stark naked.
Because of the whole shifting into a werewolf thing. Trousers optional.
She had seen nude men before, specifically her brother, but that was her brother, and she had even seen Alek nude, albeit when they were children. Swimming in the pond and creek was practically a requirement on a hot summer day. She simply had not seen a nude man recently who was not related to her by blood.
The Young Lady’s Guide to Etiquette failed to prepare her for the situation.
“You fake sleeping as poorly as you lie,” he said.
Solenne pulled the blanket tighter around herself, dimly aware that she wore a thin nightgown. Outside the cocoon of warmth, the air held an unexpected chill. Autumn would arrive before long. She stretched, her shoulders making a terrible noise and her legs screaming in agony. Every part of her was sore. Exhaustion weighed on her, and she felt as if she could sleep the day away.
“Where did this come from?” She gestured to the now filthy nightgown, keeping her eyes averted from Alek’s nudity.
“Luis delivered supplies. What are you looking at?” He twisted around, looking behind him.
“Protecting your dignity,” she said, eyes fixed on the sky.
“I’m wearing trousers. Like I said, Luis delivered supplies.” He leaned to one side to pick up a shirt, along with a needle and thread.
She looked down at his bare chest and disappointing lack of nudity. “You’re mending your shirt? It’s barely light.”
“My eyes are better than the average human’s, and there’s a tear on the sleeve. Appearances matter,” he said in a tone reminiscent of Godwin. “Have some water. You drank all the tea.”
Her stomach rumbled at the sight of the hamper. “Did I dream about bread?”
One brow quirked with an unvoiced sarcastic comment as he handed her a chunk of yellow cheese and a thick slice of bread.
They were the greatest morsels she’d ever tasted. “More.” She held out a hand.
“No more. How is the ankle? Can you stand?”
She flexed her injured foot, finding it swollen and stiff. “Better not.”
Before she could suggest a solution, Alek scooped her up, blanket and all.
“Otherwise, how do you feel?” he asked.
“Exhausted. Grubby. Hungry. Sore. Chewed on.”
His arms tightened around her as he picked his way down the hill. “You were not bitten.”
“Oh.” She felt a bit disappointed. “I told you about page 72, yes?”
“Repeatedly.”
Disappointment morphed into embarrassment. She repeatedly mentioned page 72, and yet there was she, dressed in her nightclothes and frustratingly unspoiled.
Seduction was more difficult than novels had led her to believe, but she honestly didn’t know what she could have done differently. She confessed her feelings. After Alek stripped her of her clothing, she felt sure that lovemaking was inevitable.
At least she kissed him. He seemed to enjoy that.
Well, he did not recoil.
Oh no. What if he hated it? What if he did not like for a woman to be so forward? What if he expected Solenne to be a shy, delicate flower? Amiable and amenable? If he expected that, then he barely knew her. She had changed. The years apart had changed them both, without doubt, but not that drastically.
“I will say it back,” he said, interrupting her thoughts.
“But you will say it?” She couldn’t even look at him. No need to ask to what he referred. Last night she had laid her heart bare at his feet. She loved him, only him and always him.
He adjusted her in his arms. “Yes. You cannot escape me.”
She tucked her face against his shoulder to hide her smile. “How long ago did it happen? The bite?”
“Seven years, I think. I was in the West Lands, chasing bounties.”
“That’s dangerous to do on your own,” she said. “Colonel Chambers’ unit was deployed to the West Lands before his injury. If professional soldiers are not secure, what were you doing there alone? Of all the reckless things to do, Aleksandar Hardwick—” Anger seeped into her voice.
“I must beg forgiveness for being young and foolish,” he said in a tone that implied his complete disinterest in forgiveness.
“Tell me how it happened,” she demanded. Seven years ago, she was at university, attending classes when need be but spending every moment in the library. While she had been reading, safely tucked away in the library, Alek was mauled and forever changed.
He chuckled.
The brute chuckled.
“I apologize if my concern for your wellbeing is misplaced. There is no need to mock me. Set me down. I’ll walk.”
“You can’t walk, and I’m not laughing at you, Solenne. Of all the topics I expected to discuss this morning, I did not expect to be chastised for that. You will not enjoy hearing the details.”
Whatever he had to say, it could not be worse than the fight she witnessed last night. “Were you hopelessly outnumbered? Ambushed? Captured in a trap? Oh! You partnered with a treasure hunter who wanted to explore a ruined settlement and they betrayed you?”
“Did you read that in a book?”
“No,” she lied.
He chuckled again because she was a terrible liar and he could always tell. “It’s not exciting. A sudden snowstorm caught me unprepared, and I sought shelter in a beast’s den. That was that.”
“That was that,” she repeated. “Luis spent all night hunting the beast that attacked me.”
“Yes.”
The house neared. She patted his chest to make him halt. “Wait. Before we go inside. I need you to know that I do not care about your condition.”
“You’d be a damn fool not to care.”
“I don’t understand how you are the way you are. Every day I discover that I understood very little.” So much had been kept from her either intentionally or from plain neglect. “But I’m your anchor, however it happened.”
“I never intended—”
“Will you please stop interrupting me? I’m trying to tell you I love you and that I don’t care how I get to have you. I’m not letting you go.”
He fell silent. She held her breath, wanting to hide her face. She said it again.
He didn’t have to say it back. Honestly. She just needed enough restraint to stop blabbering about her emotions.
“I did not intend to make another declaration, but I felt compelled to state my case as plainly as possible. You are exceedingly stubborn,” she said, mustering what remained of her dignity.
“You won’t let me go?”
“No. You’re mine and I will marry you, then I’ll bind you legally and with whatever this—” don’t say witchcraft, don’t say witchcraft “—mystical, definitely not magical, connection is.” She grimaced, because that was worse than witchcraft.
“Your father won’t like it.”
“I fail to find myself caring.”
“Are you at least going to ask me to marry you
? Or shall I just accept your decree about our engagement?”
“I already asked you.”
His brow furrowed as he remembered the details of their engagement. “You were eleven.”
“You have yet to decline my proposal. I consider us quite engaged.” She beamed her most charming smile up at him.
“I think you’re spoiled and too used to getting your way.” His grumble at echoes from an earlier, angrier conversation. Now his tone sounded light, almost teasing.
Good. She enjoyed him like this.
“And I won’t keep it a secret this time,” she said.
His brow furrowed. “I asked Godwin for permission, you know.”
She could imagine how that conversation went. “I continue to find insufficient reason to seek Papa’s permission.”
He stood still, as if envisioning the moment Godwin learned of their engagement. “Let’s get you cleaned and seen by a doctor. Then I’ll give you an answer,” he finally said.
“Alek! I waited all night. You promised we’d talk in the morning.”
“We talked. This is us conversing. Mostly you prattled, and I listened.”
“You honestly plan to make me wait?” She knew his answer. Had always known on some level. The thread between them hummed, warm and golden.
“You waited years. An hour or two is nothing in comparison.”
Chapter 17
Aleksandar
Boxon Hill
Marechal House - The Bathing Room
* * *
The household was on alert for their arrival.
“Send for the doctor,” Alek said, carrying Solenne through to the bathing room. “She requires a bath, clean garments, a meal, and more of that tea. Get to it.”
“Bring me my kit,” Solenne added.
Travers followed Alek into the bathing room. Solenne lowered herself to a bench while he opened the taps. Travers lurked in the doorway with the maid peeking around him.
“Did you not understand my orders?” Alek asked.
“Sir, this is highly inappropriate. Surely a maid can assist Miss Marechal.”
“Oh, it’s quite all right, Travers. Congratulations are in order. We’re engaged,” Solenne said, speaking over Alek’s grumbled response.
“Congratulations?” The man looked dubious.
“Congratulations, Miss,” the maid said from behind Travers.
“Doctor, now,” Alek growled.
Travers and the maid sprang into action.
An inspired ancestor had built a practical shelf into the tiles above the cast iron tub. Jars of various salts, bottles of perfumed oil, and canisters of little soap cakes lined the shelf. Alek sniffed the jars and, finding the scent pleasing, dumped in the contents.
“That’s enough lavender,” Solenne said.
Filled nearly to the brim, steam rolled off the water. He eased Solenne to the tub’s edge. She ran a hand through the water and nodded, then accepted his help to remove the nightgown.
He crouched down to remove her boots. Carefully, he peeled away the sock from her swollen ankle. The injury looked serious.
She lowered herself into the water with a sigh. “Oh, it feels good to take those boots off.”
“How bad is your foot?”
“Only hurts when I put weight on it. I can move my toes.” She set her injured on the tub’s rim and wiggled her toes. “Nothing broken.”
She reached up for a cake of soap. Alek removed his shirt. The soap leaped from her grasp, landing on the far side of the room.
Alek grinned, flashing the tiniest bit of tooth and feeling particularly wolfy. “Can’t have my shirt getting wet, can we? Imagine what Travers will say.”
She reached up, hooking a finger around the silver chain around his neck. Momentarily, the sting of silver eased. He knew his skin was red where the chain rested. “I hate seeing the pain this chain causes. Don’t wear this anymore.”
“I barely noticed it,” he said. The sting helped keep him focused.
“Then it’s not working. Your tattoo.” Her fingers brushed the sun emblem inked over his heart. “Why?”
“You’re always with me,” he answered. The pink flush pleased him greater than any material gain or temporary delight of the flesh.
He glanced down at the water.
And he had a lot to take delight in.
Before, when he removed her bloody clothes, he searched for injury. Keeping her safe and warm had been his top priority, driving all else from his mind. He hadn’t really seen Solenne, admired her curves, her long legs, and the tumble of dark locks.
It seemed impossible that she wanted him still.
“The soap?” she asked, snagging his attention.
“Yes. Stay,” he said, distracted. She laughed while he fetched the errant soap. “Lean forward and I’ll wash your back.”
“That’s unnecessary.”
“We’re engaged,” he replied.
Her face flushed pink. “I apologize if I was presumptuous. You’re the only one I want to see me like this.”
“Good. I’m the only one who gets to see you like this or any other way.” Solenne probably meant seeing her in a moment of weakness or vulnerability. Alek was the only one privileged enough to view her bare skin, to appreciate the way the water glistened or her hair clumped in damp strands, clinging to the back of her neck.
With care, he lathered up her back, scrubbed with a cloth, and rinsed away the events of the previous night. Each touch was filled with adoration and promise. This was his mate. She had seen him lost to the beast, with the blood of another on his tongue, and she proclaimed her love.
For him, of all people.
He washed and rinsed her hair, which turned the bathwater a distressing shade of pink. Letting the filthy water drain, he refilled the tub and continued to wash his beloved. He massaged her tender ankle with a small vial of oil that smelled of lavender. Mindful of each touch, he catalogued her sighs and moans, learning her responses. They were his too. Only his.
Finally, he washed her chest. With the same meticulous care, he lathered her shoulders and chest. He gently cupped her breasts, massaging the soap into a froth. Buff-colored nipples hardened as she arched into his touch.
Alek leaned forward, capturing her lips with his own.
“If you want me to stop, I will,” he said, when he pulled away.
“Please, don’t stop.” Water sloshed over the sides as she leaned back.
Starting at her feet, he worked his way up her injured calf. The skin at the edge of the claw marks was red and swollen. Fortunately, they were not deep. She watched him with a slightly dazed look, her lips swollen and begging for another kiss.
Satisfied the claw marks were clean, he switched to her other leg. Soapy hands skimmed up her legs, creeping closure to the juncture of her thighs.
“May I?” he asked, hand nearly but not touching her there.
“Yes, please,” she breathed.
Crouched at the edge of the tub, he positioned himself for a better angle.
Solenne jolted at his touch. “Sorry,” she said, cheeks flush. “New sensation.”
“You’ve never?” He wondered at the idea that Solenne had never touched herself.
“No, I have.” She bit her bottom lip, then her eyes gleamed, like she arrived at a decision to be bold. “You were with me then too.”
“Oh?” This he wanted to hear, about how she thought of him when she touched herself.
He pushed his fingers against her, encountering a tangle of hair and her silken folds.
“Alek,” she moaned, sinking back.
“Let me be perfectly frank,” he said, fingers stroking her folds, “I have loved you in some capacity since the moment we met.”
Her gaze locked on his. Gently circling her tender bundle of nerves, he captured her mouth. Water drenched the floor.
“You’re mine, Solenne. You always have been.” He probed her entrance, finding it hot and tight. She tensed, then relaxed as he con
tinued to stroke and tease. “You ground me. When we were apart, the memory of you kept me whole. You are my anchor. My friend. My love. My heart.”
He worked his finger into her. She bit back a moan. Water drenched the floor as he worked another finger in. She was tight beyond belief and warm. Muscles clenched around him as he crooked his fingers, hitting that special spot. Her hips shot up and splashed back down, driving an enormous wave of water over the edge of the tub. The floor was in ruin, and there would be no doubt about what they had gotten up to. He didn’t care.
Solenne was his.
He had tried to wait, to do the right thing and honorable thing, but that had only led to wasted years.
“I should have come for you,” he said. “I never should have let anyone keep us apart. I’m sorry, love.”
“You should be,” she managed to say.
Alek was of the opinion that while she had managed to say something in that moment, he was doing a poor job of it. His fingers moved from her clit to plunge back inside, working a hard rhythm. She might have been inexperienced, but she met each thrust with enthusiasm.
“I can’t wait to have you on my bed, spread out for me, a feast for me. I’m going to eat every morsel of you, love,”
“Yes, Alek.” Her back arched again, and her feet braced against the side of the tub ten kicked, knocking over a basket of assorted washcloths. Her channel clutched him tight, pulsing with her climax.
He listened to her heart as her pulse and breath evened out.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
His heart. His love. His radiant daylight.
Solenne
Alek carried her to her bedroom, which was humiliating enough, but Travers’ knowing look made her flush with embarrassment. Thank the heavens that her father and Luis had yet to return.
He pushed open the door with his shoulder. The room was not grand by any means, furnished with century-old furniture and cluttered with books and notebooks on every available surface. A decrepit green velvet chair sat under the south-facing windows, the bottom sagging and the velvet worn away on the arms. The windows let in enough natural light that she only required a lamp on the dreariest of days.
Wolf's Bane Page 17
