by Abigail Owen
Now Marrok Banes would be her family. A wave of heat washed through her at the thought. Tala uncrossed and recrossed her legs, trying to ease the ache of desire, then scowled at the action. She didn’t fidget. Alphas couldn’t afford to fidget—it made them look nervous. A nervous alpha was a dead alpha. “Asking her was a shot in the dark anyway.”
Finally, Shyla moved away from the door and raised her eyes as Tala shifted in her seat again. Her sister sent her a wicked smirk. “Got an itch you can’t scratch?”
Unamused, Tala let loose a growl of warning. Shyla held up her hands. “Sorry. Not funny?”
“Maybe I should find you a mate so you can enjoy it and tell me what you think.”
“Hell no. A mate is the last thing I’m interested in.” Shyla shuddered.
Me too. Only the thought didn’t hold the conviction it once had. Which made no sense. She didn’t love Marrok. Respected him. Needed him to make this truce work. Desired him even. But nothing more.
Liar, her wolf taunted.
Shyla sobered. "How bad is it?”
Tala cringed.
“That bad?”
She sighed. “Let me put it this way, I’m secretly worried I might melt in a puddle of orgasmic goo as I walk down the aisle.”
Praise for Abigail Owen
“Looking for an amazing read? HER DEMIGOD COMPLEX delivers in fantasy spades as a tight story with sizzle and suspense. There’s no room for wasted words in this type of writing and Ms. Owen’s skill at setting up the plot, endearing the characters to the readers, presenting the protagonist as truly bad in relatively few pages, is remarkable…This is a must-have in a reader’s light but fun library!”
In D’Tale Magazine
“[HER DEMIIGOD COMPLEX] is an intriguing read. Abigail Owen is known for her provocative and very different worlds and this one is among her best.”
Fresh Fiction
“HER DEMIGOD COMPLEX is one of those reads that just hits every YES button I have! Yes, these are fabulous characters-YES this tale is filled with tempting romance-YES there are quirky humor, sexual tension, sticky situations and great characters-YES, there is an evil entity that you just want to hiss and boo at-YES, every page is magnetic and a total pleasure to read-and finally, YES, what an ending!”
Tome Tender
Awards
2016 RWA West Houston Emily Award Finalist – Short Contemporary Romance for SAVING THE SHERIFF
2015 RWA FF&P Prism Award Winner – Dark Paranormal Romance for ANDROMEDA’S FALL
2015 Coffee Time Romance Recommended (CTRR) for ANDROMEDA’S FALL
2014 eLit Award Winner – Bronze Medalist, Best SciFi/Fantasy for BLUE VIOLET
2013 IPPY Award Winner – Bronze Medalist, Best SciFi/Fantasy/Horror eBook for BLUE VIOLET
The Worse for Were
In Love with Her Werewolf Husband of Convenience
by
Abigail Owen
A Legendary Consultants Novella
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
The Worse for Were
COPYRIGHT © 2016 by Abigail Owen
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Cover Art by Abigail Owen
Digital ISBN 978-0-9882272-7-9
Legendary Consultants Book 2
Dedication
To Kaitlyn.
Dear Reader,
Thank you for reading The Worse for Were! Writing is a passion—one that I look forward to every day. I hope you enjoy exploring this world I created and the characters who’ve become so important to me.
I would not be able to do this without my team: my critique partners and beta readers, my terrific author friends, and, especially, my mother.
I would especially not be able to do this without my fabulous readers, many of whom have become friends. I have the best and most supportive readers in the word, for which I am grateful!
A huge Thank You and I Love You to my amazing husband and children, who support (and even encourage) this obsession of mine.
If you would like to contact me, I’d love to hear from you (www.abigailowen.com). Thanks again!
Sincerely,
Abigail Owen
CHAPTER 1
Tala stood in the small room off the main foyer of the chapel where she was shortly to wed the leader of the Banes pack of werewolves—a man recently considered her enemy. Outwardly she projected her usual calm, collected self. Inside, nerves and doubts pummeled her. She’d bitten her lipstick off countless times, a sure sign of her agitation.
“All set?” Her wedding coordinator popped her head into the room to ask.
“Absolutely.”
“Great. As soon as everyone is seated, we’ll begin.” The woman disappeared in a flurry of movement. As a hummingbird shifter, she didn’t sit still well, Tala had learned over the last few months.
Needing a moment of peace, even if temporary, Tala turned her attention to the view. The small Rocky Mountain chapel nestled on top of a large rock base, built of the same granite as the rock, almost as though it had been placed there since the beginning of time. Below, a small, creek-fed lake reflected the starry sky and the spire of the chapel.
Such a setting was perfect for this event as werewolves preferred to surround themselves with nature. After the wedding ceremony both Marrok’s and Tala’s families and friends would follow them into the wooded mountainside for the mating ceremony illuminated by the full moon, with a reception afterwards at a nearby hotel. That was, if they didn’t all kill each other first.
“No bloodshed.” She whispered the prayer to any gods listening.
“What’d you say?” Her sister’s voice broke into her plea.
Tala winced. Damn werewolf hearing. “Nothing.”
The Banes and Canis packs had been locked in a bloody feud for ages. Once upon a time, they’d been the same pack. But a battle for alpha between brothers had torn the original pack into two, one taking the eastern slopes of the Rocky Mountains as their territory, the other taking the western slopes.
This mating would reunite the two packs for the first time, and, by some miracle, end the fighting. Centuries of blood and death, finally over. Her entire goal for wanting to be Alpha in the first place—to establish a peace too long denied. At least, that was the plan. Not everyone agreed.
A glance over her shoulder showed her sister still peering through a cracked doorway into the chapel beyond.
“Shyla,” she hissed. “Get away from the door.”
In response, Shyla wiggled her provocative backside, covered in a pale turquoise bridesmaid gown which matched the beading on Tala’s wedding dress, and continued to report on the scene in the sanctuary. “Marrok looks amazing in a tux. You lucky girl. Come see.”
“No, thank you.” Tala left the window and sat, her hands folded primly in her lap.
Shyla glanced over her shoulder. “Tala Canis, aren’t you even the least bit interested in your future husband?”
Tala lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “I’ve seen him.”
Shyla shook her head, returning to her perusal of the guests. “I’d be all over that man if I were you,�
� she muttered. “I’m surprised your wolf isn’t dry humping him every second of the day.”
“Shyla! Someone might hear you,” she rebuked her sister.
Mate, the beast caged inside her rumbled.
No. Means to an end. She and her wolf had been having this debate ever since they’d gotten their first whiff of the alpha of the Banes pack. Sandalwood and rum. If she were less self-controlled, Tala could get drunk on his scent alone.
Truth be told, she wasn’t nearly as uninterested in her husband of convenience as she made out, but she refused to give her perplexing desire any serious weight given their situation.
When a werewolf mated, pheromones were released, igniting lust not only in the couple, but in anyone near them. The more powerful the werewolf, the more pheromones released. In this case she and Marrok were both the ruling alphas of their packs. The first time two alpha werewolves had mated in the history of their kind—female alphas were rare. Consequently, pheromones hung heavy in the air, a sweet perfume of heady need, regardless of the fact that this marriage wasn’t a love match.
Shyla backed up as the door opened unexpectedly. Sandalio, one of the oldest wolves in their pack, entered.
He ignored Shyla and walked straight to where Tala sat. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”
She remained calm in the face of what she recognized as a veiled threat. “I do. And I hope you know what will happen if your support isn’t total.”
Two could play at the threats game, only hers wasn’t as subtle. She wouldn’t mind kicking the old man out on his ear. He was a pain in her butt.
Sandalio narrowed his eyes, but bowed his head in acknowledgement. “My…felicitations on this most joyous occasion.”
“Thank you.”
She exchanged a long suffering look with Shyla as he left.
“He’s going to cause problems,” Shyla warned as she resumed her position at the door observing the other room.
“I know.” Tala would deal with Sandalio when he made his move. Until then, she had bigger problems.
She hoped like hell the scheme of uniting the two packs through marriage would end the fighting. Otherwise, she was about to bind herself to a stranger, an enemy, no less, for nothing. If their wolves bonded as well—and, given her wolf’s possessive behavior already, that was a distinct possibility—their mating would become permanent. She stood the chance of losing her pack, and possibly her life, for the attempt. Many in her pack were fuming about the idea already.
Mate, her wolf purred again, content with what they were about to do. Eager even.
The hussy would’ve already claimed Marrok’s wolf if they’d let them loose together. She practically rolled over anytime Marrok was near, panting with lust, pushing Tala’s own need even higher. Tala would be glad when this ceremony was over and the overwhelming cloud of insta-lust started to dissipate.
“Who’s the hottie standing up with Marrok?” Shyla asked.
They’d each opted to have only one person stand up with them. She’d asked her sister, but Marrok didn’t have any siblings. “Castor Dioskouri—a Greek demigod.”
“That explains why every single female in there can’t peel her eyes off him. Which god made him?”
“I’m not sure actually.”
“Huh. Is he single?”
“Don’t bother. He’s here with—”
“The blond in the backless navy dress? Yeah. He hasn’t unglued his eyes from her since she arrived.”
Tala knew the blond. “Leia’s just his Executive Assistant.”
Shyla hooted. “Do you really believe that’s all she is to him?”
“No. But she’s a nymph…” Nymphs had an uncanny ability to resist gods and demigods when they wished. Leia certainly appeared to wish it.
Shyla flicked a glance over her shoulder. “The one you told me about?”
Tala nodded.
“Is she going to help?”
Factions in both packs were staunchly, if quietly, against this mating. Centuries of hate ran deep and would not be buried in an instant. If they could manage to fulfill an age-old prophesy, or fake it, maybe the tides might turn their way.
All werewolves knew of the foretelling that two alphas—a male and a female—would unite their people in peace. The sign would be a display of nature as had never been witnessed before. That’s all anyone knew. The prophesy was so old, most didn’t believe it any longer, but if they could convince their packs it had come true…. Granted, asking a nymph—a being connected deeply with nature—to fake the fulfillment of the prophecy was a move driven by desperation. This situation needed all the help they could get.
Apparently the gods had it in for Tala, because nothing had been easy since the day she’d won the right to lead her pack. “Leia can’t help. She was exiled because she lost her spring.”
Shyla snorted. “Why would they exile her for losing her spring?”
“Your guess is as good as mine. I’ve never met a nymph before.”
“Yeah.” Shyla turned back to her peeping. “So she can’t help?”
“No. In fact, the nymphs in the lake and stream and woods around here threatened her when she tried to talk to them.”
“Ouch. That’s cold. I couldn’t imagine family acting that way.”
Coming from a pack, where the collective always came before the individual, neither could Tala.
Now Marrok Banes would be her family. A wave of heat washed through her at the thought. Tala uncrossed and recrossed her legs, trying to ease the ache of desire, then scowled at the action. She didn’t fidget. Alphas couldn’t afford to fidget—it made them look nervous. A nervous alpha was a dead alpha. “Asking her was a shot in the dark anyway.”
Finally, Shyla moved away from the door and raised her eyes as Tala shifted in her seat again. Her sister sent her a wicked smirk. “Got an itch you can’t scratch?”
Unamused, Tala let loose a growl of warning. Shyla held up her hands. “Sorry. Not funny?”
“Maybe I should find you a mate so you can enjoy it and tell me what you think.”
“Hell no. A mate is the last thing I’m interested in.” Shyla shuddered.
Me too. Only the thought didn’t hold the conviction it once had. Which made no sense. She didn’t love Marrok. She respected him. Needed him to make this truce work. Desired him even. But nothing more.
Liar, her wolf taunted.
Shyla sobered. "How bad is it?”
Tala cringed.
“That bad?”
She sighed. “Let me put it this way. I’m secretly worried I might melt in a puddle of orgasmic goo as I walk down the aisle.”
She’d witnessed other werewolf females have that happen at their mating ceremonies, and none had been mated to alphas who released a stronger wave of magic and pheromones. Having an orgasm in the middle of her walk down the aisle would be humiliating.
Shyla gave a low whistle. “No one would blame you. The man is sex on a stick. Even I’m on edge, and there’s no one here I’m interested in fucking tonight.”
“Shyla!”
Her admonition fell on deaf ears as her sister grinned unrepentantly.
Good idea, her werewolf whispered, bombarding Tala with mental images of what Marrok and she would soon be doing in the woods.
“Have you…um….?” Usually one to speak whatever was top of mind, Shyla paused, as if searching for the right words. “Taken care of your needs so it’s not as bad?”
Tala rolled her eyes. “More than is decent, and it’s not helping.”
Shyla reached over and squeezed her hand. “Try this. Anytime your body gets heated up, think about Mom and Dad in the sack.”
“Ewwww!” Tala did not need that mental image. “Gross, Shy.”
“Exactly. Best way to throw mental ice water on the situation.” Shyla assumed a superior simper as if she’d been truly helpful.
A knock at the door signaled the time had come. Tala rose to her feet, smoothing the pristine white materia
l of her gown over her hips, reveling for a moment in the silky texture under her fingertips. Would Marrok appreciate that tactile quality, or would he rip the gown from her body when he claimed her?
She’d opted for a simple, body hugging dress, displaying her generous curves and tiny waist before flaring wide around her feet. The v-neck made her boobs look fantastic and the deeper V in the back, decorated by sparkly turquoise edging, was designed to tempt and tease.
In their dealings thus far, Marrok had been polite, professional…and remote. He’d displayed zero sign of any answering lust for her. A small part of her, goaded by her werewolf, wanted to rattle his cages. Dangerous, messing with an alpha male, but she was more than capable of dealing with him.
The need to make an impression on him was particularly odd given her reputation as a frigid ice queen. She’d been too focused on becoming alpha to give men much thought until now. Every pack handled the selection of alpha differently. In her pack, all contenders fought until only one remained standing. She understood Marrok’s pack based theirs more on bloodlines, as did many other packs. Her pack found that led to bias, murder of siblings in the ruling family, and lack of adaptation to the ever-changing world around them.
She’d earned alpha, but, as a woman, she found she had to earn it again every day. Given her status and goals, she needed her mate to fit her ambitions. No way was she letting some lesser male take credit for her successes. And so she’d never mated. Until now.
She picked up the heavy bouquet of roses and lilies, their sweet smell wafting up to her, and followed Shyla. The clack of their heels against the natural stone flooring echoed in the small chamber outside the ornate mahogany double doors leading into the sanctuary.
The organ music trumpeted inside, slightly muffled from where they stood, and Shyla fussed around Tala, tweaking her train and her veil into place.
