The Fifth Moon's Wife (The Fifth Moon Tales Book 2)

by Monica La Porta

  His enemies had become bold and dared attack his bride in a public place, which it meant they had widespread support. He was furious. His stomach was in a knot, and he could barely breathe. Mirella might have been hurt.

  He reached the main entrance to the manor without any recollection of the flight.

  Warned by the gate guards of Valentine’s arrival, Aldo promptly opened the double-paneled carved door at the top of the circular staircase as soon as the Desert Fire landed.

  The Fifth Moon illuminated the manicured bushes bordering the façade, and the white jasmine flowers were tinted light blue by the cool rays of light. The influence of the moon was detrimental to his wolf who had awakened. Valentine’s own needs had been stirred as well by the rush of adrenaline. He had almost lost Mirella, again. And now she was here, so full of life and beautiful. His to take. His to pleasure. His to make love to until dawn.

  There won’t be any sleeping tonight.

  He alighted, then grabbed Mirella by her waist and helped her down to the grass. Her body slid against his and it was torture. The smoldering look she gave him perplexed him, but he was too busy keeping his reaction to her nearness in check. If a man could die from abstinence, that would soon be his fate. His wolf didn’t give him respite, but reminded him of how inviting she was.

  The expression on her face softened, her heavy lids, her parted lips, and most of all her intake of breath told him she was affected as well. It didn’t help him.

  He took her hand in his and climbed the stairs without a word.

  “Master Lobo.” Aldo bowed. “Blessed Bride. Welcome home.”

  The large foyer was crowded with servants and guards. The curiosity on their faces was plain. It was unsettling how news traveled with such speed.

  Gabriel stepped out from the mass and walked toward them. The vampire was still wearing his riding habit and had a crop in his hand. “Are you okay, Blessed Bride?” he asked, observing Mirella with worried eyes.

  “It was just a scare. I’m fine, but thanks for asking,” Mirella answered, her voice low.

  “Who told you?” Valentine asked.

  “My valet heard about it from one of the servants, and I came back immediately to see if you needed any help.” Gabriel absentmindedly passed the crop over his black pants, leaving a dusty shadow on the corduroy.

  Making a mental note to ask the servant how he had come to know about the Blessed Bride’s attack, Valentine said, “There was no need to interrupt your ride, but thank you. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

  He then escorted Mirella to her apartments. They had reached the second landing, when Ronda approached them.

  “Master Lobo—” The woman’s eyes were full of tears. “I heard you were attacked.” She brought both hands to her bosom, pressing her palms just under the edge of her corset.

  Nearby, several servants were working on polishing the sculptures and vases the mechanical workers couldn’t clean. A few of the house guards stationed on the second floor were milling in the large foyer. Everyone paused.

  The harbinger of a powerful headache pulsed between Valentine’s eyes. “I wasn’t.”

  “Oh—” Ronda said, then smiled. “I’m so glad to hear that.”

  Tired of the charade already, and wanting nothing more than to deal once and for all with the courtesan who had caused so much grief already, Valentine gave her a cold stare, then said, “Keep yourself free. We’ll talk later.” He would put the woman in her place as soon as he saw Mirella to her chamber.

  And maybe afterward he would be free to ride Dallian for the remainder of the night. Both he and the beast needed some quality time alone.

  “I’ll be waiting for you, Master Lobo,” Ronda said, with glee in her eyes.

  Without another word, he gently prodded Mirella ahead, leaving the courtesan behind.

  “I can walk by myself,” Mirella said as soon as they rounded the corner and entered a secondary hallway. Her chest rose and fell fast.

  Valentine looked down at his bride and licked his lower lip. She was angry and utterly kissable. He wanted to know what she was upset about, but his wolf pressured him to push her against the wall and raise her gown to her waist. The mere idea of uncovering her flower made Valentine dizzy with want. Her scent was already reaching his nostrils.

  He was able to stop himself for a whole heartbeat before he lowered his mouth to her ear for a quick nip.

  She pushed her delicate hands against his chest.

  He could feel the war raging inside her. “I can smell you.” Her sweet bouquet inebriated his senses. “You are so much sweeter than usual.” His nose traced the outer edge of her lobe, making her shiver. “Warm and ready for me.”

  Mirella gasped as his teeth scraped her skin. His wolf urged him to mark her, sinking his canines low between her neck and shoulder. He closed his mouth around her earlobe instead, suckling the soft flesh as he inhaled more of her intoxicating aroma deep into his lungs.

  Her hands stopped pushing and started kneading the fabric of his shirt. His tongue swept along the curve of her throat. She pressed against him, stepping forward and tearing at his blouse.

  And then he was the one against the wall, with his shirt open to the waist.

  Mirella’s gaze was heated and her lips were swollen. He imagined her flower blossoming for him in much the same way, opening its petals to his invasion. His hands went to her gown, angrily grabbing the fabric, raising it higher until she was bare to him.

  It was too much. His senses in overload, he dropped to his knees, seeking the sweet nectar only Mirella could provide. With the most tender of kisses, he brushed her petals and whispered her name, lost in a haze of sensual stimuli.

  He worshipped her, telling her how much he loved her with his tongue and hands.

  “Valentine—” Her whispered plea was the most beautiful sound to his ears.

  Kiss after kiss, he transported her higher and higher until she cried her release, tangling her fingers on the lapels of his shirt. When she collapsed, he supported her weight, pressing his face against her flat belly.

  “Sleep with me tonight,” she said, her hands caressing his shorn head.

  Her massage sent shivers all over his body, and he moaned under his breath. Pain and pleasure mixed.

  His ears pricked up at the sound of approaching steps. He brushed her belly, then lowered her gown and stood tall, but took her in his arms and bumped his forehead against hers. “I can’t,” he said.

  A servant entered the hallway and immediately backed away, apologizing out loud. A moment later, two mechanical workers wheeled inside the corridor to dust the gilded mirrors.

  The interruptions and the whirring activity worked like a cold shower, helping Valentine regain some composure. The want was still there. He doubted it would ever go away.

  Mirella had burrowed inside his heart and made it whole.

  Chapter Eleven

  Light, purple rain tapped the bay window’s glass panel. High winds steered the heavy blanket of clouds across the sky. A cup of curcuma tea sat on the breakfast table. The aromatic, saffron-colored brew was cold. Mirella drummed her fingers against the fine porcelain saucer. A pattern of delicate pink flowers was painted on the rim of the small plate, and the décor was appearing and disappearing before her eyes, swimming in a moisture she wouldn’t let become tears. Tired, she pushed the saucer aside.

  She had not slept a minute.

  After the interlude in the hallway, Valentine had taken her to her apartments and left. No words of explanation had been exchanged.

  Mirella was confused. And frustrated. Her body tingled with the unspent energy he had awakened with his kisses and caresses. As it had happened before, Valentine was very attentive to her needs and made sure she would be thoroughly pleased, but refused to consummate their union the way husband and wife were meant to, leaving her with a great ache and a sense of loss. He didn’t even let her reciprocate the intimacies.

  “Blessed Bride,” Crea said, standing ta
ll in front of her. “Would you like some freshly brewed tea?” In her hands she carried a tray with a teapot and a bowl with sliced passionberries and whipped cream. Violet petals decorated the fluffy pink cream.

  “Yes, please.” Mirella let her lady’s maid change her teacup.

  “Agave nectar?” Crea asked, indicating the glass bottle on the table.

  Mirella eyed the amber syrup and nodded. “Thank you.” She needed something sweet to start the gloomy day.

  Aldo knocked on the door in the middle of Mirella’s pensive breakfast.

  “Good morning, Blessed Bride.” He bowed before Mirella, then continued, “There are a few items I’d like to discuss with you if you would give me five minutes of your time.”

  “Please.” Mirella motioned for the majordomo to sit at the breakfast table, but the man politely declined the offer. “What would you like to talk about?” she asked.

  “Next Martday is in about a week and it would be a month since the last high tea you have hosted.”

  Mirella brought the cup to her lips, sipped the fresh tea, then said, “There won’t be another high tea for the foreseeable future.” She had enough of following rules made up by someone else.

  A cage is a cage only if you believe you are imprisoned in it, she inwardly repeated.

  Shocked surprise showed on Aldo’s usually imperturbable face, but he quickly returned to a neutral expression. “As you wish, Blessed Bride.”

  “What else did you want to discuss?” Mirella dropped a slice of passionberry into the whipped cream, then fished it up with a porcelain spoon. The fruit was cold on her tongue and the cream coated her mouth with a pleasant, sugary aftertaste. She swallowed the treat, savoring her first victory.

  “Nothing else. The other items were strictly related to the preparation of the high tea.” Aldo bowed again, then turned on his heels to leave.

  “Where’s my husband?” Mirella took another sip from the tea.

  Aldo seemed to think about his answer for a moment, then said, “I haven’t seen Master Lobo since yesterday night.” He then tilted his head slightly. “Is there anything else I can do for you, Blessed Bride?”

  “That will be all. Thank you, Aldo.” Mirella accompanied her words with a forced smile.

  If Aldo hadn’t seen Valentine since the night before it could only mean that her husband had never gone back to his bedroom.

  “I wish to visit the hanging gardens,” she said to Crea, walking to her closet.

  At the sight of the unending row of blue-hued outfits, Mirella turned to the other side and chose a green walking habit with a matching parasol.

  “How would you like your hair coiffured?” Crea asked, after fastening the row of diamond-shaped buttons on the back of Mirella’s dress.

  “A simple braid will do.” Mirella looked at her likeness in the mirror.

  Under her stare, the reflective surface whirred and zoomed in on her eyes, showing the dark lines she covered with a brush of concealer. A touch of lip-gloss gave her face some color. Black henna heightened her thick eyelashes.

  “You look lovely,” Crea commented with a genuine smile while lacing a small garland of flowers through Mirella’s braid.

  “Today is a new day,” Mirella announced with her chin high, but Aldo's parting words had eroded the empowerment she had felt a moment before. She decided not to think about it, so she started a conversation with Crea. “Where are you from?” she asked her lady’s maid when they exited her apartments.

  “I am from Suncadia. Master Lobo rescued me from a—” Crea hesitated a moment, but Mirella nodded for her to go on. “—From a pleasure den.”

  Mirella looked at the girl who couldn’t have been more than seventeen. “You are so young.”

  “My family was poor—” Crea lowered her eyes.

  “You don’t have to tell me your story if you don’t want to.” Mirella patted the girl’s arm. “The past doesn’t matter. Only what you do with your present is important.”

  Crea’s eyes darted sideways to look at Mirella, then she demurely bowed. “Thank you, Blessed Bride.”

  “As I said, today is a new day.” Mirella gently squeezed Crea’s arm. “I’ve had enough of being called with my title. I would be pleased if you could address me by my given name.”

  Crea stopped and gasped. “But, Blessed Bride, that is not done!”

  Mirella shrugged, but couldn’t help to smile. “Who says so?”

  “It is known—” Crea stuttered, gesticulating with her free hand.

  “Well, from now on, it will be known that it is what I want.” Mirella’s smile grew wider.

  “But Master Lobo—”

  “Mater Lobo will deal with it.” With each passing minute, Mirella felt more and more euphoric. “My name is Mirella, and I like it way better than Blessed Bride.” She resumed her walking with a spring in her step. “Say it. It’s easy. Mirella.”

  “I don’t know.” Crea looked around suspiciously.

  Mirella sighed at the girl’s reluctance, but she was still feeling too lighthearted for her mood to be ruined. “It will be between you and I. Whenever other people are around, you’ll call me by that blasted title.” She gave Crea a raised eyebrow. “Would that be agreeable?”

  “Yes, Blessed—” Crea grimaced, then continued, “Yes, Mirella.”

  “See? Much better.” Mirella skipped ahead, kicking her green habit’s hem with her pointy slippers.

  By the time she reached the hanging gardens, she felt as if something vital had been accomplished.

  “You said you are from Suncadia,” Mirella started. “I would like to help with some of the projects the city is involved with.” She had been thinking to get herself involved in a just cause for some time, and after visiting the district with Valentine a few weeks back, she had made up her mind.

  “What city projects?” Crea asked.

  “I only saw the children’s park that was cleaned up by some patrons, but I know there are other such projects.”

  Crea’s eyes widened. “No other patrons. Just Master Lobo. He is the one helping Suncadia. Nobody else has ever done anything for us.”

  Mirella opened her mouth in a silent O, then shook her head. “Valentine did everything by himself?”

  “Yes. Master Lobo is our sole benefactor.”

  “I’ll ask him then,” Mirella said, wondering once again if she would ever get to know who her husband really was.

  They walked the last few steps toward the hanging gardens in silence. The aroma of flowers and the scent of fresh cut grass welcomed Mirella at the entrance to the large terrace that housed water pools and gazebos. Low ridges and bridges framed the charming landscape, giving the impression that the gardens stretched beyond their physical confines.

  Mirella directed Crea to a semi-hidden loch and lowered herself to the marble edge, forgoing the bench under the pagoda facing the pool of crystalline water. A school of fish flew over the surface, their blue and violet, iridescent wings reflecting Coral’s pink rays. Small clockwork turtles swam at the bottom of the pool, emerging every few minutes to playfully sprinkle perfumed water all over the water lilies.

  “Sit with me.” Mirella patted the marble by her side.

  After looking around in that guarded way of hers, Crea sat with her legs straight before her.

  “Relax, you won’t lose your job over this or anything else.” Mirella closed her eyes and tilted her face up, basking in the sunrays.

  Certain habits were too ingrained to be changed. She sure knew how difficult it could be, but she would try her best to change the status quo, starting with her attitude toward life.

  As if time stood still, she enjoyed a moment of peace. The tepid warmth of the sunrays tickled her skin. Diaphanous wings brushed her arms. Soft sounds of cascading waters played in the distance. Mirella’s thoughts wandered to a future where cooing babies would be in the picture.

  The image of a child in her arms and another frolicking among the soft grass came to he
r mind, making her smile and filling her heart with happiness. She felt a little flutter, like butterflies flying in her stomach, and pressed her palm against her belly.

  Voices interrupted Mirella’s daydreaming.

  Ronda and another courtesan were walking toward them. Mirella inwardly groaned, but outside she straightened her stance, sitting tall and studying the woman with a cold glare.

  The redhead was wearing a rather subdued coat that covered her from head to toe, but her whole demeanor was defiant as usual.

  From the main path, Ronda reluctantly bowed to Mirella, but then grabbed her friend’s arm and turned around the edge of the orange-red bushes framing the pond. The maneuver put them on a parallel course, hiding them from sight as they kept chatting.

  “I’m so tired,” Ronda complained. Her voice was low, but she was passing right behind Mirella.

  “He’s insatiable, isn’t he?” the friend asked.

  Mirella felt her blood freezing in her veins.

  “Insatiable doesn’t cover it. He kept me up all night like he hadn’t seen a woman in a year,” Ronda whispered lower. “The man is a beast, but the things he does with those big hands of his—”

  A strangled gasp escaped Mirella’s lips, and she immediately pressed a hand to her mouth. Crea’s pitiful look only made her feel worse. Unable to stop herself, Mirella rose to her feet and walked away, heading in the opposite direction to put distance between her and the courtesan.

  She hated herself for being vulnerable to the woman’s schemes once again, but the pain clutching her stomach could not be denied. Mirella was in such a state of rage that she barely had time to hug her midsection and bend over a bush to throw up her breakfast.

  Crea hovered around, silently offering a handkerchief for Mirella to wipe her mouth. “Bless—” she started, then said, “Mirella, don’t mind her.”

  Taking the lace hankie, Mirella looked at the girl from under her lashes. “Thank you.”

  “She didn’t see you get sick,” Crea said with a small smile.

  “At least there is that, I suppose.” Mirella smiled back.