How To Marry A Werewolf (Claw & Courtship, #1)(50)

“So, when you fuss and fret, I should take you to him?” Faith sounded like a wife.

Channing laughed. “He also drives me crazy. He is my opposite in so many ways.”

“Because you are Gamma?”

“Exactly so. But he has kept me close most of the time since then. And most of the time, I behave because of it. There have been slip-ups, over the years, if he and I are separated for too long. Some Alphas don’t understand, and a pack as big as ours is often split for military action. There have been times when I could not protect him as he once protected me. I was not strong enough to be his champion. I hated myself for that and, ironically, couldn’t forgive him. We aren’t exactly friends and yet…”

Faith’s lips twitched. “You’re brothers.”

“Yes.”

“And all that time with no one to love you as you ought to be loved?”

“My appetites do not incline me towards men, and I find it difficult to trust women.”

Faith winced, clearly thinking of Odette and the vampire queen. “No doubt. But we’re not all so” – her nose wrinkled and she made a face as she searched for the right word – “horrible.”

He dipped his head. “No. I begin to think you, at least, are rather unique.”

She tilted her head. “What makes you believe, after all that you’ve done and all that has happened to you, that you are not worthy of me? You move from one to the other. First, no woman is good enough for you, and now you are not good enough for me.”

“You are so innocent to be colored by my tawdry history.”

“Innocent?” Faith raised both eyebrows.

“You understand my meaning.”

“You are forgetting someone in this equation.”

“Who?”

“Me. I’m the only one who can truly judge you worthy. You know that, don’t you? I’m allowed the freedom and the choice of who to love and who to trust, just as you are. I’ve chosen you.”

She stood and approached him, crouched before him where he sat in the armchair. She put her hands to his knees, his legs only just covered by Biffy’s robe.

Her eyes were big and blue and infinite. “We are all messy, fractured beings, muddling through on this great big rock of ours. The choice of what we make of ourselves is what we do with our time here.” She shrugged. “I collect rocks. I ache when I hear the cry of a baby. I’ve looked all my life for family. I thought it was passion. Now I know it is you.” She took a breath. “This is what you and I will do now. We will hold these broken parts of ourselves dear because they brought us to this point, and we will love each other wholly and completely. You can rest now. Be with me. Together, we will be enough.”

He leaned forward into her. Pressed his wet face into the side of her neck and breathed her in.

She was exactly right; it was enough.



The Mooning Standard reported that Miss Faith Wigglesworth married Major Channing Channing of the Chesterfield Channings (yes, he knows) on a misty evening in June in a private ceremony that was, the paper claimed, very ill attended.

Invitations were shockingly sparse. Barely three dozen witnessed the ceremony, almost all on the groom’s side. This, after such an exciting (and public) courtship, was considered by most to be very bad form indeed.

The bride was given away by her cousin, Mr Iftercast. (There was much discussion as to why her parents didn’t cross the Atlantic for the event. Claims were made as to the mother’s ill health, possible mental instability. Good thing, said the gossipmongers, that this couple could have no children, if there was madness in her blood.) The bride’s cousin, Theodora Iftercast, stood up with her, and Professor Randolph Lyall stood with the groom.

The London Pack was present, as were most of its clavigers. There were no vampires and there were not very many mortals, either. The bride’s dress was said to be shockingly simple, and her hat, well, perhaps it was a good thing so few were invited. The hat might have caused a riot. It was a very small white top hat with a veil, but a gentleman’s style top hat nonetheless.

The Alpha of the London pack was said to be very proud. Particularly about the hat. Whatever that meant.



Faith’s husband took great delight in stripping the very silly little top hat, the veil, and the overly simple wedding dress off of her later that night. He did it with such studied care, as if unwrapping a precious gift.

Faith luxuriated in his attentions, certain that shortly, things would flare between them into uncontrollable heat and wonderful violence.

At the beginning, he explored her, gentle and intent on claiming his territory. His hands were cool and occasionally, deliciously, a little rough. His lips were soft and sure, allowing teeth to come out to play when he discovered a sensitive spot. It was glorious.

Then he stood still and let her do the same to him. Not that she hadn’t seen it before, but this time there was no sudden nudity, simply pieces of him revealed bit by bit. She took her time to touch, and even kiss and lick a little. When she became brave enough to nibble, he pushed her back, glared, and then showed her how to do it properly.

They ended up standing opposite each other, both entirely naked and free of all encumbrances – made new for each other.

Faith stared at her husband – this fine, handsome man who was hers, who was the pack’s, who was a white wolf out of legend.