Michele Hauf - The Werewolf's Wife

Fortunately Blu, at the Council’s insistence, had married Creed, and the match had surprisingly turned into the proverbial heaven-made pairing. The werewolf princess and the ancient warrior vampire, Creed Saint-Pierre, had quickly fallen in love, and Ridge could see the glow of love on Blu’s face every time she visited the compound.

He was glad Blu still visited. He regarded her as a friend, and she him. It had been difficult for her, growing up in the pack compound without her mother. Persia Masterson had suffered greatly at her husband’s hand. Blu had always believed her mother had run away when she was young, never to be seen again.

Ridge had done his best to protect Persia, but he’d been young as well, and a wolf could take only so many beatings. Blu knew it had been his talon that had murdered her father, and she did not hold him responsible for committing an act she had later told him was just and necessary.

There were days he blamed himself. It was your fault . At the time, he’d taken out the one man who had meant to bring down the pack by continuing to partake in the blood sport and wage war against the local vampires. But if he’d been more sensible, probably he could have found a less violent way to take care of Amandus Masterson.

Probably not. The old wolf had possessed a mean streak a mile deep. No one knew that better than his deceased wife, Persia. Masterson had treated her worse than a dog, and he’d tormented Ridge all his life. And he’d thought nothing of creating the largest blood sport complex in the state. The old man had been bad to the bone.

“You’re suddenly quiet,” Abigail commented. “Thinking about the werewolf you hope to someday marry?”

If only his thoughts could touch something so light and hopeful.

“I will marry for love, not because she’s my breed.”

“So you would marry a mortal?”

“I didn’t say that.”

A mortal and a werewolf presented a sticky situation. Because the only way to bond with his mate involved him having sex with her under the full moon—in werewolf form—and mortals generally freaked whenever he wolfed out and proudly wore fur, talons and a toothy maw.

“Severo and Belladonna are making it work,” she commented.

“Yes, but she wasn’t mortal for long. She’s vampire now.”

“Right. Severo has developed an insatiable blood hunger now, too, because she bit him.”

Ridge winced. The idea of craving blood, such as vampires did, twisted his gut into knots. Wolves did not consume blood or attack humans. Ever. They did not need humans to survive. They existed among the mortal breed, but kept their distance. Unfortunately, man would always reign supreme over the beasts.

“What about you?” he prompted. “I haven’t had a knock on my door from you over the years. No boyfriend? No marriage plans? Or just happy to be my absent wife?”

“Please. I forgot all about that silly marriage days after the trip.”

Ouch. That hurt. Because he had never forgotten.

“And I don’t have time for a boyfriend.”

“Yikes.”

She shifted on the passenger seat to face him. “I mean … I don’t know. I just … I don’t handle relationships well. I have a tendency to become …”

“Too attached?”

She sighed heavily. “Obsessive.”

“Ah.”

Dare he ask? Hell, why not. The worst she could do was blast him, and probably she’d keep her magic holstered in a small space like this. “I think I once heard something about you and a vampire.”

“Oh please, not the Truvin Stone thing. I will never live that one down.”

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

Her soft chuckle and shake of head spoke volumes. She’d apparently suffered countless rumors over the years, yet he did believe that one because it was the one he’d heard more than a few times.

“Like I said,” she offered, “I fall in love too damn easy, and then I go straight on into obsession. I loved Truvin, and well, he was the first guy to show me real kindness. That was in the eighteenth century when witches were extremely unpopular. So what if he was a vampire? I had more power over him because back then the Protection still made witch’s blood poisonous to vampires.”

“You like to have control in a relationship?”

“Yes,” she answered quickly. Then, with a shrug of her shoulder and an uncomfortable shift on the seat, she answered more softly. “It’s hard to shuck off. The need for control. It’s my protection.”

He could understand that. A woman who was a witch had two marks against her in this patriarchal society.

“Anyway,” she continued, “Truvin spurned me. And I don’t blame him, because I got carried away with my adoration. We didn’t see each other for centuries, and then we suddenly did a few decades ago. Let’s say I had to give it one last go, and he wasn’t pleased to see me. Hell, the things that follow a girl through the centuries. Sometimes I wish I was a familiar, because at least they don’t remember their actions from one life to the next.”

“When you know better you do better,” Ridge said.

Her sigh pressed against his heart and he reached across and clasped her hand. She tugged initially, then relaxed and gave his a squeeze. Her heartbeat warmed his palm.

“Thanks for telling me that. It makes me think you can trust me.”

“I do trust you as far as being the rescuing knight and having a valorous code of honor you’ll adhere to. I guess I spilled that embarrassing relationship stuff because I need you to know that if you have the slightest notion that we could become an actual we , you should give up now. I’ve learned to not be so clingy and in control. Mostly. I don’t need to be in a relationship with a man anymore.”

“So you’re playing for your own team now?” He hitched a sneaky look her way.

“What? You think I’m a— No, I still like men. Lovers suit me, but a boyfriend? Not on my radar.”

“I’m sorry about that. I think being in a relationship would be the best thing for a person’s heart and soul. The soul needs love.”

“The soul also requires freedom,” she responded.

Her soft tropical scent filled his senses, and he was the one to break contact and put his hand on the wheel. They were opposites when it came to ideals for love.

And yet her scent had gotten into his senses and refused to leave. She would prove a distraction he’d once already fallen victim to. And if she wasn’t interested, then he should listen to her warning and keep his focus on helping her, and not on her soft, kissable mouth.

Abigail turned to her side and yawned. She didn’t want Ridge to see. Exhaustion tugged at her shoulder and neck muscles, but she couldn’t afford to sleep. Ryan had to be freaking out. If witches held him, there was no telling what her son was thinking. He’d grown up knowing his mother was a witch, had witnessed her casual usage of magic in their daily lives, and she’d taught him that he existed in a realm populated by all breeds and creatures. As well, that this mortal realm was not the only one out there. Many, including Faery and Daemonia, and dozens others, existed alongside this one.

She had explained to Ryan he would come into his magic when puberty hit. Or not. She knew a daughter born of two fire witches was likely to also be a fire witch—and as a result, would drain her parents of that magic when she came into her own. But the males were hit and miss. Rarely did a boy gain magic from his mother if his father was mortal or another breed. But it could happen when both parents were witches, so she’d wanted to prepare him for that possibility.

Truth was, Ryan could gain magic—or something else all together. It was the something else that disturbed her now.