How To Marry A Werewolf (Claw & Courtship #1)(29)

He was gentle with her, which she had not expected and wasn’t sure she entirely wanted or deserved. His lips were soft and cool and sure. He kissed behind the muscle of her jaw, and along the tendon of her neck, he licked into the divot of her collar bones – his tongue hot and raspy. He grazed the muscle of her shoulder with his teeth but did not bite.

“More,” she said. Too light, too timid, too like the other time.

His lips, when they pressed over hers, stayed calm and unhurried.

That wasn’t what she wanted from him. She wanted the arrogance and the anger. She needed the harshness of winter – overwhelming and unrelenting.

She drew away, examined his face, shadowed and aloof.

“Do you want me to struggle?” she asked. “Am I prey?”

He did not say anything, but his eyes burned hot for long enough to answer her with need. So, she pushed back from him, jerking herself away. She let herself glory in the rush of fighting and fear, of discovery and panic.

Want me enough to keep me, to make me stay.

He jerked her back and slammed his mouth on hers. And it was not kind or gentle; it was harsh and bruising like he must eat into her, devour her with his wanting.

She needed that so very badly – him not to be able to help himself. She wanted the fierceness of unfettered desire.

She whimpered and that seemed to stir him on. His hands were just this side of too strong now, immortal in their ability to hold her tightly to him – forever if he liked.

She pushed up against his unyielding body, bit him back with her small, square teeth. Inferior teeth. She dug her nails into his neck, for at some point she had wrapped her arms up and around him.

It was glorious.

She had searched for this so hard and so far.

She had crossed an ocean for this.

And then it was gone.

And so was he.



After the Brophys’ ball, Faith wasn’t sure what she expected.

Maybe a declaration.

Maybe a proposal, or more likely, given his character, a proposition. Major Channing might arrange an assignation or set her up as his mistress. She found she did not care for his intent so long as she got to have him. I have sunk into true depravity. She shivered in delight.

More likely, what she truly expected was for him to entirely ignore her or to leave town.

She expected anything but indifferent treatment and standoffish regard, which was what she got. She did not see him at any more social events, but she did see him in the hat shop.

He tilted his own hat coolly in her direction.

Faith was not at Chapeau de Poupe to buy anything, and had long since made no pretense at doing so. She came to gossip and to see Biffy while the Iftercasts perused the merchandise.

Faith had her derby on at a jaunty angle, paired with a grey wool split-skirt ensemble, with dozens of tiny brass buttons up the front and decorating the sleeves, and high bicycle boots. She looked well in it; simple, figure-flattering, and elegant by contrast to all the wide-sleeved, elaborate walking dresses around her. She was modern and chic and Biffy approved.

Still, it wasn’t enough.

For like all the times before, it seemed that whenever she arrived, Major Channing was just leaving.

“I work, you know,” he barked at her when she said, in all desperation, “Must you leave so soon, Major?”

Faith bowed her head to hide the press of tears and raised a hand to touch her neck, which now only faintly showed the places his mouth had once been.

When she looked up, Channing was gone, and Biffy was watching her, eyes full of sympathy and calculation.

“You confuse him greatly.” The Alpha was busy folding scarves and arranging them in a fan shape on one of the display cases. Faith was keeping him company, at his request.

“I confuse him?”

“You will not be shaped into any form with which he is familiar. Immortals, you know, even young ones, are easily overcome by the unexpected. We have a tendency to see the world as predictable. It is rather wondrous to watch Channing struggle.”

“It’s rather less wondrous to be experiencing it from my end.”

“I have no doubt of that.”

“And yet you yourself seem much more flexible.”

Biffy smiled. “I’m very young, for an immortal. Not yet a century.” He looked up at a delicate clearing of the throat. “Ah, Mrs Iftercast. You’ve decided upon that one, have you? Excellent choice. Let me just show you to the counter.”

Mrs Iftercast looked worried herself, no doubt having observed Major Channing’s precipitous departure. Nevertheless, she smiled brightly and spoke of hats. Faith blessed her for it. Really, she did not know what she would do without the Iftercasts.

Biffy said, as they were leaving, “You are still coming to dine with us, the night after next?” It had been arranged for several weeks now.

Mrs Iftercast nodded adamantly.

Faith knew that, no matter what else occurred, an invitation to dine at Falmouth House was not to be turned down at any cost. So rarely was anyone invited to visit with the London Pack in their own home, it was a social coup. Such particular attention to the Iftercasts, once it became widely known, would give rise to rumors of imminent engagements. Everyone had seen the Major’s out-of-character focus on the visiting American cousin. And she was an original, and very pretty, even if her choice of daytime attire was considered by many too esoteric even for the French. However, werewolves were known to be eccentric in their romantic tastes.