How To Marry A Werewolf (Claw & Courtship, #1)(46)

A little hesitant – after all, this was not her house, not yet, at any road – Faith opened the door and pushed into the room.

It appeared that this was the pack library. Faith instantly adored it. The room was generously proportioned with bookshelves against practically every wall. There was space for a large fireplace in one corner. Here and there stood a small table or a desk, or a cluster of comfortable looking leather chairs and couches.

There were not a great many books. Faith remembered that the pack had only recently moved to Falmouth House. She wondered if they would let her add her own books to the collection. She hadn’t managed to bring many with her from America, only her favorite mineral identification manuals and geological treatises. She thought maybe Channing would let her buy more and expand the library further. Her husband-to-be seemed utterly unperturbed by her unladylike scientific pursuits. She wondered if he might even encourage her in them. He’d courted her with gifts of rocks, after all. Suddenly, she had a million questions for him, about domestic arrangements, about her future, about their future together, in this house with this pack. There were so many possibilities. So much she needed to know.

“Would you change back into a human for me, please?” she begged the wolf.

The wolf only chuffed and led her to the far side of the room, where a beautiful bay window stuck out. There were thick, heavy curtains to keep out the sunlight. This was the house of immortals, after all. But behind the curtains, the window boasted a cushioned seat and a beautiful view of Blackheath under the stars. Faith instantly imagined spending many a rainy evening curled there reading, a crackling fire in the hearth, and a white wolf asleep at her feet, or a tall blond man with a snobbish expression cuddling her close.

“Oh!” said Faith. “It’s perfect.”

The wolf woofed at her, softly, and seemed to want her attention on some empty shelves nearby.

“You know, I could understand you better if you spoke actual words.” She stroked him, running her hands through the thick fur, tracing the wolf bones underneath, marveling that he could transition between the two. She played with the velvety softness of his ears and he trembled against her in pleasure, massive tail wagging back and forth, hitting a puffy hassock behind him with a rhythmic thumping.

She looked into his blue eyes. Exactly the same ice blue as when he was a man. “You’re so beautiful,” she told the wolf and the man, in case he was in there, hidden behind the eyes. “Come back to me now, please, Channing?”

He stepped away from her with another one of those pleasant chuffing noises.

Then the noises became entirely unpleasant. Faith winced at the sound of breaking bones and shifting flesh. Her eyes welling with sympathetic tears, she watched, both horrified and fascinated, as the white wolf shifted. He transitioned smoothly from beast to man, but it was no doubt an agony. His white fur seemed to crawl along his body towards his head as the man emerged. Fur became hair, snout shortened to nose, blue eyes bled into bigger blue, pointed velvet ears shrank down, becoming small, round, and human.

There was a dimorphic moment when Faith believed the wolf was the real Channing and the man was merely a temporary manifestation of the beast. She wanted the wolf back because she knew that form comforted him. But that was pure fancy; he was both, and neither.

Finally, he stood before her, all pale skin and long lean muscles, tall and lanky, and fit and very naked.





STEP TEN


  Get Him to the Altar


“Oh!” Faith slapped her hands up to cover her eyes, knowing her cheeks must be pink.

Channing, the cad, gave a low laugh. “Don’t you enjoy the view, Lazuli? One would think you might like to approve the goods before you purchased, so to speak.”

Faith had only ever seen one fully naked man before. To be fair, she had found Kit nice to look upon. Now she thought him much less aesthetically pleasing than Major Channing, but she’d always liked how different the male form was from her own.

She peeked through her fingertips.

Channing was standing before her, unashamed, arms crossed, expression sardonically amused.

“I suppose I should get used to it, living among werewolves.” Still peeking.

He glared. “I should prefer that it be me you looked at, as a general rule.”

Faith dropped her hands and glared at him – determinedly only his face. “I promise, sir, I’ve no interest elsewise!”

He grinned. “Good. You are mine now.”

“And you’re mine. Which means no changing shape in front of just any lady in a library! Or any other place, either.”

Faith wanted it understood that his philandering days were over.

His lips twitched. “So, my Lazuli, would you like to tell me why Biffy dragged me back from my work this evening when I had barely arrived? Not that I’m not delighted to see you at any given opportunity, but surely it could wait a little?”

“You really want to have this conversation right now?”

“You wanted me.”

“But you haven’t any clothes on!”

“One might hope that would make you want me more.”

Faith snorted. Then, feeling very brazen, she allowed her gaze to travel over him. He was pleasingly shaped. Everything about him was more than Kit – more muscle and height, more presence and attention. He was focused wholly on her. She wanted to touch. To run her hands over his chest, which was oddly hairless, and over his hips and down, following the V of muscles to where…