in his half man/half wolf werewolf form, he had thoughts as a man and as a wolf. He could understand some spoken language, but for the most part, he acted on instinct. And instinct told him a ripe female waited for him.
She scrambled off the bed, seemingly fearful of his towering form, but when she stopped at the headboard, she turned. A tiny smile curled her pink lips and she crooked a beckoning finger at him.
The werewolf recognized that as an invitation.
* * *
Gasping, Bea caught her hands on the headboard fashioned from woven branches while the werewolf howled behind her. He had reached orgasm, as had she. And, man, that had been a cosmic thing. She could now entirely get behind the meaning of bonding in werewolf terms. Big furry wolf man, meet the quivering, sexually satisfied faery chick? Fur and claws? She could deal. And she had. In werewolf form Kir was mostly man-shaped anyway, and his cock was all man.
Yet she was suddenly ravenous. And not for food. She’d been born with an inexplicable hunger, which had been sustained by drinking ichor from her fellow sidhe ever since puberty. Here, in the mortal realm, she had prepared herself for her first taste of mortal blood. Because, if not ichor, the only other option was blood. It sustained. And satisfied. It was tied in to sex and the orgasm and the desire to pleasure herself as deeply as possible.
And she would not ignore that hunger.
Much as Bea assumed the wolf was not going to like what she did next—she twisted about and hugged the big furry lug about his wide, panting chest. Sinking in her fangs at the werewolf’s throat caused him to whip back his head in protest. A talon cut down her thigh as he attempted to pull her off him.
Bea clung. The blood spilling into her mouth was hot and thick and tasted better than mead or even ichor.
Now, this was her kind of bonding.
Suddenly the fur Bea had clenched in her grasp receded and her fingers slipped over male skin slickened with his own blood. Kir’s exaggerated form, which had been mostly human in werewolf shape, save the wolfish head, returned to his regular structure. He pulled his neck away from her mouth. Her fangs dripped blood onto her thighs.
Her new husband pushed her into the pile of pillows jammed against the headboard. Kir slammed the mattress with a fist. “What the—” He slapped a palm over his neck, though she had landed the bite much closer to his shoulder than she’d intended. “You bit me!”
“Yeah? What did you expect? You shagged me in the literal sense, buddy. Shaggy fur and all.”
“We needed to bond. You knew that had to happen. You agreed to it!”
“That I did.”
“But what’s the bite about?” He gestured to her fangs. “You...you...”
His panicked expression was comical, but only until Bea realized he had been blindsided, and she should have waited to answer her hunger until after he was more familiar with her needs.
“I was in the moment.” She retracted her fangs and pushed a long tangle of hair over her shoulder. Dragging a finger through the blood droplet on her thigh, she then licked it clean. Mercy, that tasted incredible. “I needed to feed.”
“Feed?” Kir exhaled. “What the hell are you? Oh.” He fisted the air. “Hell no! You can’t be. No, no, no. Please tell me you are not half vampire.”
She sat up pertly and wiggled her hips, more from fresh nerves than defiance. And, really, sarcasm and snark were her best means of defense. “Did the fangs give me away? You are one perceptive werewolf.”
“Bea? Tell me what the hell I married.”
She definitely did not like his angry voice. But, seriously, what had he expected? It wasn’t as though Malrick was going to hand over a valued full-blooded sidhe daughter for marriage.
“I may be half vampire,” she conceded, unable to meet his accusatory glare. “But I don’t know. I’ve lived on ichor all my life. Ichor is equal to blood in the mortal realm. And my eyes are pink. I know, right? Most sidhe eyes are violet.”
Kir crushed his palms across his forehead and over his skull. “I can’t believe this! Malrick is your— What is your mother?”
Bea shrugged. “Never met her.”
“Didn’t your father tell you who or what your mother was?”
“Daddy dearest? Pfft. He likes to keep secrets. Only, he never lets me forget what a disappointment I am to him. Which is, I suspect, why you got stuck with me. Sent the rotten egg of the bunch off to the mortal realm. Like you said—” she pointed a thumb at herself “—short stick.”
Kir wiped at the bite marks on his neck. “I assumed Malrick would not send a favorite. But a vampire is...”
“Not your first pick for a wife, eh?”
“There’s nothing wrong with vampires, I just... You know werewolves develop a nasty blood hunger from a vampire bite? That is not something I want to happen to me. I pray your vampire taint did not have a chance to enter my bloodstream.”
“Sorry.” Way to make her feel special. Not. “If it makes you feel any better, it’s never been confirmed that my non-sidhe half is vampire. But I have been drinking ichor since I was a teen.”
“Never been confirmed?”
“My father won’t talk about my mother. I guess she was vamp, though, because I have these fun things,” she said as she tapped her fang, and she caught her husband’s wince. “Right. I’m used to that look. Now I’m kind of glad I bit you.”
He gripped her by the upper arm. “You will not do it again. A blood hunger is the worst for a werewolf like me.”
“Then you’d be like me. A disappointment.” Bea tugged from his grip and scooted away from him on the bed.
Yeah, so she’d known this wasn’t going to be a romance-and-roses wedding night. She probably should have asked to bite first. Her bad. She had barely gotten a taste, but the drops she’d licked from her lips were hot and thick and so, so tasty. She’d bite him again in an instant. But she had probably spoiled the chance of that ever happening again.
“Yeah, whatever,” she offered, using dismissal as defense. “No more biting. I’m excited to taste mortal blood anyway, because yours was—”
Bea caught Kir’s openmouthed gape. It was too familiar. And she did know how to protect herself by pulling on the cloak of indifference. “Quit looking at me like that. I’m not the enemy. Or evil. You’re just like everyone else. Hating me because I’m different. A dark one. Something Malrick despises. I—I hate you!”
“I hate you, too,” the wolf muttered.
He sat there, fingering the bite wounds at his neck, wincing and growling. She had barely broken the skin! And Bea couldn’t feel at all ashamed for taking what she’d wanted. He’d
