Valentine’s low growl didn’t go unnoticed by the surrounding crowd.
Among a few raised eyebrows from the royal entourage, the prince chuckled, then acknowledged the host with a nod. “Master Lobo.”
“Prince Aran.” Valentine maintained his voice composed, but his hand on her back told a different story.
A few pleasantries followed from both sides, then the prince voiced the desire to visit the mansion’s famous hanging gardens and left.
A tall, handsome man approached Valentine and Mirella soon after.
“Gabriel Martelli at your service, Blessed Bride,” the stranger said with a Celestian accent, bowing to Mirella with a flourish of his hand.
At closer sight, the man was a vampire. He had blue eyes, dark-brown hair, and the physique of a swimmer, which could only be achieved on Celestia, where oceans of water still existed.
“A pleasure to meet you, Gabriel of House Martelli.” Mirella smiled at the vampire, causing another suffered growl from her husband.
Gabriel laughed, then exchanged a one-armed salute with Valentine. “I would probably hide my bride in the highest turret and toss the keys, if she looked like yours,” he said, making Mirella blush and Valentine scowl.
“Then you understand why you and your vampire charm should stay away from her.” Valentine gave Gabriel a pat on the shoulder that resonated like a heavy slam in the awkward silence that followed. “Or I might forget we’ve been friends for the longest time.”
Laughing, Gabriel raised his hands to the side in a show of good intentions. “You know you have nothing to worry from me.”
Dragon chose that moment to come forward and greet the vampire.
“Martelli, my friend.” The High Lord hugged Gabriel.
“Sol. You are the man I was looking for,” the vampire responded, embracing the huge man back.
They were soon engaged in a deep conversation and walked toward one of the settees located by the refreshments.
“I’m deeply regretting having ordered this dress for you,” Valentine said when his guests were out of earshot.
“Why?” Mirella asked, dismayed by his words, and immediately looking at her reflection in the closest mirror.
Nostrils flaring, his mouth flattened into a hard line, he said, “Because I’ll have to worry for the rest of the night about all the men looking at you.”
Mirella’s heart filled with relief and joy. She stepped closer to him until he took her under his arm. “I have eyes for nobody but you, my impossibly handsome husband.”
“Good.” He bent to brush the crown of her head. “That’s good. And it’s the only reason you are here and not tied to my bed right now.” His hand lowered once again from her shoulder to her naked back. “Although I don’t see why I can’t tie you up later—”
Mirella didn’t know if Valentine was aware of the effect he had on her, but her knees buckled every time he talked to her in that explicit way of his.
“You are also due for a good spanking.” He pinched her cheek, again.
By now, Mirella was having a hard time controlling the short intakes of breath escaping her mouth, but she managed to say, “Someone might see you,” while scanning the room for indiscreet gazes.
He chuckled against her ear. “My sweet and wild kitten, I told you I’d never share you.”
Sure enough, they had their backs to the wall and nobody was looking their way.
Almost nobody.
Mirella caught the redhead’s malicious gaze before the woman hastily looked away. She was about to speak her mind about the courtesan when Valentine steered her toward the center of the ballroom.
“And here is your surprise, my Blessed Bride,” he said, pointing his chin at the group waiting to be acknowledged by the host.
“Vera! Lucilla!” Mirella couldn’t contain her joy. She left Valentine’s side and closed the gap between her and her family, her arms open to welcome them.
“Mirella,” Vera whispered in a choked voice, her eyes roaming over her sister’s dress.
“You look like a queen,” Lucilla said.
“Come here.” Mirella hugged them both at the same time.
“Your dress—”
“Your hair—”
“I’ve missed you so much,” Mirella said, ignoring their protests.
“Mirella,” her father stepped closer, followed by her mother.
“Father. Mother.” She smiled at her parents, then hugged them too.
“You shine like the brightest diamond,” her father said.
“This dress—” Giving her a good look, her mother frowned. “It truly looks like—” She tilted her head, then started again. “It can’t be, but I would swear—”
Mirella nodded. “It’s a Genevieve Lafrette.”
Even her father was startled by her statement. Her mother’s and her sisters’ eyes widened as their jaws dropped. Soon, Mirella was swept away by a sea of questions. Amongst laughter and shocked looks, she told everything they wanted to know, but omitted her recent encounter with a beed. Finally, she asked her mother, “How do you feel?”
“I’ve barely survived the ordeal,” her mother said, patting her chest. She then proceeded to tell Mirella about all the people who had come to visit her and how many cards she had received after the horrifying attack.
Mirella listened, realizing that she missed her mother’s incessant babble as much as her sisters’ company. Valentine gave her a good hour with her family before he came back to reclaim her.
“It’s time for the first dance of the night,” he said to her parents, as if he was asking them permission to take her away from them.
Mirella was touched by his gallant behavior. Given their arranged marriage, he didn’t need to court her, but there were moments when he made her feel as if he was trying to woo her.
He took her hand and raised it to his shoulder’s height, then gave a signal to the orchestra. When music filled the ballroom and every single head turned their way, he slowly led her to the center of the dance floor, over a mosaic star, and he spun her around twice before taking her in his arms and guiding her through the complicated steps of a tango.
Years of dancing lessons came back to her as she entwined her feet around his ankles and dropped backward, sure that he would never let her fall. His strong arms cradled her a few centimeters from the shiny floor, a look of hunger in his eyes, and desire written all over his face. They swirled around the dance floor, drawing gasps and applauses when he bent her to impossible angles, only to spin her back up a moment later. His command of the tango was exhilarating. The way he controlled her was a sensual reminder of what he was capable of doing to her body.
When the last note played, and Valentine caught her falling body one last time, instead of raising her, he bent low and kissed her.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
At the end of their tango, Valentine would’ve devoured her, but he reigned his hunger and brushed her lips as it was customary. Throughout the dance he had kept his baser instincts in check, promising himself that they would have an encore in his private apartments, and their performance would be untamed.
The moment he pulled her up, then bowed to her, the Grand Room exploded in a long applause.
By his side, Mirella shone bright, and he felt drawn to her light.
“Our first dance together,” she whispered.
“Did you enjoy it?”
“Tremendously.” Then she giggled.
“What’s so funny?”
“Mr. Carenti wasn’t near as good as you are.”
“Who is Mr. Carenti?” he asked, imagining a man leading her in a tango and bristling at the thought. His wolf too expressed his dislike with a low growl.
“My dance teacher.” She saw him scowling and immediately added, “Mr. Carenti is an octogenarian gentleman.”
“But he isn’t as good a dancer as I am.” He smiled, and his wolf settled down on its haunches.
“No, he didn’t like to hug me like yo
u do and his drops weren’t as exciting as yours.” She laughed. “I suspect he didn’t like women to begin with.”
“Good to hear—” He was cut short by the approaching High Priest, who had been looking for an audience with Valentine since he had entered the Grand Room.
“Master Lobo.” The High Priest’s voice contained an irritated tone he didn’t make an effort to conceal. “Blessed Bride.” The studious perusal he gave Mirella unnerved Valentine.
“I see that you have recovered from the attack at the Vestal House, and also from the most recent harrowing experience in the desert,” the High Lord said, talking to Mirella, but glancing at Valentine.
“I’m fine, your Holiness. Thank you for asking.” Mirella leaned to kiss the ring on the hand the High Priest offered to her, then she moved closer to Valentine.
Graciously, the High Priest tilted his head. “You look fine, but I’d rather have you back with us where no wild beasts or floods can harm you.”
“My bride will not leave Lobo Mansion.” Valentine wound his arm on Mirella’s back, his hand resting on her hip.
“In the history of Lupine, never has a Blessed Bride left the Vestal House—” the man said, his voice rising an octave, attracting a few passersby’s interest.
“So you have explained before.” Valentine felt Mirella shiver and applied a gentle pressure to her hip to reassure her. “Still, my bride will remain with me.”
“But—” The High Priest’s face had progressively changed color throughout the conversation, and it was now an unhealthy shade of red. “You can’t be serious!” he sputtered. “You can’t disregard a thousand-year-old tradition as if it were nothing.”
“It is not up for discussion.” Valentine motioned for one of the waiters carrying wine to come closer. He took one flute and offered the white, bubbly Laurum to the High Priest. “Enjoy the evening, your Holiness.”
In a clear state of bewilderment, the man accepted the beverage. Then his eyes gleamed with a cold light, and the expression on his face became resolute. “This doesn’t end here,” he murmured and left, slamming the flute back on the waiter’s tray.
“I’m famished,” Valentine said to Mirella as he watched the High Priest storm out of the Grand Room, followed by his disciples.
“I could eat something.” Mirella sounded forlorn.
“He won’t take you anywhere.” Taking her chin in his hand, he looked into her eyes. “I promise.”
She smiled and nodded.
He led her to one of the buffet tables and fixed a plate with savory pastries and smoked salmon for her. Their repast was disturbed several times by guests who came to congratulate them on their dance, but Valentine saw how those compliments made Mirella happy and tolerated the intrusions with good grace. All the while, he enjoyed the sight of her eating. Once again, he would’ve preferred they were alone so that he could feed her like he had done the last time they had shared a meal. But there were too many people around, including her family, and he couldn’t embarrass her thus.
The evening progressed into the night. The orchestra played for hours as guests danced to the tunes of the last popular successes. Under Valentine’s strict supervision, Dragon forged a few new alliances and the shifter also closed a contract he and Valentine had been working on since the beginning of his visit. Meanwhile, Mirella spent more time with her family.
When the time came to bid farewell to his last guest, Valentine was relieved that he had not killed anyone for looking at his bride in a lascivious way.
“Are you tired, kitten?” he asked her, and before waiting for her answer passed his arms behind her knees and around her back and cradled her to his chest. Her gown’s trail cascading from his bent arms, he walked them out of the ballroom.
With an argentine laugh, she snuggled against his chest. “Where are you taking me?”
Although he heard the desire in her question, and he wanted nothing more than to spirit her away to his chamber, Valentine knew he couldn’t fight the wolf any longer. He had been able to keep the beast at bay for several hours, but its mandate pulsed stronger in Valentine’s blood, pumping him with adrenaline and lust. As soon as they were behind closed doors, he would take her and he would be rougher than usual. He couldn’t let that happen and decided to abstain from spending the night with her.
His whole body ached for want of Mirella, but he finally answered, “I’m taking you to your apartments,” and walked faster toward the right wing.
While he was climbing one side of the double staircase, he saw Dragon drunkenly stumbling up on the other side. He wasn’t alone. Ronda and a brunette were helping the shifter.
“Blessed Bride,” Dragon said, slurring the words as he tried to bow low. “Master Lobo, what a wonderful party you threw for me.”
“You are welcome.” Valentine wondered how much the man had imbibed to reduce himself to a common drunkard. With a build like his, Dragon must have singlehandedly finished Valentine’s white Laurum cellar stock.
“I didn’t think Solarians were big on drinking,” Mirella commented, comfortably nested in his arms.
“I didn’t think so either, but it seems that Solarian customs might’ve loosened a bit where spirits are involved.” Valentine reached the second-floor landing and proceeded toward Mirella’s apartments, eager to deposit her on her feet and leave as fast as he could, before he would act upon his desire to push her down to the bed, raise her gown, and make her his.
Luck was on his side because when he entered her chamber, Mirella’s lady’s maid was already there, dutifully waiting for her mistress with herbal tea at the ready. Valentine let go of his bride but lingered at the door.
“Would you like a cup?” Mirella asked him, pointing at the tray her maid held with shaking hands.
“No, thanks, but I’ll keep you company a moment longer.” He couldn’t bring himself to leave her yet, and walked to the couch, where he rested his elbow on the back of the frame.
Mirella sat on the opposite settee, facing him. “Thank you, Laura,” she said, as the girl served her a cup.
The lady’s maid’s hands trembled so much that the porcelain cup rattled against its saucer.
“Maybe you should go to bed, Laura. You can barely stand.” Mirella regaled the maid with a soft smile, then took the cup in her hands before the girl had the chance to accidentally spill the tea all over Mirella’s gown.
The maid hesitated, then bowed and scurried away.
“Do you want me to replace her with someone less nervous?” Valentine asked.
Mirella shook her head. “She isn’t that bad, but tends to be more jittery when you are around.” With an elegant movement that reminded him of a ballerina, she raised the teacup to her lips. After a few sips, she commented, “She put so much sugar in it, I can barely taste the valerian.”
“Do you want a fresh pot?” Valentine was already walking to the nightstand to ring the bell and call the maid back into the room.
Mirella waved her free hand. “No, thanks. Let her rest. She has been on her feet since early in the morning.”
“And so have you,” he replied.
“Yes, but she was working while I was being served. Let her be. I’ll lessen the sweetness by adding some tea from the pot.”
She made to rise with cup and saucer in her hand, but he was faster and reached the tray the girl had left in the breakfast nook.
“Let me.” He topped her cup with warm herbal tea, then resumed his position behind the couch. “Better?” he asked when she bent and sipped the excess before it would spill over the saucer. The warm beverage remained confined inside the cup, but the swell of her breasts pushed against the edge of the bodice, menacing to escape the soft fabric. The sight affected the state of his body, softening his resolve and hardening all the rest. His wolf demanded relief.
“Still sweet, but much better. Thanks.” She drank a few more sips, then looked up at him from under her long eyelashes. “Stay,” she said and sounded like the sweetest of p
rayers. Yawning softly, she raised her arm, reaching her hand to him. “Come to bed with me.”
He was glad there was enough space between them. Had her fingers brushed his arm, he would’ve capitulated and fulfilled both his and his wolf’s desire. “You’re tired,” he said when she yawned a second time.
Pouting, she stretched her slender arms, arching her back, which produced an encore of the previous show. This time, her movements inched her dress even lower. By now, Valentine was greatly suffering from the discomfort due to denying oneself physical release for too long, and he had to leave.
“I have a busy day tomorrow,” he said from the door, without looking back at his bride.
“I hope you can find time to come and see me,” she whispered with a slurred voice.
From the sounds he heard a moment later, he imagined she had reached her bed.
His whole body was on fire and he decided to take a long, cold shower. He let the icy water cascade over his heated skin for more than thirty minutes, but the ache threatening to rob him of his sanity wouldn’t abate. Shivering, he donned a pair of pants, a shirt, and his riding boots, and headed toward the mechanical stable. He flew his Desert Fire for several hours over the Great Plains before admitting defeat and returning to the mansion.
After a brief visit to his draglet that was healing in the veterinarian ward, Valentine marched toward the house proper with the intention to take a stroll through the hanging gardens. Once he crossed the foyer, instead of continuing toward the first-floor hallway that led to the gardens, his legs took him to the staircase. He found himself on the second-floor landing, and at that point he couldn’t fool himself any longer.
He couldn’t stay away from his bride. Be it genetics or magnetic attraction, he simply couldn’t resist her call.
As he had done every night since he had brought Mirella to Lobo Mansion, he silently entered her bedroom, ready to send away the lady’s maid if she was about. And like every night, he would then lie by Mirella’s side, only to leave before she woke. He promised himself he wouldn’t touch her.
The room was dimly lit by the dying embers in the fireplace, but Valentine’s wolf eyes didn’t need much light to navigate the space between the entrance door and the majestic bed, where there was no Mirella to be seen. His nostrils flared, seeking her scent, but finding none.
The Fifth Moon's Wolf (The Fifth Moon's Tales) Page 16
