Enchanted By The Wolf. Michele Hauf

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Enchanted By The Wolf - Michele  Hauf Mills & Boon Nocturne

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and tentative at first but quickly warmed and grew bold. Her lips were soft and pliant. Sweet to taste, as sweet as her scent. And quietly stunning. She knew how to kiss, and parts of him stood up and took notice. He could kiss her all day. If he hadn’t an audience.

      So there was a bright moment to this horrible day.

      And when she opened her eyes, he saw that, indeed, they were not the usual sidhe violet but instead pink. Which indicated she was a half-breed.

      Kir’s heart suddenly did drop to his gut. What the hell had he married?

      * * *

      Following the vows, and that unexpectedly delicious kiss, Bea had danced the expected dance with her husband. It was an ancient sidhe dance that required barely holding hands and walking down an aisle of fellow revelers. It involved bows and hops and all that ceremonial nonsense that her elders so adored.

      Her new husband’s name, which she had only learned during the ceremony, was Kirnan Sauveterre. And his hand, when it had finally touched hers, had felt warm but shaky. Nervous? Surprising, coming from a big, bold wolf such as he. The man had filled the air beside her with a reluctant confidence. Yet she sensed he was a force when not out of his element, such as they both were now.

      After their kiss, he’d barely spared her more than a few glances. And during the dance his eyes strayed everywhere but onto her. Was she so hideous to look upon?

      After the dance, Bea excused herself to find something to drink. Her husband had let her go without a word, turning away to quickly find and chat with one of his pack mates.

      Perhaps he was as freaked by the whole event as she was. She guessed that, because he’d stood stick straight amid a swarm of congratulating friends, his eyes unfocused as he nodded mechanically. And she suspected that tiny smile was more a what-the-hell-have-I-done? smile than of genuine nuptial bliss.

      Pity. The wolf was sexy. Tall, too. She liked them big, tall and strong. And now that he’d relaxed a bit, he radiated a stoic command. The dark brown beard wasn’t her favorite, but he kept it neatly trimmed, and the mustache, as well. She’d have sex with him if she had to.

      And she did have to.

      “For the rest of my freakin’ life,” she muttered, and grabbed a wooden goblet of mead from a passing waiter’s tray.

      Downing the sweet amber liquor in one shot, Bea winced at the honey bite. The bees that had made that batch must have gotten into a patch of thistleberry. Always gave the drink a tang. Then she grabbed another to have something to hold in her hand while she wandered among the well-wishers and those who had imbibed far more mead than she had.

      “Let the drunken debauchery begin,” she declared to no one but herself. “Might as well celebrate the end of my life with a good ol’ rainbow yawn in the morning. Not like I expected something better in life, eh?”

      Princess though she was, growing up in Malrick’s household had been a lesson in endurance. Bea had never strived for more than survival among her dozens of sidhe siblings; the majority of them were full-blooded faery. She, being a half-breed of dubious heritage, had received the brunt of Malrick’s disdain.

      So to stand now amid the revelers and receive their congratulatory handclasps only increased the nervous roil in her belly. It was a show they put on, a product of much mead and the desire to please their king. They cared little about her.

      As did her father, who was, not surprisingly, absent this evening.

      The hum of voices and laughter receded from her thoughts. Bea understood the French language with ease. The sidhe could assimilate any mortal realm language merely by listening to it. Fortunately, France had always interested her. If she were to visit any place in this realm, she was glad she’d landed in this country.

      Wandering to the edge of the merriment, she found and followed the flower-petal-laden path that twisted through the dark forest depths until the laughter and conversations grew to but a murmur. A trio of sprites danced in the air before her, sprinkling the path with their violet dust. Beyond an arch of fern fronds, she followed the sprites to the nuptial cottage, which had been erected for their wedding-night bonding. The walls were formed from plane trees growing high, and their branches curved and spread out thick leaves to fashion the roof. It was private, save for the narrow alcove nestled near the doorway, where she knew the witness would be positioned while she and her husband did the deed.

      Yes, someone had to witness their wedding-night bonding. Bea shivered at the thought of performing the sexual act with a witness. Faeries were big on ceremony and the observance of royal deeds. And since her father was the Unseelie king, that made her wedding a Big Deal.

      Not that she’d ever felt remotely princess-like. Shouldn’t a girl’s father, at the very least, show up for her wedding?

      She ran her fingertips over her embroidered and bepearled pink gown. Beneath the gossamer layers she felt the blade she always wore strapped to her thigh. Growing up in Faery as a half-breed should have been a wonderful thing. The sidhe embraced half-breeds; they even sought to procreate with most other breeds to create such progeny. With all but the darkest, which included demons and vampires.

      Bea’s non-sidhe half—of which she wasn’t clear what it was, though certainly she’d assumed it vampire—had made her a pariah among her own. Through his inattention, her father had made it very clear she disgusted him. Which explained why he’d been so eager to offer her as a seal to this bargain with the Valoir pack.

      “Unwanted and unloved,” she whispered. “And now I’ve been thrust into a realm that frightens me and will be forced to live with a wolf I don’t know.”

      A shiver traced her skin and she wrapped her arms across her chest in a hug that felt more pitiful than comforting.

      There was a bright side to look at. She’d always dreamed about escaping her father’s household.

      “Perhaps I’ll like the mortal realm,” she decided. “And maybe my husband will even grow to like me.”

      Turning to gaze back toward the celebration, her wings fluttered and she had the thought to fold them away. Wings and sex, well...she wasn’t ready for such soul-deep intimacy with the new husband. Stones, she just hoped to get through the evening without saying something stupid or landing in an awkward sprawl on the bed.

      She spied her husband near the feast table, speaking confidently to another wolf she guessed was a good friend, for he had stood beside Kirnan during the ceremony. Kirnan Sauveterre. She wondered about his surname. What did it mean? It felt honorable and bold as she whispered it.

      Kirnan stood the tallest amid the crowd save for a few sidhe. He held his head proudly, shoulders back. Soft brown hair curled about his head, and a slightly darker beard and mustache framed his long face. A regal nose. And ears tight to his head. No points, though, Bea noted as she stroked the gently pointed tip of her ear. So she’d learn to like him despite that physical fault.

      A hand-tooled black leather vest stretched across a broad, muscled chest, and his leather pants wrapped muscular thighs that she imagined often ran through the forest, both in man form and as a wolf. The sprig of dandelion in the boutonniere he wore at his breast pocket portended faithfulness.

      If only she could get so lucky. She touched the blue anemone in her hair. Chosen for luck.

      Bea sighed. Her husband looked like every woman’s dream

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