Mastered by a Wolf

by Belladonna Bordeaux

  “Don’t thank me yet, Miss Dogood,” he whispered, his hot breath on her neck raising gooseflesh on her arms. A delicious tingle tripped up her thighs to tease her core. “Like I said, ‘twill be close quarters.”

  Eliza craned her head to stare at him. She nodded and returned her attention to the rivulets of melting snow tracing long paths down Amy’s cloak. Her mitten-covered hand brushed against the railing as she continued her ascent. In the back of her mind she wondered at the tone he’d used in his simple statement. Was there a hint of illicit invitation in his voice?

  For the first time since she’d received the news that her fiancé was dead, she wished she hadn’t put herself on the shelf. In all honesty, she wished she’d met Mr. Cope sooner. A new image flitted through her mind’s eye. Mr. Cope thrusting into her. Holding her as she found her release.

  The recollection of gifting Geoffrey with her virginity right before he’d gone off to battle put a damper on her sudden lust. Still, she couldn’t imagine Mr. Cope fumbling about in the back of a carriage, practically ripping her knickers from her and then after a few pitiful gropes sliding into her two or three times before he found his satisfaction.

  Her fae side wanted more than a short tussle. It wanted so much more.

  Her few married friends had laughed at her embarrassment when she finally confessed her sin. Two of them stated Geoffrey was merely nervous and assured her once they married, the marriage act would be nice—very nice. But they weren’t fae. They didn’t understand how important mating was to her kind, even those who were half-caste.

  Pondering how nice ‘twould be with William Cope, Eliza felt a fiery blush creep up her cheeks.

  Silly goose, she silently berated herself. A man such as Mr. Cope surely has a wife or fiancée tucked away somewhere.

  More’s the pity.

  Chapter Two

  Like every dog, every wolf has his day, but what about the other 364 days in the year?

  Fuck me, William cursed inwardly. Of all the days for him to meet his mate, it had to be this one. Having reached the landing, he peered out the tiny window. Rather than the snow letting up, it was coming down with a vengeance. The wind whipped the frosty flakes around with a fury. He couldn’t make out the next street.

  Gritting his teeth, he drank in her sweet scent. Hyacinths and womanhood. It was a heady combination. To his werewolf side, she was an enticement he was going to be hard pressed not to grab up in his arms, kiss her soundly then make passionate love to her. He yearned to dominate her.

  His gaze followed her fluid moves. Even carrying not only her sodden cloak but his coat as well, she had an inherent grace about her. “Mother, could you mull some wine for our guests?” he asked once he’d entered the common room.

  The elderly woman he adored sent him a questioning smile but did as he told. He watched as she shakily poured wine into ceramic mugs. He tilted his head to the side when Eliza hurried over to assist. She gingerly removed his coat, set it aside then took off her cloak.

  Her long mane of sable-colored hair cascaded down her back to end at the swell of her hips. He wondered whether or not her locks were as soft as they appeared. How they’d feel wrapped around his hand as he fucked her hard. Would she cling to him as he brought her to a screaming climax or would she be like other genteel ladies who lay like a lump on his bedding?

  Instinctively, he felt her passion. Beneath her innocent expression and pale complexion laid a woman he longed to meet.

  Tamping down his lust, he breathed deeply. You aren’t a pup. Control yourself. With the mating coming on fast and furious, he forced himself to calm. His wolf had other ideas. The beastly infection he’d received seethed and teemed through his system.

  His mate’s patience with his mother, and the way she smiled gently at the aged woman endeared her to his human side. His wolf paced anxiously, roaring with desire.

  Steam rose from the mug as Miss Dogood settled the hot poker into the wine.

  “Eliza, fill my mug as well,” the younger Miss Dogood whined. William watched his father wince. In all honestly, he couldn’t blame his sire. Ever since Constance had banged on the shop door she’d been a nuisance. Her demanding attitude and constant harping had him on edge from the first.

  “Constance, there are others here,” Eliza reprimanded but managed to not raise her voice. The sparkle in her soft, doe-brown eyes clearly said she wasn’t happy with her sister.

  “Eliza, let off.” Constance sneered.

  “Constance, be quiet,” Eliza snapped. A sudden flush of high color rode her cheeks and her glittering stare turned hard. “We wouldn’t be in this fix if you’d but listened.”

  Noting the lack of a ring on Eliza’s finger, William took in how her bodice clung to her breasts. The way the cloth stretched across her bosom and displayed a hint of her pebbled nipples had him swallowing a groan. His cock hardened.

  She was his.

  “For pity’s sake, Eliza. ‘Tis not as if I’m asking you to deny the others. There’s more than enough to go around.”

  “Constance, I will get to your mug when I get to it.”

  William sensed she was trying to keep her temper in check. He wondered what she’d say when he announced that she was his life-mate, and come hell or high water, she was stuck with him. Most likely she’d gape at him, and then faint. He wouldn’t blame her.

  Who would want to be saddled with a solitary werewolf such as him? One who stuck close to his preferred hunting grounds and kept far away from the bustling mass of humanity in London. Sighing softly, he kept his gaze on Eliza. I pity you, my mate. I’m not an easy werewolf to live with.

  Infected with Wolf’s Bane nigh on twenty-five years ago, he’d come to grips with his circumstances. He detested wolves that held to the notion of ‘oh woe is me’ or ‘I’m a monster.’ They were what they were and despised by themselves or not, they had to go forward.

  Sniffing the air, he caught a hint of a bloodsucker’s scent. He strode to the front window. The hairs on the back of his neck flared. His heightened instincts shouted danger.

  “William?” his father’s gruff voice sounded.

  William held up a hand for silence. He scanned the snow shrouded street below the print shop. A low growl rumbled in his chest when he finally spied the vampire clinging to the shadows cast by the milliner’s shop across the lane. What are you doing here?

  Within the tick of the casement clock he watched the vampire toss a body away before dematerializing. Through narrowed eyes, William saw the vampire’s victim rise. Whether the blood-sucker intended to alter the lad who was struggling to gain his feet or had panicked after sensing his werewolf presence, William didn’t know. The reality that the vampire had come into werewolf territory only served as a reminder of how tenuous a situation he was in.

  Not only I, but Eliza as well.

  He frowned.

  Turning to watch Eliza smile as she offered his father a cup of wine, he sucked in a sharp gasp. His chest tightened when he recalled seeing her standing on the shop’s stoop. She was so tiny. So feminine.

  His biggest concern steered from caring for his ailing father to getting them out of London alive. ‘Twas hard enough for him to reach his parents’ home without finding himself cornered by a coven of vampires. He had no desire to engage in the war broiling between the vampires and the werewolves. Naught, whatsoever.

  A few options flowed through his brain. He rejected the ones that would call for Eliza to travel after he’d left. Once he mated with her, the bedding that would occur would ensure she’d carry his scent forever. She’d be a prime target for the vampires who haunted the territory across the River Thames and the few foolish ones who hunted Chapel Hill. Streets she’d have to traverse to reach his home in Kent.

  “Sir, would you care for a mug of mulled wine?” Eliza asked.

  Incredibly aware of Eliza even though she stood across the common room, William shook his head. “Nay, Miss Dogood, but thank you.” Anticipation surged thro
ugh his veins. Aye, once the weather cleared, he’d pitch all his unwanted houseguests out, but the elder Miss Dogood was not setting a foot outside the door until he’d stamped his mark on her.

  With a strong steed and luck on their side, they’d escape the dangers of London.

  First things first, divest Miss Dogood of her clothing and teach her the whys and ways of being dominated.

  His smile grew to a wolfish grin when he pictured her on her knees, his cock sliding smoothly between her lips. He’d order her to service herself. His hands curled into tight fists at his sides. He’d watch her fingers move over the slick folds of her womanhood until she was there at the brink of climax.

  Then, when she was on the edge of release, he’d claim her—body, mind and soul.

  * * * *

  “My dearest Robert is so looking forward to receiving news from me,” Constance’s voice carried like a gong going off in the silent chapel of a monastery. The valentine she’d ordered sat untouched in her lap. “However will I find a rider to take it to him?”

  Eliza rolled her eyes in frustration. Scanning the room, she saw her father involved in a discussion with Mr. and Mrs. Cope. Amy was napping, her head tilted back against the threadbare upholstery of a sofa that had seen better days.

  “What would you say, Eliza?” Constance had the good grace to blush. “I mean if you had someone to send a valentine to.”

  Every inch of Eliza ached to tell Constance to shut her mouth, if for no better reason than to give their hosts a chance to get a word in edgewise. Ignoring the next volley of musings Constance wished to put in her card, Eliza adjusted her skirts around her ankles as she sat on a low stool situated beside the massive hearth in the common room. Again, she found her stare moving to the overly tall man standing at the window. So handsome.

  Warmed by the wine, she leaned her shoulder against the brick and mortar wall. Her eyelids slid shut.

  “Miss Dogood, would you care to see my father’s printing press?”

  Immediately awake and attentive, Eliza’s eyelashes fluttered open. She pasted a polite smile on her lips. How in the world did he move so fast? Slipping her fingers into William’s proffered hand, she rose. Tiny sparks of static electricity scurried up her arm. Her nipples tightened to hard buds. A delicious bubble of warmth took root low in her belly. “That would be wonderful. I’ve only read the final product of a press.” She bit her lip when Constance snorted. “I’ve never actually seen one.”

  “After you,” he offered.

  “William, Lady Stanhope’s order is sitting at the top of the box. I’ve already finished the plates. Would you be so kind?” Owen Cope’s deep voice boomed in the room.

  “Of course, Father.” William nodded. His smile did amazing things to her blood pressure and more so when he fixed his tawny stare on her face. “That is, if Miss Dogood has no objections.”

  “I don’t mind at all.”

  “Perhaps I should go with you,” Constance chimed in. “Propriety and all.”

  The blonde was halfway off the chair she sat on when Eliza cut her off. “As you always say, Constance, pish-posh. We’re merely going to the shop downstairs.” Eliza walked to the stairwell. “I highly doubt there will be aught that could be remotely construed as improper considering Mr. Cope will be working the press.”

  Part of her, a big part of her, wished William would work his hands over her body. Her fae needs grew that fast.

  She didn’t say another word until they’d reached the landing. “You have to forgive my sister. She’s been over-indulged since our mother’s death. ‘Tis sad, but I am just as guilty as my papa of spoiling her.”

  “There’s naught to apologize for, Eliza.”

  Blood rushed in her ears. Her lessons in etiquette reared their ugly head. “You shouldn’t…”

  “What?” Laughter edged the word. “Say your name. Why not? ‘Tis a lovely name.”

  “Mr. Cope.”

  “William.”

  “Mr. Cope—” She quelled the urge to stomp her foot. ‘Twasn’t about the break in propriety but how he said her name. ‘Twas like a caress. Liquid heat moistened her feminine folds. “We shouldn’t…”

  “Eliza, does it serve aught purpose to banter over familiarities?”

  She knew she was at a loss, but she tried to prove her point. “’Twill if people gossip.”

  “I’d kill aught who’d besmirch your name.”

  Was he serious? “But what of my sister? She’s determined to marry Robert Preston next year.”

  “Robert Preston?”

  “Aye, Viscount of Elder.”

  “Your sister is a fool.” Gone was the mirth from his tone. Nay, his whole demeanor turned rigid.

  “Sir,” Eliza couldn’t help sounding offended. She was.

  “Robert Preston is a notorious womanizer who has tossed his family’s fortune away on mistresses and ludicrous business investments. The man is looking for a bride who will fill his family’s coffers not the other way round.”

  “Are you suggesting…” So angry she couldn’t continue, Eliza’s hard footfalls echoed in the narrow staircase. “Mr. Cope, I must protest.” About to blister his ears for what she interpreted as him calling out her father’s less than adequate financial status; Eliza opened her mouth then clamped her lips closed.

  “And, Eliza, I have no reason to lie.” William moved past her and made his way to the press at the back of the shop. He read the order before locating the appropriate printing plate.

  “Why would you say such things?” Angry tears stung at her eyes. “Is it because we appear poor?” ‘Twas a disgustingly obvious conclusion to her way of thinking. “I assure you, my papa has set aside a proper dowry for Constance.” Why am I bothering? He’s already passed judgment on us. For some foreign reason, coming to that conclusion struck her hard in the heart.

  “What about a proper dowry for you?”

  “That is none of your business.”

  “Are you certain?”

  Suddenly furious with herself for getting caught in the discussion, she turned on the serviceable heel of her shoe. “I’m going upstairs.” She was retracing her steps when she felt his hot breath on her neck. How such an enormous man moved so fast was beyond her.

  He slammed his hand on the wall just over her head, blocking her exit. She met his gaze. “You don’t come across as a woman who runs from an argument.” His deep baritone voice wrapped around her frame and caused her to shiver.

  Before Geoffrey died, she’d engaged several men in heated debates, mostly concerning things young women of breeding were supposed to be ignorant of. Geoffrey had reprimanded her several times for what he deemed unladylike behavior. In those days, she was a starry-eyed ingénue who didn’t care a whit what people thought of her. Her circumstances had changed drastically since then. A soft, sad sigh stroked across her lips. “What reason have I to engage you in one?” She lifted her chin in what she hoped was a haughty affect.

  Her breath caught in her chest when he dipped his head so their lips were mere inches apart. “I think you need a man who tempts both your temper and your passion, and who does so often.”

  “Mr. Cope.” She gasped when his hand curled around her hip. She wanted to tell him to cease his advances, but her traitorous body wouldn’t move. A tremor of lust rolled up her inner thighs. Oh, my. Her already hard nipples tightened further. A throb clutched her core. “Mr. Cope, please…”

  “William,” he whispered a heart beat before he took her lips in a searing kiss.

  She tried not to react, to tell herself there was naught special about his lips moving over hers, but couldn’t. Her heart raced in her chest as his hand drifted up her side. His thumb skimmed the swell of her breast teasingly. She arched her back.

  The attraction she felt for him wasn’t just potent, it was damnably addictive.

  A burst of fear took hold of her. She opened her mouth to tell him to cease. His tongue brushed against hers. The throb in her crotch turned to a
driving pulse of desire.

  The hand he’d kept on her shifted so it splayed across her shoulder blades. He pulled her against him. Terror surged through her. The feel of his erection poking her in the belly brought her fists up to shove him off. Fighting to get away from him, Eliza recalled her one and only journey into the marriage act. Worse were the memories of Geoffrey scowling at her after he’d finished. He’d not uttered a word, not even when he’d escorted her to the door of her father’s home. ‘Twas the disappointed expression on his face that slew her. She’d almost asked him if she’d done something wrong, but kept her query to herself. In truth, she didn’t want to know what she’d done to cause his foul mood.

  “I can’t,” she muttered on a gasp when William had finally lifted his head. Internally she wondered if the fear was of disappointing another man or realizing she was somehow flawed. Her reputation be damned.

  “Easy, Eliza,” he rasped.

  Held in his strong arms, she fought to keep her composure. “We shouldn’t.” She gasped against his shirt front. “I’m…” An apology tickled the tip of her tongue, but considering the kiss, she decided she’d naught to be sorry for except that she hadn’t stopped him before he’d put her in a compromising position.

  “Who did this to you?”

  Daring to look up at him, she bit her lower lip. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Who chained your passion?” He straightened his spine to loom large over her.

  She slipped from his arms and took a few steps toward the printing press. Trying to seem totally entranced by the machine and completely unaffected by the kiss, she sighed when his glare followed her. “Sir, you shouldn’t ask me such things.”

  “I’m your mate. I have every right to know who crushed your spirit.”

  Rejecting the twinges of excitement the first of his statement started in her belly as naught more than the common term for friend; she squared her shoulders and forged on. “My spirit was never crushed.” Oh, and aye, it was, but I’d rather die than admit the whys and wherefores of it. Picking up the printing plate, she surveyed the etching. “Aside, Mr. Cope…”