by Daisy Banks
They hadn’t discussed marriage, but with contraception, there was no need these days. At least they had that freedom in their physical relationship. And, God, it was so good with him.
The complexities of life with Magnus needed a lot of mental agility. She swallowed past the ache in her throat, blinking her eyes to finish the tears.
Rain dripped from the branches, oozed through her hood, sneaked in cold rills down the back of her jacket. She ambled on, kicking dead wood out of her path with no real sense of direction. Did it really matter if she met a woman who could be his relative?
A huge sigh broke. It mattered all right. The news rocked her trust, shook up their insulated little world. That was part of the problem.
She must try to get him out of the house more. For twenty-four and a half days each month, he passed as an extremely attractive man. A dozen women checked him out in not so subtle a fashion the day they’d visited Hatfield. A fresh prickle raised gooseflesh. Never having been the jealous sort, the heart-thumping reaction to his news had surprised her as much as she might have shocked Magnus. She’d not permit jealousy to beat her. She’d squash the emotion before it took a hold.
For at least part of each month he could go out, meet people, socialize. They could even go to London. If she could persuade him to take a trip there, he could forget for a time the werewolf days. She would make sure they came back in time for the change.
She sniffed because her tissues sat balled in her hand, a sodden, crumpled mess. The raucous call of crows sweeping over the trees brought her back to the afternoon and where she stood. Wiping her nose on the back of her hand, she turned to head to the house, trying to work out the convoluted path she’d taken to get to this spot in the woods. She couldn’t see the building through the trees. Slowly, she checked for any sign of the roof or chimneys. The gleam of one of the lights from the turrets shone through the pines. Magnus had repaired a large part of the house after the bomb damage in the war. A pity there wasn’t more illumination on that section to show her a path back. Muddy and sodden as she was, she’d aim for the front door so she didn’t trail dirt into the drawing room, or have to take the longer route around the house to the kitchen entrance. She walked toward the light, cradling her hurt like an infant to be soothed. Magnus was hers, and one day they would be together forever.
* * * *
Inside the glazed portico, she paused, flipped off her muddy shoes, and took off her wet jacket. She placed her hand on the house door and it opened at once. She took an involuntary step back, dealing with the staff here didn’t come easy at times, and today the housekeeper seemed almost psychic.
“Miss Sian, what has happened?”
“Nothing dreadful. I got caught in the rain, Mrs. Tyson. I’m a bit wet that’s all.”
“I thought you’d gone out with Mr. Johansson.”
“He’s gone out?” She couldn’t hide the astonishment.
“Yes, miss. Mr. Johansson took the car over two hours ago. I thought you were with him. I thought it a little odd he didn’t say whether you’d be in to dine.”
“Yes,” she said, fighting off the catch in her throat. “It is a bit odd. I’m sure he’ll be back and we’ll…” She could hardly believe he’d gone out in the car. Would he be back this evening? “I’m going to take a hot shower. Would you please bring me a pot of tea upstairs?”
“Of course, miss.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Tyson.” Certain the housekeeper would be aware she’d been crying, she hurried into the main hallway to the stairs. Magnus never left the house. She had to give him reason to go out, or offer the lure of entertainments to persuade him to venture into the world beyond Darnwell. Every time they’d gone anywhere, she’d always found the venue. She thumped up the stairs.
Their room was spotless. The log fire burned steady, livid coals forming from the thick rack of wood. The hearth offered a comforting glow in the late afternoon gloom. Tyson would come up with her tea in a few minutes. The housekeeper would draw the drapes after she put down the tea tray, and then leave. The strangeness of having staff to wait on her, like in some kind of television drama, still struck her. Most days when Cook and Mrs. Tyson were here, there was at least one encounter when she waited for someone to call, “That’s a wrap.”
She glanced around at the sumptuous splendor. Soon, she’d be alone with nothing but the carved wolves at the foot of the bed for company. She sighed, tugging off her muddy jeans and damp socks. Clutching the wet bundle, she went into the bathroom where she stuffed the grubby clothes into a large laundry hamper.
The copper bath beckoned, offering her comfort and warmth. A long soak might make her feel better. She peeled off her shirt as the water ran. A shame he had no perfumed candles in here. At least she could have the lights a nice moody violet. She tipped some Ylang Ylang scented oil into the water.
The bedroom door slammed. Concerned Mrs. Tyson might struggle with a tray, she went through to the bedroom.
Magnus.
She froze, staring into the gray eyes that bored into her.
“Where did you go?” he asked, his voice clipped. His tone sent a shiver through her.
“To the woods. I needed to think.”
“I looked for you.” His voice grated like minced gravel.
“But you didn’t find me.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “No. You were lost to me.”
She swallowed hard, blinking back a hot teary sting in her eyes.
The tap at the door rang like a gunshot. Magnus snapped around to stare at the housekeeper.
“I’ve brought up the tea for you, Miss Sian. There are two cups. I saw Mr. Johansson park the car.” Mrs. Tyson’s voice faltered as she looked to them both. She placed the tray on the side table by the hearth. “I’ll leave this here, sir. Do call down if there’s anything else you need.” Tyson backed away and whisked out the door.
Magnus reached out. He touched the curls at the side of her face. “Your hair’s wet.”
She shivered. “I know.”
He rested his hand on her arm. “You’re cold, too.”
“Yes, Magnus. I’m wet, cold, and—” God damn it. She couldn’t stop her lips clamping together as she grimaced, fighting tears. A fresh shiver chased the first.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you.” He slid his arm around her and urged her into his embrace. “Forgive me? Please?”
She didn’t put her arms around him but remained motionless.
He held her for a long, bleak time.
“The bath’s running,” she eventually said.
“Go and bathe.” He released her from his embrace. “I’ll pour the tea. We’ll talk when you’re warm.”
Right this second, though she ached for him, she couldn’t make this easy or offer what he wanted—forgiveness.
“Sian, let me help you.” He urged her toward the bathroom.
He’d said those words once before, the first day they made love in the flesh. She’d wilted with the power of his command that day. He’d robbed her of all the will she possessed. Today proved no different. He guided her with his hand on her shoulder. She moved as he wished until they both stood in the steamy warmth of the bathroom. Magnus flipped off the taps before he tested the temperature with his hand. He yanked off his shirt. The rest of his clothes followed, dumped on top of the chair in the corner.
Dazed, she stood—present, yet not. Awake, but unmoving. The mesmeric command he used was a deliberate control. She had neither the strength or the wish to fight it. The physical lure of him proved as powerful as ever. She feasted her gaze on his body. The need to touch him grew stronger, and she took a step forward.
He lifted her chin so she met his eyes. So much sorrow and concern filled his gaze. The combination brought a lump to her throat. She raised her arms so he could tug off the camisole top. He took the chain with the key to his wolf
bonds from her neck and bent to ease her panties down her legs.
“Now, get into the water,” he said.
She stepped into the bath. “Oh,” she exclaimed when the heat contacted her chilled flesh.
He joined her, easing himself down at the taps end. A gentleman even though they’d quarreled. She lay back in the water until it warmed the base of her ears. It wasn’t the kind of row many couples might have. Not a yell and shout fight. No.
This was worse. He’d hurt her and not understood how.
“I do understand. I can only plead for you to forgive me. I didn’t think it through before I told you. I never meant to cause you pain. Believe me, all I want is to protect you from the horrors that can be caused by what I am.”
The day dissolved with the touch of his palm on her leg, the way he smoothed her skin. He leaned forward. A tingle of sensation snapped her back to full consciousness as he placed his other hand on her thigh, rubbed with his fingertips until she breathed out on a long sigh.
“We need to talk.”
His low voice soothed her more than the warmth of the water. A tremble shook her lip. They’d talked already, and she’d lost it in a way she’d never experienced before. She hooked her forefinger around his. “What do you want to say?”
“Will you listen to all of it?”
“Yes, Magnus.”
“I want to tell you how much I need you and make you believe it. If you understood how important you are to me, then today you’d not have been so hurt.”
She sat up. Her hair dripped over her shoulders. “You think I’d have been okay with you having a child with a woman you hardly knew, whereas, with me, you’ve said it can’t happen. I don’t understand the difference.”
Magnus closed his eyes for a long moment. “The two things are not one and the same, not at all. One is an accidental event from long before you were born and many years before I met you. The other is your wish for something very different.”
“So, if this girl is your granddaughter, she’ll be like any other girl?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Then I don’t see the difference at all, at least not about the idea of a child. You say you didn’t have a permanent relationship with her mother.”
He leaned forward to cup her chin in his palm. “I know. But, please, believe me, there is a difference. For us to share our lives, for you to have the child you want, within a lasting relationship, we’d not merely make love. There is much more to consider.”
“I see. So, in fact, we’re back to our last conversation about this. You have to make me your mate, not your wife, not your live-in lover, but your mate.”
He reached for her, put his arms about her and pulled her up from the warmth so she straddled his thighs. She closed her eyes as he took her mouth with his. He kissed her until she whimpered.
“Yes.”
His thought powered through her, melted her bones and she relaxed against him. Desire smoldered in her skin, so her nipples hardened in anticipation of his caresses. She moved her mouth from his. “Then do it, Magnus. Please, I’ll beg if I must. Do it. Make me your mate.”
“Not yet.” He moved her to lie over him in the water. “I know you think you are certain this is what you want, but I need you to have more time to think about all the possibilities, the dangers, the way of life you’d have to accept.”
She sighed. Some, though not all of the pain, eased from her heart.
“Forgive me?” he asked. “I swear I’ll not be so thoughtless again.”
Everything she’d told herself in the woods, all the tears, the hurt, and the determination to do whatever she must to keep him, swept through her. His reasoning caught at her heart.
He tightened his embrace about her until she gave a small squeak.
“I’ll not let you go unless you truly wish to leave. I will know if such bitterness is to be mine, Sian. I want you to stay so very much. Everything is right with you.” He found her lips with his and kissed her until the water around them matched their body heat.
“I’ll take you to bed now and show you how much you mean to me until dawn.” He rose from the tub with her in his arms.
“You’d best tell the staff we won’t be down for dinner,” she murmured.
“You can telephone down to them while I dry you off in front of the hearth.” His dark gaze held hers, full of promises to make her stomach roll with desire.
God help her, wolf curse or not, she loved him.
Chapter 6
Hunched from the pain, and clumsy in his efforts to open the door, Franklyn Gorsewell dropped the keys. He stooped in a welter of agony. He grunted like a hog as he fumbled around the moss-coated plant container beside the front step to find them. At last, the chilly metal met his fingers and he opened the door into his ground floor apartment. After kicking the pile of mail and assorted junk publications aside, he went down the short hallway. The fine hairs on the back of his neck rose as he walked into his darkened sitting room.
The place stank.
The unmistakable scent of urine, mixed with the metallic smell of blood, blended with a savage animal musk. The odor sent a shiver down his spine.
He flipped on the light. The arcing splatter of blood up the walls had spurted from an artery to create a huge pointillist curve on the ceiling. The boarded up window relieved the rusty brown pattern. Thank God, the neighbor found him when she did. The patio window glass had shattered the night of the attack. A welter of lethal shards still lay where they’d fallen, some stained with his blood. Many sat end up, buried in the thick carpet.
He’d bled so much, he should be dead.
The wide patch of dried blood appeared so much worse than he’d imagined. No wonder the ambulance crew and the doctors in the emergency room thought he could lose his arm from the horrific injuries.
A fresh memory of the creature with its snarling jaws tormented him. Instinctively, he drew back from the pain of its bite. He forced himself to look at the room. No monstrous beast salivated with hate in its eyes. He set his bag down by the door, as far from the glass fragments on the carpet as he could. No one would believe the truth if he tried to explain. It was better the medical staff had recorded that the glass caused his wounds.
His recovery, remarkable in itself, had given the medical team so much to ponder. The causes had faded from their interest, but he’d known. Hovering in a daze from the painkillers, he hung on to his sense of self by his fingertips. He’d understood when the torn skin, savaged muscle, and shattered bone healed at a stunning speed. Inside he’d changed. While he had recovered, he’d accepted the strange alteration to his senses, and he’d learned to dream.
A surge of excitement twitched through his cock. In his first dream after the attack, he’d found Sian, along with a sense of reality he’d never experienced before. The heated throbbing recalled how close he’d been to screwing her. He’d lunged between her wide-spread thighs, his cock oozing pre-cum, and he’d almost entered her pussy.
She’d been coy at first as they’d danced, typical Sian, but when she’d understood he wasn’t going to take “no” for an answer that night, she’d kissed him. He had thrust his tongue down her throat as she gave in. He could still hear her enticing noises, feel her writhing beneath him on the smooth polished floor when he had peeled off her short dress, followed by the sexy bra. The little whimpers she’d made when he had sucked at her nipples and tugged down her tiny panties to strip her naked, had almost taken him over the edge.
He shook at the recollection of her luscious, smooth, round ass under his palms, her hot, hard nipples pressed tight against his chest when he moved to mount her. If only he’d managed to go all the way to get inside her that night.
His desire, checked by her youth and innocence when he’d first hired her, had built until he had to fight to control it whenever she was near. The wicke
d little temptress, she knew he wanted her. She tormented him. He’d thought it kind of cute the way she’d made so many efforts in her leather gear or rubber dress, all intended to appeal to him. He’d been on the verge of making a move when she had gone walk-about at the Darnwell Estate.
His sweet, sexy muse had no idea how many times, and in how many ways, he’d filled her pussy with his cum over the last four years. But, the strange dream he’d had the night he awoke in hospital, so powerful and strong, it took his need for her up another million notches. He’d tasted something better than the usual lust-filled explorations his imagination contrived. A kind of perfection he wanted every other fantasy of Sian to mimic.
He’d felt her warmth beneath him and needed it again. Like a drug, she fed his hunger. That night she’d been with him all the way, rubbing her silky mound with its little strip of curls against his hand, urging him on. When he had parted her thighs, she’d made fantastic, gurgling pleasure noises. She had lifted her hips for him as he licked and sucked her rigid nipples and probed deep in her pussy with his fingers. The memory of the sensation blasted back through him.
Fabulous.
Tight, hot, wet, and magic. Until she had fled. She’d wriggled like a wanton little snake, had shaken her pretty tits in his face, before she had slipped from his grasp and run.
Damn her bloody tower.
She’d hidden inside the tall stone tower in the dream. Though he knew where she was, he couldn’t penetrate the brambles to reach her. She had hidden inside until the dawn.
Franklyn eased the snakeskin jacket from his damaged shoulder. Most of the normal range of movement had returned but at the cost of exquisite pain. He’d also suffered the onset of referred trauma to his hip. He limped bad enough to use a stick. The specialist’s promise that the torture would ease as time passed had yet to materialize. When it did, he’d be ready to take Sian and deal with the big threatening bastard she’d brought to the hospital to torment him.
