The Werewolf's Wife

by Michele Hauf

  She’d asked far more of him than he had asked of her. She owed him more than he could ever know. And she would pay up.

  Before heading to the kitchen, her eyes glanced upon the digital camera sitting on her vanity. An idea occurred. She snatched the camera, and went into the kitchen to make something hearty enough to satisfy a tired, hungry werewolf.

  * * *

  The bathroom was the frilliest room he’d ever been in. It smelled powdery, and every step he took he brushed lace or a ruffle or a crystal bowl with funny-looking spices and dried chunks of stuff in it. Leaving his dirty clothes heaped on the fluffy pink rug seemed a crime, but he quickly got over his foul deed as the hot water poured over his scalp and shoulders.

  Ridge groaned as the water massaged his aching muscles. A man needed only two things to survive. Food and hot water.

  As for his wolf? A wolf also needed a visceral connection to another soul, which is why he figured he’d never quite felt complete. Whole. Not constantly exhausted by the world.

  “You need her,” he muttered to his pining heart. “She can give you what your wolf craves.”

  Connection. A warm body in his arms, slipping across his skin, healing his ache for something he couldn’t quite grasp. Sex. Love. Trust. Devotion.

  Family.

  It always came down to family. And what a loop he’d been tossed onto this evening. He could be the boy’s father. It seemed too incredible after he’d given up hope of ever fathering a child.

  He twisted off the water, brushed aside the ruffled pink shower curtain and stepped onto the deep shag rug, burying his toes within the long red and pink strands. He tugged a purple towel about his waist and some thick gold fringes tickled his knees.

  Surprising to discover this girlie cove buried within the stalwart witch’s domain. He flicked a finger against a glass bottle and it rang like crystal. The indiscernible fruity odor in the room made him hungry, and he remembered she had offered food. Far from real-man food, but he’d consume anything with calories right now.

  Glancing to his dirty jeans and shirt, he couldn’t bring himself to put them back on. He’d eat then dive into bed for a few hours of shut-eye so he could be at the top of his game for the meeting tomorrow afternoon.

  Checking the back of the door for a robe, and relieved there wasn’t one—for surely it would be ruffled and pink—Ridge strode down the hallway wearing the towel. The laundry room was nestled next to the main bathroom. He tossed his clothes into the washer, poured in what he suspected was detergent from a glass jar, and set it to wash.

  The witch was not in the kitchen. A sandwich sat on a plate, a cold beer near that. He looked about for Abigail, then sniffed, scenting a coconut trail that led toward the closed basement door. She was downstairs? The vampire was secured with leather straps he’d found in the utility room, and he was still woozy and out of it from his adventures under the UV lights, so Ridge knew he would cause Abigail little harm. Whatever she was up to, he was more concerned with his growling stomach.

  The call of the wild screamed, and he grabbed half the sandwich and took a bite. Smoky gouda cheese was the first taste, followed by crisp green apple and then something the consistency of peanut butter, but milder. And did he taste honey and cinnamon? It wasn’t bad. In fact, it was tasty. He gobbled the sandwich half in four crunchy bites.

  Taking a bite from the other half, he wandered toward the basement stairs, and listened at the closed door. A man growled low and deep, as if biting back a lung-clearing yell.

  Ridge’s muscles tensed. He paused midbite. His fingers touched the knob, yet he didn’t open the door. An expletive muffled behind the door had come from the vampire. He sounded angry and…afraid.

  Was the witch torturing him? She couldn’t possibly… He caught the scent of something burning and he turned his head away from the odor. Smelled like burned flesh.

  She must have burned him with her fire magic in defense. Smart girl. But he should probably go check on her. He gripped the door handle, snarfed down the last bite of sandwich, and then caught the towel as it loosened and fell down his hips.

  “Can’t face the longtooth in nothing but a towel.”

  Before he could move, he heard footsteps on the stairs and Abigail opened the door. She touched her hair and sighed, offering him a smile.

  Acting nonchalant, he nodded to the plate and beer. “Nice spread.”

  “Good. I’m glad I could make something you like, despite the lack of meat.”

  “It’s filling.”

  “The almond butter provides protein you need.”

  “It’s better than peanut butter. Never would have thought. So, you talk to the vamp?”

  “I wanted to make him comfortable. No reason to treat him so cruelly after the Ely pack had already done so. I explained he would be free to go after I got Ryan back.”

  “Sounded a little less than nice to me,” he said, finishing off the sandwich.

  She set a digital camera on the counter. “I took a picture of the spell.”

  “Smart.”

  “Then I burned it off,” she said as if casually mentioning a new sweater or purse. “He understood it had to be done.”

  “That explains the smell of burned flesh.”

  “Sorry.” She opened a drawer and drew out a black candle, and with a snap of her fingers, the wick took to flame. “It’s anise scented. It’ll overwhelm the other smell. So I see you found the towels.”

  He noticed her eyes slide down his torso and stop on his abdomen. It wasn’t often Ridge caught a woman admiring him. His sexual affairs were usually the get-it-done-and-get-out-of-there variety. He wasn’t much for romance, because he wasn’t sure how it all worked.

  It felt good sitting there in her regard. Different, but satisfying. As if he was the only man in the world right now.

  “You hungry too?” he asked.

  “Oh yes. Er, I mean…” She shook her head and twisted an end of her hair about a finger. “I had half a sandwich when I made that one for you.”

  He rubbed a palm over his stomach, fully aware her gaze had slipped to his abs again. “Wasn’t food I was talking about.”

  “Are you implying we should get naked and do the nasty again?”

  “Again? That was thirteen years ago, Abigail. Neither of us remembers if it was good or bad.”

  “It was good,” she said, and strode past him toward her bedroom.

  “It was?” Downing the beer in a quick swallow, he then rushed after her. “If you think it was, then you know there is a chance I could be Ryan’s father.”

  “Whether or not the sex was good or bad does not provide proof of paternity.”

  “I suppose.”

  He followed her into the bedroom, and when she swung around, waving a hand through the air, he ducked.

  Abigail laughed. “Think I was going to throw some magic at you?”

  He straightened. “I can never be too sure with you. Just tell me you believe there’s a chance, and then I’ll drop it. I won’t bring it up anymore.”

  She sat on the bed, which wasn’t ruffled or even pink, and patted the mattress beside her. Ridge sat immediately. The gold fringes hung over his knees, and it felt wrong, but he puffed up his chest, going for as manly a look as he could get in the silly towel.

  Head bowed, the witch remained silent for a while. He wanted to stroke his fingers through her coconut hair, but already felt the moment teetered on some precipice that felt wrong, yet oh, so right. No way could he ignore his near nakedness or the long look she had given him.

  “I do believe there is a chance,” she finally offered as she met his gaze with a sigh. “Good enough for you?”

  He nodded. “We’ll know the truth when the boy hits puberty. Which should be soon if he’s twelve.”

  “Twelve and a half. And his voice has already begun to change. You said you wouldn’t talk about it anymore if I gave you that.”

  “Fine.” He put up his hands in defeat. “End of topic.
”

  Though it would never be the end of it in his heart. And now, more than ever—if that were possible—he would move mountains to get back the boy.

  Abigail tilted her head and scrunched up her right shoulder. “I don’t want to dwell on the bad stuff tonight. There’s nothing either of us can do until tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Exactly.”

  “I want to come down from this insane jittery high I’m on and try to get some sleep. My magic gets twisted into knots in my body and it builds as energy.”

  “So you need to release the magic somehow?”

  “In a way. A good workout might help. But a jog in this weather is out of the question. I could vacuum or do some laundry. Just…something to focus my mind and energy on other things. You know?”

  “Your muscles sore? Let me rub them.”

  He slid a hand up her back, and she squiggled to direct him higher—or maybe it was a protest. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing, werewolf.”

  He turned and placed both hands on her shoulders, ignoring her shrugs. “What am I doing?”

  “You’re sitting on my bed in nothing but a towel. And you’re touching me.”

  “Yep, that’s what I’m doing, all right. Good thing you pointed that out. In a million years, I’d never have guessed right.”

  She chuckled softly, yet her body moved against his palms as he slid them down along her shoulder blades. “That does feel good. Right at the back of my neck. Oh, there, yes. How is it you’re so gentle for such a big lug of a man?”

  “You’re a delicate thing. I wouldn’t dream of hurting you. I know my hands are big and awkward, so I have to concentrate not to touch too hard.”

  “You’re doing great. Just the right pressure. Oh…yes…”

  She let her head fall forward, and the sight of her nape, the long pale column wisped with fine, dark hairs, stirred Ridge’s desire. He’d not lingered on softness overmuch. Well, as he’d told her, he was too big, too clumsy with most women, so quick was the usual routine.

  “You washing your clothes?” she murmured.

  “You don’t mind?”

  “Of course not. I’m impressed, is all. Not many men know how to operate household appliances.”

  “Took care of myself a lot in the compound.”

  “Have you been in the Northern pack all your life? I don’t recall hearing that your parents were in that pack.”

  He stopped kneading her neck, and she tilted her head. Her hair fell over his hands, like a veil of feathers fluttering over his skin. He brushed aside her hair and circled his thumb along the column of her neck.

  “Ridge?”

  “Never knew my parents. Earliest I can remember is playing with the other pack kids, but sleeping alone in a tiny shed at night. Never had a mother to tuck me in.”

  “You were an orphan.”

  He felt her body want to turn toward him, so he increased the pressure a little and rolled his thumbs down her spine, forcing her to sit straighter and not look at him. A tiny moan of pleasure spilled from her mouth.

  “Yep, an orphan. But the pack takes care of its own.”

  “How did they die?”

  “Not sure they are dead. No one ever told me a thing about them. Not for lack of asking on my part, either.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Nothing to be sorry for. I grew up. I survived. I’m now a pack principal with my own pitiful pack. End of story.”

  Except, he wanted to write the story differently, including a family and a happily-ever-after. Did that make him weak?

  Yes, it did.

  Abigail flinched and he released the tight squeeze he held on her shoulder. “Sorry. Wasn’t paying attention. Why don’t you lie down and let me do this right?”

  She turned and eyed him, summing up his request. She was leery he was trying to get her to do something sexual. He wasn’t. Well, maybe he was. It didn’t have to go to full-blown sex, but some skin-on-skin contact would be the thing right now to relax them both and take their minds off the bad stuff.

  “You said you needed to redirect your thoughts and energy to chill out. A little skin-on-skin might be the thing.”

  “It would be, you sly and clever wolf. But…”

  “But you’re unsure. Scared.”

  She tugged her sweater off over her head, beneath which she wore a thin silk camisole that revealed her peaked nipples. “I’m a big girl. And some big bad naked wolf who wants to put his hands all over me doesn’t scare me.”

  “Is that so?” He held up his hands in offering to continue the massage. “Then lie down and let me put my hands on you.”

  She rolled onto her stomach and stretched out on the bed. “If I fall asleep, promise you won’t stay in the room. I don’t want you to hear me snore.”

  “I’ll sleep on the couch.” He knelt over her, and rubbed his palms together to warm them. “And I’ll put a pillow over my ears to block out any ambient noises. Promise.”

  “You can sleep in Ryan’s room. The bed is full size and it’s comfy.”

  He pressed his hands to her back and eased his knuckles up and down the silk but it bunched and tugged, so he slid his hands under the camisole to massage her warm, soft skin. The pants she wore were low on her hips, so he could rock his knuckles down and work them into the dimples topping each of her buttocks.

  “That feels great.”

  “You have a sexy back. Your obliques are nice and tight.”

  “I’m not sure what you said, but keep that up. It feels like you’re pampering my muscles.”

  He kneaded along her side where the sexy obliques stretched, and then he dragged his fingertips lower, seeking the dimple of Venus cresting each buttock. She was giving him a gift, this time to explore her body, and she would never know it. Nor had he any intention of telling her how inexperienced he was with women.

  Not inexperienced, but rather, not so skilled.

  “It’s going to be a quick massage,” he warned. “Unless you want to deal with the big bad wolf.”

  “You wouldn’t wolf out from giving me a massage?”

  “I sure as hell don’t intend to, but parts of me are shifting, whether I like it or not.”

  “I get it.” She turned suddenly, and the movement tugged the towel loose from around his waist.

  Ridge grabbed the towel and started to retuck it when her hand stopped him. “Abigail, I’m having a hard time reading your signals. It’s much easier when I can dodge your waving hands.”

  “Lie by me,” she said. “Hold me.”

  She was asking a monumental thing. But he was no man to refuse her. He slid alongside her so they lay face-to-face.

  She traced a fingernail under his pectoral muscle, and then put her head on his forearm and nuzzled her face against his skin where she’d touched him. The tip of her nose was cold against his flesh.

  “I feel so safe with you,” she whispered, her bright eyes sparkling under fluttering lashes. “And the weird thing is, I never realized I needed to feel like this until it happened. That’s so odd, coming from a witch who has lived for centuries, and has seen pretty much everything there is to see.”

  “I’d like to know about the things you’ve seen. I bet they were marvelous.”

  “And wicked.”

  “But some were beautiful?”

  “Oh yes, and others were horrific.”

  “I hope you experienced kindness over the centuries.”

  “And cruelty.”

  “Gained wisdom though, I bet.”

  “I feel wise about some things. Other things, I feel as new to them as someone who’s only had decades to learn them. Like love.” She sighed. “I’ve already mentioned my stupidity with love. Obsess much? That’s me. Abigail Rowan, the witch to avoid.”

  “I haven’t had much practice with it myself.”

  “So we’re both kinda stupid about love then.”

  He stroked her slowly, making circles across her skin. “I think I’d lik
e to be stupid in love. Like so madly in love I’m a fool around the woman, tripping and stumbling into my blindness.”

  “Been there, done that.”

  “Did you get the T-shirt?”

  “I think it was called a tunic back then.”

  He nuzzled his face into her hair and wished he could swallow her whole. Put her inside him and always have her close. He knew he was thinking completely opposite of how he should be thinking.

  Divorce papers, remember?

  But right now, this wrong felt too right. Stupid right.

  “Don’t stop touching me,” he said on a hoarse, wanting tone. “Please?”

  She obliged, trailing her fingertips across his chest in gliding strokes that traveled from his belly button to between his pecs. Back and forth, so soothing, and yet, stirring.

  “Sometimes,” she started slowly, “when times are tough, and you don’t know what to do next, all you can do is surrender.”

  The heat of her mouth pressed to his stomach. The soft smack of her kiss tensed his muscles and tightened every part of him so he felt the sweet strain of desire.

  “Let’s do this,” she whispered. “No strings. No questions. Just…surrender.”

  She pressed another kiss lower, beside his naval. The heat of it was insane, and Ridge felt his cock rise in expectation beneath the purple towel.

  “Okay,” he croaked, and slid his fingers through her silken hair. “No strings. No questions.”

  “Tomorrow is a new day,” she said. “What happens tonight stays right here.”

  “We’ll pretend it’s Vegas,” he agreed. “Without the alcohol.”

  “And the fire.”

  “And the magic.”

  “Deal.”

  He reached around and slid her up to face him. Without another word, he leaned down and kissed her parted lips. She sighed into him, and that sigh spread through him like the flames he must avoid. Her body melded against his, her breasts to his chest, her thigh nudging his erection.

  He shoved up the camisole and palmed her lacy bra, liking the play of the lace against his skin. And then he found the hard peak of her nipple.