he should look into that set of armor. Because she was armed and would not allow anyone to harm her. If he turned out to be an aggressive, demanding wolf, she would have to put him in his place. No one from this realm was going to mess with her. She’d had enough practice sticking up for herself that she never took a step without first casting a look over her shoulder.
After wandering into the wedding cottage, Bea sighed and plopped onto the end of the massive bed. She stroked the bond mark on the back of her hand. The first seal. Sex would close their bond.
She inched her gown up along her leg, and, from the thigh strap, she tugged out a gleaming violet blade and stabbed it into the tree branch that formed the canopy bed frame.
“Please let him be kind,” she whispered.
Kir stumbled into the wedding tent. He’d put back a few drinks but hadn’t thought he was drunk. Must have been that tree root at the threshold. Although, the honey mead had been some powerful stuff. Whew! He and Jacques had done a couple mead shots before Etienne had suggested he go seek out his bride.
His bride. The words felt foreign tinkering about in his brain.
Tilting back his shoulders and taking things in, he could only marvel. How this makeshift tent slash honeymoon debauchery cottage had been erected was beyond him. The walls grew up from the ground—mature trees that had long ago rooted—and the branches bent over to form a roof as if they’d grown that way decades earlier.
And it smelled great in here. Like flowers, honey and sweet things, and...her. Yeah, she’d smelled like candy. And her scent had found a place in his nose. And that was a bit of all right.
The new wife stood on the opposite side of the cottage, fingers nervously tracing the bed linens. Clad in sheer pink silk that imitated flower petals, she looked like a lost girl, veiled in black hair with bright eyes. Her wings weren’t out, or maybe they were folded behind her back.
What was with those eyes? Pink? Kir had thought all sidhe eyes were violet. And if she was a half-breed, then he wanted to know what her other half was before they got too cozy. He didn’t do creatures like vampires and demons. There was a vast range of “other” she could be if she were not full-blood faery.
Either way, you have to do this. Right. What a way to ruin a good drunk. Sex with a stranger, who would then follow him home. And stay there. He’d thought getting the mark on his hand was the whole bonding ritual. Not so, Brit had explained to him, when he’d asked after his bride after losing sight of her at the revelry.
“Hey.” She waved at him. She remained by the bed, perhaps as nervous as he about this? Surely the idea of having sex with a man she’d known all of a few minutes could not appeal to her.
At least, Kir hoped that kind of sex didn’t appeal to her. A fast-and-loose faery wasn’t his idea of perfect wife material.
Ah, heck, why was he being so judgmental? They were in this together. And if his guess about her nervousness was right, then he’d do what he could to alleviate some of that worry. Starting with a firm attempt at clinging to the last vestiges of his sobriety.
“So, let’s get this over and done with, eh?” He stretched an arm toward a little nook at the entrance, where she could catch a glimpse of their witness. “We do have a spy to entertain. But, so you know, I really don’t want to do this with you.”
“Way to make your wife feel loved, big boy.”
“Love? Are you—” He eyed the carafe on the bedside table and aimed for it, but when he drank, he found it was only fresh, clear water. Kir spit out the not-alcohol over the moss floor. “Are you on board with all this?”
“I haven’t much choice,” the woman said. “Nor do you, apparently. Sacrificed for the good of your pack, eh?”
What was her name? Oh, yeah. Beatrice.
“Listen, Beatrice, if sex is what is required by your kind to seal the bargain, then sex it is.”
“Yes, we sidhe are a weird bunch. And daddy Malrick is a twisted bit of dark sidhe.”
“Says the half faery.”
She lifted her chin at that statement. Defiant? Defensive?
“Your eyes,” Kir said, pointing at her face. “Am I right?”
She nodded.
“So what is your other half?”
She shrugged. “It’s not important. Is it?”
Not with a swimming head and the strong urge to dive onto the bed, close his eyes and wish the nightmare would end.
“Nope. Guess not.”
* * *
Kir tugged off his vest and shirt and tossed it to the floor, his back to her. Bea could see that the wolf was raring to go. And would you look at those muscles? They bulged and rippled and formed a vast, solid surface. She felt sure she’d not seen the like, ever, in Faery. And she had dated more than her share of sidhe in all shapes, sizes and even colors. This wolf? He was, by the blessed Norns, beautiful.
She dashed her tongue along her lower lip. If she had to do this, she may as well try to enjoy it. Take one for the team, right? Let the big, handsome wolf put his hands all over her naked body? She’d force herself if she had to.
As his fingers drew down the zipper of his leather pants, he turned. “So how do you want to do this?”
“Down and dirty.” Bea shed a thin strap from her shoulder. “Get ’er done.” Because if not now, she’d lose her bravery and fly for safety.
“I agree. Quicker is easier.”
Flicking off a strap from her shoulder, her wedding dress dropped to a puddle at her feet. And the wolf’s eyes dropped to her breasts. They were small but high and perky. She was well made for aerodynamic flight.
Kir exhaled and averted his gaze to the side. Was he getting all shy on her? Or perhaps a gentleman hid behind the steely muscles and bite-worthy abs? Aw. Sweet.
But Bea couldn’t get behind forced niceties after that wince she had seen him make during the ceremony. It was her eyes. They freaked him. The dude did not like her. And if the werewolf knew what her other half was? He’d go running with his tail between his legs.
Now all she had to do tonight was keep her dark half subdued. Fingers crossed.
“Pants off,” she said, turning toward the bed and patting the mattress. “We’ll get into the swing of things, then you can shift, and we’ll seal the deal.”
Kir chuckled. “Is your definition of foreplay the swing of things?”
“Yep. You got a problem with that, big boy?”
He narrowed his gaze on her. “Are you always so cold?”
“Nope. But how many times have you been required to
