Bitten (3 page)

He didn’t dare accept her invitation. He glanced at the bleeding bite mark on her shoulder, then at her bloody nightgown where it wrinkled under her long, bent legs. He'd hurt her enough. He turned and sprinted for the woods. He had to protect her.

From himself.

Chapter Four

Sunrise bathed the Hanswald mansion in bright orange as Amelia made her stiff way back. In her room, she poked her fire to life and tossed her destroyed nightgown into its hungry flames. It burned as she relived her night's adventure. It all seemed surreal, but her disintegrating nightgown proclaimed it as real.

Too real. She put fingertips to her stinging shoulder and yelped at the resulting bite of pain. She went to her washstand and poured clean water in a pretty white porcelain bowl decorated with red rosebuds. As she applied a wet washcloth to the throbbing wound, she sucked a hissing breath through her teeth. The cool felt good against the feverish heat of her punctured skin.

He'd bitten her, but why? Was it a calculated move, or an instinctual way to mark her as his? As much as she hurt, she didn't regret a minute.

Exhaustion stole in. She finished bathing, her motions slowing and her lids heavy. Then she dragged herself to bed. Hours later, a nudge woke her instantly, and she made a protective grab for her sore shoulder.

Ouch.

She rolled and discovered Yasmine searching through dresses and gowns a maid had hung in a large, handsome wardrobe the day before.

Her friend offered a sunny smile over one shoulder. "I guess your trip took more out of you than you thought. I tried waking you this morning, but you were dead to the world."

Dead to the world.
The words echoed ominously in Amelia's head. "What time is it?" Her voice came out gravelly and low.

"Nearly four in the afternoon. Ah-ha!" She pulled an extremely pale green silk done in the very latest brocade and trimmed in Brussels lace. "Perfect."

Amelia sat, expecting pain. Her shoulder only ached. She used her sheet to cover it. "Perfect for what?"

"You must be starving."

Uh-oh. Yasmine was hedging. "Perfect for what?" insisted Amelia, clutching the covers to her throat. She'd forgotten she went to bed in the nude. She cut a glance toward the smoldering fireplace and relaxed to discover all evidence of her destroyed nightgown gone.

"Dinner and dancing." Yasmine hung the gown on a hook at the side of the wardrobe then bent to sort through shoes on a shelf.

"A ball?" Amelia laughed. "Really? My first day here, and you're dragging me to a ball? You couldn't mention this little event in your letter?"

"No. I was too busy telling you not to come." Her friend chuckled. "It's not a ball. More a dinner and country dancing. And it's complicated. Besides," she said, straightening with a triumphant smile and a pair of white satin slippers in one hand, "I can't imagine dragging you anywhere. You're the adventuress.
You're
usually the one who drags
me
places."

So true.
"Why's it complicated?" Her stomach grumbled.
Okay, so you have a point. I'm starving.

Yasmine brought Amelia's white cotton and eyelet lace robe. She draped it across the covers atop Amelia's lap then sat at the foot of the bed. "Honestly, I thought it would be canceled. Lady Grauwolf hosts this every year to bring the nobility in nearby towns together. I figured she'd cancel because of the attacks, but she didn't. I also figured you wouldn't come."

"But here I am."

"Here you are." Her friend stood and shrugged. "I'm actually glad. My father was going to send my mother and me away tomorrow, but now we can stay."

"I thought you were scared." Amelia waited for her friend to turn her back before she dropped the covers and put on her robe.

At the door, Yasmine faced her. "For you. You don't have an ounce of fear in you. I don't have any trouble staying inside and hiding from whatever's out there." Her brown eyes went kind and liquid. "In school, you used to sneak out at night to dance in the moonlight. But that was England. Promise you won't do that here."

Too late.
Amelia laid a hand on her aching shoulder. "Are you asking me to be someone I'm not?"

Yasmine turned the knob. "I'm asking you to be safe. I'd never forgive myself if you came all this way to see me only to get hurt."

How could she make a promise she couldn't keep? Wouldn't keep? In fact, she resented the timing of Lady Grauwolf's dinner/dance because it interfered with her plan to see Ebenoral – the moonlit jaunt Yasmine feared.

Amelia offered what she hoped passed for a reassuring smile. "I make you two promises." She held up her index finger. "I won't embarrass you tonight." She lifted her middle finger to join the first. "And I won't go looking for danger."

Her friend visibly relaxed. "I'll have cook send you something to tide you over. Then Trudi will come do your hair."

Amelia stared at the door a long minute after Yasmine left. How many hours until I'm free? How many hours until I'm in his arms again?

* * * *

She haunted him. Ebenoral scrubbed his rough palms over his face as his carriage came to a rolling halt in Lady Grauwolf's circular drive. He let himself out and gave his driver a wave.

Who was the woman who'd come to him last night? So honest. So fearless. Lain with him, and bestowed her greatest, most precious gift in a passionate abandon that still had him hot and wanting more.

Why didn't I get her name, at least?
Because he hadn't been himself. He wasn't tonight, either. Of all nights for Lady Grauwolf to host this dinner. Though, now that he thought back, she'd always held it the night before a full moon.

He didn't have a chance to ponder further, however. At the front door, the hostess herself headed the receiving line.

"Lord Malveaux," she said. Her thick, almost masculine voice soothed his too-sensitive ears rather than irritating him like it usually did. Her silver-gray eyes narrowed in her wide face, and her thin lips practically disappeared altogether within her smile of greeting.

"Lady Grauwolf. It's been too long." He took her hand and placed a kiss on her knuckles.

"We were all very sorry to learn of Lord Sir Malveaux's death. He was the best of us. A true gentleman." Her intense gaze accompanied a stiffening of her neck. "A true leader."

"Yes," he agreed. Was she trying to convey something beyond her words? He stood straighter, keenly aware of his father's absence at an event they'd always attended together.

"My deepest condolences. Under the circumstances, I can't thank you enough for coming."

"Your yearly dinner was the one event my father never missed."
Though I can't begin to guess why. I've been coming for years and never considered it particularly remarkable.
"Coming honors his memory. He was the best of fathers." The words spoken stirred raw sorrow, and he swallowed past a throat gone tight.

Her smile saddened, her features immediately softening into more feminine lines. Her lips once more made an appearance. "I believe it. Please enjoy yourself tonight."

He gave her a brief nod then hurried through the rest of the receiving line, greeting and accepting kind words from some of the highest ranked noblemen in the land.

The grand ballroom had been converted into an enormous dining hall. A table surrounded by easily one hundred chairs was elegant in its setting and flower centerpieces.

Guests mingled in the light of candle sconces evenly spaced along the outer walls and three chandeliers over the table. A liveried servant bearing a tray of wineglasses came to his side. Ebenoral took one but didn't drink. He'd stay only long enough to eat then leave before the dancing began.

A hush descended over the assembly, and all eyes turned to the entrance. Curious, Ebenoral went to the doorway leading to the foyer.

She
stood talking to Lady Grauwolf. His nostrils flared. Damn it, he could
smell
her. She smelled heavenly. Clean.
Delicious.
He licked his lips.

His wolf-hearing honed into their hostess' voice. She called her Lady Fairforth. His beautiful lady wore her golden hair pulled smooth from her heart-shaped face, and ringlets formed a lovely bouquet at the crown of her head.

A wild-looking gentleman with shoulder-length black hair and slanted silver eyes stalked from a parlor opposite the ballroom. His impeccable evening attire did nothing to hide the predator in him. Ebenoral distrusted the overconfident smirk on the man's face. When the cur took
her
hand and lifted it to his lips, he experienced a protective rage like nothing he'd ever suspected possible.

His grip shattered his wineglass. Gasps sounded all around. Then her gaze met his. Her lips parted on a dazzling smile, and she made to pull her hand free in a cut most smart.

Both Ebenoral's heart and his cock quickened in reaction.
You're mine.

The gentleman didn't release her, however.

Chapter Five

Ebenoral's eyes glowed orange. Alarmed, Amelia jerked at Lord Youel Grauwolf's hold. "Let go." She punched his shoulder. "He'll kill you."

Youel turned glowing eyes her way and smirked, causing her heart to skip a beat. "He's welcome to try."

"What?"

Ebenoral already strode their way. When he reached the long foyer, he broke into a run. Amelia shrieked and pulled against Youel's hold, using all her might. "What is wrong with you?"

"Hold!" Lady Grauwolf stepped between them and held up a hand.

Ebenoral slid to a halt and snarled.

Yasmine screamed.

"Release her," demanded their hostess.

Youel let go, and Amelia stumbled.

Yasmine hurried to her side and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "My God, have they lost their minds? What's this all about?"

Amelia shook her head, though she suspected Ebenoral had laid his claim on her. She had claimed him, too. Now this upstart rake dared touch her. She hadn't appreciated his audacity. That he was clearly a wolfman scared her like nothing else could.

Lady Grauwolf huffed. "Honestly, Gentlemen. I much prefer to keep our
business
for after dinner, but I can see this can't wait. Come with me." She gave a summoning wave toward the far doorway where Ebenoral had come, and nobility in their finery began to file out. The lady led them to a large red door, Ebenoral and Youel on her heels and glaring at one another.

"Where are they going?" whispered Yasmine. "Is she calling off the party?"

Amelia shrugged, unable to tear her gaze from Ebenoral's handsome profile. Moisture flowed between throbbing and eager flesh between her legs. He cast her a heated glance that weakened her knees. Youel shot him a look of pure venom, and she took an instinctive step toward her irresistible Lord Malveaux.

Lady Grauwolf placed a hand on the red door's latch then glanced at Amelia. "You'd better come, too, Lady Fairforth. This involves you."

Me?
She kissed her friend on the cheek. "Wait for me?"

"Of course." Yasmine's gaze darted between the opening door and Amelia. "You'll tell me all about it later?"

"Maybe," she said playfully, though she felt anything but playful. She had no idea to what she'd just been invited, but her instinct told her to be on guard. This was no childish adventure or harmless flirt, if the sober expressions around her were any indication.

When everyone had passed beyond the red door, Lady Grauwolf put a staying hand on her forearm then addressed the remaining guests. "I apologize for this delay. Please enjoy wine and hors d'oeuvres. When we return, we'll begin dinner." She waved remaining guests toward the far doorway.

She ushered Amelia inside. They stood on nothing more than a landing at the top of a poorly lit stairwell. Lady Grauwolf closed and locked the door. "My dear," she whispered, "I can smell your arousal. Get yourself under control. Now, let's go."

She
smelled
her arousal? Control wasn't exactly one of Amelia's attributes. Still, she did her best. She pictured her grandfather and a gray fuzzy kitten she once had as a girl, and that seemed to do the trick.

At the bottom of the steps, Lady Grauwolf said, "Much better. Now come along. Important matters to see to. Issues to settle." Her voice dropped. "Justice to mete."

Tension fairly crackled in the chill basement air. Lady Grauwolf led her along a seemingly endless corridor. The further they went, the more the architecture changed until they reached a plain door made of aged planks and blackened iron fittings. Ancient, pitted stones littered with residual flecks of paint that spoke of extensive murals lined walls and floor.

Ebenoral waited on the other side of that door.