A Siberian Werewolf in London
Book Two of the Siberian Volkov Pack Series
By
Caryn Moya Block
Published By Caryn M. Block
Copyright © 2012 Caryn M. Block
Cover Design by Jirves GFX
Male Model Photo by Hot Damn Designs.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the author, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review.
DEDICATION
To my sons, Chadwick and Christopher Block.
“Dreams can come true.”
Special thanks to my readers who are part of the dream.
To Paula Scott Luddy and Judith Dreyer, my cheerleaders,
and Bette Hileman, my editor, I couldn’t have done it without you.
CHAPTER ONE
Breathing deeply, Melisande Reule stepped from the cab in front of the London Hilton. She looked down at her wrinkled blue suit and sighed. Seven hours in an airplane would crease any material. She smiled as she glanced around. Another city and another experience—new foods to try, new people to meet. The sun was shining; it was a glorious day. She wanted to drink a pint of warm beer, tour a castle, and search out all the tapestries in the English museums. She thought about skipping in her happiness but was afraid she might trip in her high heels. Dressing for success didn't lend itself to skipping. Besides, at thirty she was a little old for that and didn’t want to embarrass herself. So Melisande strolled into the lobby, her head held high, pulling her suitcase behind her as she walked up to the desk.
“Sandy, darling, I'm so glad you made it,” a voice called from across the lobby, waving at the young woman who entered.
Grigori Solovyov, a Siberian lycanthrope, straightened from the marble column he had been resting against. His wolf senses flared, his claws started to break through his fingertips. He felt wildness surge within him. Hair began to push through his flesh. His clothes irritated his inflamed skin. He wanted to howl. But he was standing in the lobby of a posh hotel in London. He couldn't risk someone noticing his reactions.
Grigori subdued his wolf spirit, taking deep breaths to calm his animalistic side. He stared at the young woman who had walked into the building and triggered his responses. Never before had he lost control. Never before had he felt so out of control. A word reverberated through his soul. "Mate.” Could it be? Was it possible? Unable to stop himself, he moved closer to her.
He felt her irritation as she dealt with the aristocratic woman in the big hat. But it was the woman in the blue suit who held his interest. She was exquisite, her figure slim, her carriage tall, her long blond hair swept into a twist at the nape of her neck. She turned, and he noticed how her cobalt silk suit matched her blue eyes. She walked with confidence. She looked educated and independent.
Grigori listened to her conversation without guilt. Lycans learned different languages very easily. In addition to his native Russian, Grigori knew how to speak English, French, and Chinese.
He wanted to touch her, hold her, watch her eyes darken in pleasure as he buried himself deep within her, binding their souls together forever. He needed to know her name. He needed to claim her. He couldn’t deny it. It was instinctual. This woman was his other half. She would complete him.
The young woman reluctantly turned toward the aristocratic woman. "Lady Ashtown, I just arrived. I thought our appointment was for tomorrow at three.”
"Of course dear, but I’m wondering if you want to come over tonight to see the collection," Lady Ashtown said.
"I'm sorry, but I have another appointment this evening. I hope you understand.”
"Oh, of course, dear. I guess it can wait until tomorrow. Well, I'll run over to Harrods and see what’s new. I can always use a nice pair of shoes. See you tomorrow, Sandy," Lady Ashtown said, as she waved and sauntered toward the door.
"It's Melisande, or Meli, but it is never Sandy," Melisande said as she continued to the counter.
Grigori smiled as he heard her mutter. She was a feisty little thing. He walked up and stood next to her at the front desk. He noticed how the top of her head would come to the bottom of his chin. She would fit him perfectly.
"Yes, sir?" the hotel clerk asked, giving Grigori an appreciative smile.
"I believe this lovely lady was here first," he said, gesturing toward his mate.
"Thank you, sir. How wonderful it is to know gentlemen still exist," the woman answered, her voice flowing over him like warm rain. She turned to the clerk. "You have a reservation for Melisande Reule.”
Grigori waited patiently while Melisande went through the process of checking in. Melisande was a lovely name. He inhaled her scent, taking it deep into his lungs. She smelled like roses on a hot afternoon. He wanted to taste her to see if she would taste as sweet. He felt his canines lengthen and forced his wolf back again. It demanded its mate. Grigori listened to her voice, the sweet tones washing over him as she spoke to the clerk. She completely mesmerized him. He almost missed her room number, 403.
Melisande smiled at him and turned to walk away, but Grigori needed to touch her. Smiling his most charming smile, he stepped in front of her as he offered his hand.
"Welcome to London, Melisande. I am Grigori Solovyov. I hope I can see you again.”
"Thank you, sir. You are too kind," she said as she placed her hand in his. He rubbed his thumb over her knuckles, caressing her. He liked the feel of her. Her skin was so soft.
"Grigori, please . . .” he encouraged her.
Grigori, it was a pleasure meeting you," she said, slowly pulling her hand free.
Grigori reluctantly released her. She smiled as if she felt his struggle and turned to walk to the elevators, the bellboy trailing behind her. Grigori watched her go, his fingers still tingling from the shock of electricity that had passed between them at first touch. She was the one. If he tried hard, he saw a sliver of yellow light trailing after her, the beginning of the mating bond taking hold.
He yearned for her to look back, to be curious, to need to see him once more, to know that the mating heat affected her now that he had touched her. A hunter scenting prey, he waited. As the elevator opened, she turned. Her face flushed when she realized he was watching her, but he rewarded her with a smile and a slight nod of the head. Perfect, she was absolutely perfect.
His trip to London was looking up. Grigori loved the hunt, and this prize was the most important. She was his mate, his true love, the one woman born for him. He would have her. It was beyond anything he had ever hoped for.
There were no mates in Siberia for the males of the pack. Grigori had believed he was destined to be alone, doing his duty to the pack but never having a family of his own. As the elevator doors closed, taking Melisande from his sight, the clerk cleared her throat, trying to gain his attention.
"Can you tell me where the nearest florist is?" he asked.
Once the clerk wrote down the address, Grigori headed for the door. Flipping open his cell phone, he called Dmitry Volkov, the Alpha of the Siberian lycan pack, telling him he would be delaying his trip back to Siberia.
Melisande looked back at Grigori. What was it about the man? His voice had passed over her like warm honey. She felt her nipples tighten and a flush of warmth between her legs. With his muscular physique and emerald-green eyes, he was dangerous. His hair, brown and silky, was tied at his neck with a leather t
hong. She longed to run her hands through it. The attraction between them was strong and instant.
He was dressed in a black silk suit, looking like a lord of a castle. His accent sounded Russian. She pictured him riding a large black horse through the forest. He was beautiful, and she wanted to leap into his arms and never let him go. The temptation overwhelmed and unnerved her. She had never felt such strong reactions to a man.
Jumping into his arms would scandalize Lady Ashtown and her friends. Since Melisande was here to work for them, she couldn't afford to cause a scene. She was the foremost authority on medieval textiles, traveling here to date a tapestry from Lord and Lady Ashtown’s collection. Melisande hoped if they liked her work, they would tell their friends. She might get several new contracts as a result of this first one. Word-of-mouth was always her best resource.
Melisande let the bellboy open her door, and she walked in her room. It was bright and airy, with a queen-size bed prominently displayed. The light drew her to the windows, and she looked out to see a view of the Thames. The sunshine on the water made it sparkle and glimmer. She handed the bellboy a tip and, once he left, locked the door.
She walked back to the windows and this time looked down along the walkway running parallel to the river. Her breath caught in her throat when she saw the gorgeous man on the sidewalk below. As if he felt her gaze, he stopped and turned. Grigori's eyes found hers, and she felt branded. His smile weakened her knees. She raised her hand in a tentative little wave. He bowed to her in response, then turned and continued on his way. Unable to move from the window, Melisande watched until he disappeared into the crowd. Why was she so drawn to this man? She wanted to follow him, never letting him out of her sight.
She shook herself as if she were coming out of a dream. Maybe it was jet lag. The flight from Washington, D. C., had lasted more than seven hours. She needed a bath and a nap to set her straight. Unpinning her hair, she moved to accomplish this first order of business.
Three hours later, Melisande was thinking about ordering tea, when there was a knock at the door. She opened it to find a deliveryman holding a bouquet of lavender and white roses in a crystal vase. She signed the receipt and carried the bouquet to the nightstand. The flowers were beautiful. She touched a soft petal, then buried her nose in a bloom. She loved the mixed aromas of the lavender and white roses.
She smiled when she glanced at the card. Signed in a firm masculine hand, it read: Dinner with you would be my utmost pleasure. I'll pick you up at eight. Grigori.
"He is very confident," she said. How could she resist him? She knew meeting him for dinner was taking a chance. But she felt she needed to be with him. He was necessary for her continued happiness. Melisande always tried to follow the little knowing voice inside. Right now it shouted that Grigori was important to her.
§
Grigori leaned back in his chair, as he felt the first stirrings of emotion come through the mating bond. He had just finished talking to the hotel staff about his plans for dinner. He sensed how much Melisande liked the flowers. She was excited about going to dinner with him. Feeling his heart quicken, he picked up the single red rose he’d purchased from the florist and moved into the bedroom. Pulling down the covers, he sprinkled the petals from the rose over the surface of the light-blue sheet.
He saw the yellow cord of light, which was now the width of a pencil, flowing from his chest and disappearing into the distance. Only someone with psychic powers would be able to see the cord tying his heart to Melisande's.
As the bond grew stronger, he would pick up more of her thoughts and emotions. The need to be together would increase until it became an obsession for both of them. Once the bond was completed, they would be able to touch each other's minds, and in fact would need to touch each other's minds. For one of the most devastating effects of the mating bond was extreme grief, if either partner couldn't touch the mind of his or her mate. And if something happened, and one of them passed onto the next plane of existence, the mate would want to follow. Such was the way of the lycanthropes of Siberia.
Grigori admitted he needed to know more about his mate. He wanted the evening to be perfect. With a couple of phone calls, he discovered she was an American who worked at the Cooper-Hewitt National Design Smithsonian Museum and lived in Virginia. Her parents had retired to Florida, leaving their only child alone. She was an expert in medieval tapestries. And from overhearing her conversation with Lady Ashtown, he assumed she must be here to view the famous Ashtown Collection.
He found Melisande fascinating and wondered what psychic abilities she possessed. For it had become known very recently that only a woman with psychic abilities could mate with a lycanthrope and produce children with wolf spirits. Because his pack had run out of mates, the Alpha and leader, Dmitry Volkov, had sent the single males out in ones and twos, hoping they would find mates among the human population.
Surprisingly, that wasn't why Grigori had traveled to London. He had come to help Scotland Yard track down members of the Russian mafia, who were stealing from the pack warehouses in Yakutsk. The mafia trafficked in smuggled gems and metals, buying drugs and arms to bring back to Russia.
The previous day, Grigori had helped with the arrests and even saved the Chief Inspector’s life. Grigori had assumed he would be on his way home to Siberia this afternoon. But then Melisande walked into the hotel and changed his life. Nothing would ever be the same. He carefully considered what to wear before going in to shower. This was the most important night of his life—the night he would claim his mate.
After his shower, Grigori paced back and forth across his hotel room for an hour. He had finished his preparations long before it was necessary. He felt edgy, restless, impatient. He was glad no one could see him. He was known for being cool and collected at all times. If his pack mates saw him now, they would tease him unmercifully.
Grigori looked at the clock on the wall for the hundredth time. The moment finally arrived, and the stage was set. He glanced around, taking in all the details. Everything was as he imagined. He would have Melisande in his arms tonight. Grigori smiled in satisfaction and left his hotel room to go upstairs.
CHAPTER TWO
Melisande dressed with care. She put on an ice-blue chiffon dress and matching heels. The dress floated around her hips, spreading out like flower petals as far as her knees. She pulled her blond hair up, using pale-blue clips to hold it in place, and finished off the ensemble with a blue topaz necklace. She hoped Grigori would be pleased. She hadn't felt this nervous about a man since her high school prom. That was so long ago, Melisande thought she’d outgrown her strong reactions.
This man made her question herself, which did not happen often. He also made her hungry for things she hadn’t realized she missed. Like waking up in the morning with a man's arms around her and having someone to share her day with. Maybe even someone to have a home with and children. Melisande laughed at herself.
"You haven't even finished the first date, and you're already thinking of having his children. Be careful, Meli, or he'll run screaming into the night.”
A moment later there was a knock at the door. Melisande's breath caught in her throat. She forced herself to inhale slowly and wiped her sweaty palms on her dress. Then she walked over and opened the door. She saw emotions flash through Grigori's eyes. Yes, he liked what he saw.
"Come in while I get my purse and coat,” she said, stepping back to let him enter the room. "Thank you for the flowers. They are beautiful.”
"Not as beautiful as you, milaya moya, my sweet. You take my breath away,” he said.
Melisande blushed at the compliment. Grigori exuded a wonderful Old World charm. She was sure that compliments rolled off his tongue quite easily. He held her coat for her, and she slipped it on. He turned her in his arms and stared into her eyes a moment.
"Ty takaya krasivaya, so beautiful . . . ,” he whispered. "May I kiss you, Melisande?"
His gaze captured her. When she didn't answer,
he lifted her chin with his fingers, and watching her eyes, lowered his mouth to her lips. Melisande felt the first gentle caress of his lips and shuddered with need. What was it about this man? What moved her so strongly?
Grigori reached out and drew her closer to him, slipping his arm around her waist. Then he continued the gentle assault of her lips. When she sighed and wrapped her arms around his neck, he deepened the kiss, pushing his tongue past her lips to taste her. When she moaned into his mouth, he shuddered and reluctantly pulled back from her. Grigori smiled in male satisfaction, when he noticed that she would have stumbled if he hadn’t kept hold of her waist.
“Dinner is waiting, milaya moya, though you tempt me to forget it.”
"Well, we can't have that now, can we? I'm sure you need your strength.”
Grigori chuckled, “Is that an invitation, milen‘kij, little darling?"
"I guess we must wait and see.” Why was she being so forward with him? She wasn’t usually this way. But she wanted to tease him, dare him, drive him wild. She had never felt so bold before.
"Oh, we will see, Melisande, and tonight, I promise you,” he said, lifting her hand and placing a kiss on her inner wrist.
Melisande smiled up at him. It was a heady feeling to know this man wanted her. Grigori at her side, she walked to the door and into the hallway. She noticed how he made sure to keep his hand on her back, as he escorted her to the elevators. She walked in ahead of him and felt surprised when he pressed number three on the display. She glanced up at him sharply. Why weren’t they going down to the lobby?
"I fear I am unable to share you tonight. I made arrangements for dinner to be served in my suite,” he said.
Melisande didn't know what to say. She was aware Grigori wanted more than dinner on the menu. But on the other hand, she was a grown woman with a handsome man. If she was honest with herself, she wanted him. One night in his bed would give her moments of pleasure that would make the empty nights to come more bearable. One thing this attraction made clear: She was lonely and didn't even realize it until Grigori walked into her life.
AMAZON KINDLE VERSION A Siberian Werewolf In London EDITED 3 9 2012 Page 1
