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…

Well, there you have it. That, too, is more. She thought it was likely a strange thing to find that part of his anatomy also aesthetically pleasing, but she did.

She stared. “Is that because of me?”

He huffed. “I want you rather badly, Lazuli. You doubted that?”

“It’s impressive.”

He laughed. “Words every man everywhere wishes to hear. It’s adequate to the task. Have you looked your fill?”

“You aren’t going to do anything about it?”

“I have some control. Give me a little credit. I need not take you here, bent over the couch in the pack library like an animal… Oh, you like that idea, do you?”

Faith hadn’t even realized she’d whimpered. Her whole body felt suddenly flushed, itching and needy. The image was wicked and arousing. She wondered what he would do if she lifted up her skirts and pulled aside her combinations and offered to do exactly what he described.

He stepped in close to her. “Look at your eyes,” he breathed. “So big and dark.”

A funny growling-yipping noise interrupted them.

A smaller wolf trotted into the room, his tail waving madly. He was dark brown in color with oxblood markings about his neck and chest that made him look as though he were wearing a scarf. He was dragging something along with his mouth, hence the funny noise.

Faith whirled to place herself defensively in front of Channing’s naked form.

The wolf spat out the cloth in his mouth and yipped again, clearly laughing at them.

“Biffy?” guessed Faith.

“Oh, shove off, Alpha,” said Channing.

Biffy growled at him.

“Yes, I’ll be good.”

Biffy bent and nosed the piece of clothing he’d been carrying. Faith thought it must be a dressing gown or a robe of some kind.

“Yes, yes, I’ll put it on. Although it’s covered in wolf slobber now. Thank you very much.”

The wolf stuck his nose in the air in an offended manner that suggested the mere idea that he would ever slobber on any item of clothing, least of all a dressing gown, was absurd. Then he turned and pranced haughtily from the room. He kicked the door closed casually with a back foot as he left.

Channing bent, reached around Faith, and pulled on the dressing gown, tying it about his waist with a sash. It was too short, particularly in the arms, and tight over his shoulders, suggesting it was, in fact, Biffy’s dressing gown. It was made of a fine quilted emerald-green satin.

Faith was disappointed. Although it would be easier to think coherently now he was covered up.

“Shall we begin again?” suggested Channing. “How are you this evening, my Lazuli?” He bent and kissed her, chaste and sweet, although she could feel his interest against her stomach. This made her squirm against him.

He chuckled. “Yes, exactly so, but I believe you had a matter of some urgency to discuss with me?”

Faith nodded, took a breath, and backed away to present him with the velvet bag.

He opened it, curious, and dipped a hand inside to pull out one of the bullets.

“Well, I never. How on earth?”

There was no accusation in his tone. He trusted her. He simply had no idea how she’d come by the Sundowner bullets he’d been looking for.

“Minnie, my maid, had them all along.”

“Your maid? Ah, the one who screamed when I came in.”

“You remember that?”

“I remember everything from when I am a wolf. I simply cannot control myself in quite the same way.”

“Do you understand me when I speak to you?”

He nodded.

“Good to know. Well, Minnie was given them by my father to bring to London for one of his associates. It’s all wrapped up in some anti-supernatural agenda, I’m sure. You probably know more than I on the reasoning and intended distribution. This being your territory and all.”

He inclined his head. “And how does your marrying one of us fit into your father’s schemes?”

Faith shrugged. “I honestly believe they think of me as a curse upon you, or a punishment. That horrible scene at the gallery was meant to humiliate and embarrass you as well as me. This way, they punish us both. Me for shaming them, and you for being a werewolf. They think… well, they think you love me, and so it would be crushing for you to find out the truth.”

“I do love you,” he said, so softly she barely heard it.

Faith was already soldiering on. “Minnie kept them instead, tried to sell them herself. Please don’t be angry. She only wanted the money to make her own way. But she couldn’t find a buyer, so she told me everything, doing the right thing in the end, I suppose. I brought them to you as a kind of engagement present. They’re what you were looking for all along, aren’t they?”

“Turns out I was looking for you.”

“You’re being sweet to me. I don’t know what to do when you’re sweet.”

“I shall go back to being a cad momentarily.”

“So, it’s all fine? With the bullets, I mean.”

“Hang the bullets.”

“But I thought you wanted them.”

“I did, I do, and I’m glad to have them turn up at last. But hush a moment, Lazuli, I have something I must say to you.”

Silence descended for a long time while he looked at her oddly. It was as if he were gathering his courage before some military action. Turning into a soldier before her eyes – shifting forms again. Channing, who never seemed afraid of anything, was terrified of something he must say to her.

Faith hesitated and then put her hand out, resting it on the lapel of his robe. “You brought me into the library for some particular reason?”

“Oh, yes, that.” He tilted his head down, like a naughty schoolboy. “I thought, perhaps, these here, for you.” He gestured casually behind himself with one hand.

Faith blinked; there was nothing there other than empty shelves. “They’re very nice shelves, but is this your library to give?”

Channing chuckled, embarrassed. “Ah, yes, I mean to say, the space on the shelves.” He came over all gruff when he was embarrassed; it was cute. “For your rock collection? The, erm, minerals and such. We could line the shelves with velvet if you like? Put glass doors over the front. Anything you think necessary.”

“Oh!” said Faith, and then again. “Oh.” She looked at the shelves reverently with new eyes. “They’re beautiful.”

He snorted. “They are only shelves.”

She whirled on him. “How dare you be so perfect?”

She could see her rocks there. She only had enough, right now, for one small corner, lined in black satin maybe, to showcase them in all their simple beauty. She might make up little white labels; maybe someone in the pack knew calligraphy. Then, during the day, when everyone else was asleep, she could open the curtains and look at them under the sunlight.

“And you’ll take me into the countryside collecting?” She asked this even knowing she wanted too much, but unable to resist.

“I will. And I will sleep in a tiny cottage while you and whatever poor Iftercast cousin you have recruited to your cause go tramping about, chiseling away at things all day. When they are older, you will no doubt take Robbie and Gracie with you.”

Faith pushed for more. I’m always so demanding. “I want to see Dover.”

“It is very picturesque.”

“The white cliffs.”

“Of course it is the cliffs you want.”

“And the red clay further south.”

“I will take you to see clay, my heart.”

“Oh.” Faith clasped her hands. “This is so romantic.”

Channing rolled his eyes and snorted. “I give her clay and empty shelves and she is in ecstasies.”

“And I’ll come home wet from wandering the moors and curl up against you as the sun sets, and you’ll wake to find me there next to you.”

“Now who is being romantic?”

Faith remembered something he’d said earlier, when she was tumbling over her words, confessing Minnie’s sins. “You love me!”

“Now she listens,” he grumbled to himself.

“But that’s wonderful.”

“No, my Lazuli, it’s not.”

“But I love you.”

“I know.”

“That’s not a very nice response.”

“My sweet, I have loved before and it went badly for me. I’m afraid my loving you will go badly for you.”

She was staunch in her defence of him. “Never!”

He sighed. “You do not know the half of it.”

Channing shook his head. She really was a most aggravating female when she set her mind to something – how could he not adore her?

“Sit down a moment, please, Lazuli, and let me try to explain. It’s not easy. This is not a topic I enjoy discussing.”

Faith nodded and he knew she understood. She’d not wanted to talk about her lost child and neither did he. In this, they were alike. Yet she’d mustered the courage to do so, and he owed her for that. Plus, he couldn’t let one small mortal female outmatch him in bravery.

Faith said nothing, only looked at him with wide blue eyes, sympathetic and patient. She crossed her white hands in her lap and sat in the bay window exactly as he had imagined her. He wanted to return to wolf form and lie at her feet; things were so much simpler when he was a beast. She would run those small hands though his fur, lightly, reverently, as she had only moments before.

He had to chase that future if he truly wanted it. He had to earn it.

“I was a sculptor before the bite. Not a particularly good or famous one, although I might have become so, given a different life. I lived in Paris for a time, there is – was – a great sculptor there, Pajou. You’ve heard of him?”

Faith shook her head.

“It was a long time ago. I was barely twenty when I met Odette. She was so beautiful. This fair, frail creature with flaming hair and big green eyes. I loved her rather madly, as only the young can really love. We married and had a child.”

He paused, gathering his courage. A name he had hadn’t spoken in decades. “Isolde was this bright, vibrant little fairy girl. So much energy and life. Odette was not a good mother, always sickly and sad. I suppose, initially, I was attracted to the darkness in her – this tortured soul appealed to the artist in me. She spent a great deal of time in bed after Isolde was born. So, it was mainly the two of us, father and daughter. I would have Isolde with me in the studio while I worked.”

Faith held still, barely breathing, eyes big and fierce on his face – as if she might hold him together with her will alone.

He thought he was doing well so far. His voice was firm. His delivery crisp. “We were so young. I thought Odette would change. And she did improve a little. She began to eat more, smile occasionally. Sometimes, she even touched Isolde, like a mother ought. But then Napoleon happened. At first, he had so little effect on us. A poor artist and his family, even a British one living in Paris, knows so very little of politics and armies. But you feel it when a country goes to war, even if you aren’t facing it directly. The whole place catches fever, like marsh sickness. Still, I thought we would be fine. I thought: it’s Paris. We had this little apartment on the bank of the Seine – the bedroom window opened out over the water. I thought, if anything, the danger would come from outside, from my own country’s invasion, and then I would merely claim to be British and all would be well.”

Now comes the difficult part. “Isolde was three when the vampires tried to recruit me. The hives—” He paused, took a breath. “The hives in France, they don’t obey the same rules as here in England. They still don’t legally exist. Back then, they were barely tolerated, living on the fringes of society, preying on blood whores. They waved immortality in front of artists, much as they do here, but drones had no safety via patronage or indenture. Apparently, they’d been watching me, and they knew I had artistic skill. I refused, of course. I had Odette and Isolde to consider. Vampires don’t like to be refused.”

Channing sat down at that, abruptly, and looked at his hands, trying to get his words in order. It was too much to sit next to her, so he chose an armchair nearby instead.

Faith, bless her, said nothing, merely continued to watch him, curious and supportive and loving.

I hope that look does not change. Please don’t let it change.

“The war was in earnest and everything was in chaos. No one was watching the vampires. No one was hunting them anymore. The Templars were off killing mortals for a change. This one queen, well, she really wanted me, and so she took me. Right off the street when I was out trying to find bread. She kept me trapped in her rooms. Feeding off me, trying to get me to – you know – although that a man can refuse to do. It wasn’t very long. At least, I don’t think it was. A month, perhaps, maybe two. But it was long enough for Odette.”

He paused, worried about how best to say this worst bit.

“She waited for me, you see. Even though she’d lost all faith in me. Perhaps she thought I’d abandoned her and returned to England. Or perhaps she’d word that I was still in Paris, being kept by a vampire queen, and thought I’d volunteered. But she waited for me to return. So she could look me in the eyes when she jumped.”

Faith gasped and closed her own eyes. “I’m so sorry. It’s not your fault, it’s not—”

He interrupted her, slogging on. “She took Isolde with her. Right out the window and into the Seine. I wasn’t fast enough to stop her. I dove in after, but I never found them. I never found either of them. And Paris was burning.”

Faith looked at him with such sympathetic eyes. He knew she understood what held him back from her, from trusting a woman. She said the only thing she could. “It is not the same, but I do know what it is to lose a child.”

He nodded.

“What did you do?”

He gave a pained smile. “I left Paris for London, joined the Coldsteam Guards as a raw recruit – a fathead artist who’d never held a gun. I fought three wars, ended up in Iberia under the Fifth Coalition. Caught the eyes of the Alpha of the regiment’s allied pack. Lord Vulkasin thought I had such fire in my blood. He didn’t know I simply didn’t care about dying. He found out I used to sculpt. So, when the bullet came that should have killed me and it was a nighttime rush near to full moon, he offered me the bite. I took it. I thought letting go of most of my soul would make everything better for my heart. Turns out it simply makes everything harder.”

Her eyes were earnest on his face, willing him to go on.

“Werewolves, we may be undead, but we feel just as much. We love just as deeply, but it’s right there under our skin. It’s closer, more vibrant, lodged into flesh and bone rather than heart. It hurts, all the time, whatever you feel, even love, simply hurts. So, I gave it all up.”

Faith tilted her head. “You had another reason for taking the bite, didn’t you?”

How can she already know me so well, after so short an acquaintance?

He nodded. “Revenge. After the wars ended, I returned to Paris and killed the vampire queen who’d kidnapped me. It took some planning.” He gave what he knew was a toothy smile. “I allowed her to trap me, cage me, treat me like a dog. I bided my time for one small slip. Stupidly, she kept me in her inner chamber, where she slept. Her pet, she called me. I still” – he paused, shivering – “cannot bear to be called dog.”

Faith’s voice was soft and fervent. “I will never do so.”

He’d handed her a weapon and she’d turned it into a vow.

“She did slip one evening, as I knew she would. Full moon and she didn’t bar the cage properly. Foolish vampire. Deadly mistake, as it turned out. I ripped her head off. Not easy with a queen. They taste awful and their skin is quite tough.”

Faith looked pale but composed. “Go on.”

“The hive swarmed and went mad with bloodlust. They rampaged through Paris, killing hundreds. France abolished vampires as a result. I hadn’t thought of that, you see? I only thought of my revenge. I didn’t know what would happen. How awful they would be. How many innocents would die. But I’m also not sure I wouldn’t do it again.”

Her eyes showed no judgment.

“I went wild and loner after that. Lived as a wolf most nights, slept the days in caves in the deep forest. Took myself away from everything. I think, in some parts of Europe, they still tell stories of the white wolf after the war.”

“What happened? What brought you back?”

“Lyall.”

“Ah,” said Faith, “I think I understand.”

“He is special.”

“It is being a Beta?”

“In part. But there is something about him in particular. He’s old, very old. We say immortal, but we werewolves rarely see three hundred. Too much fighting – with each other, in armies, with the world. Lyall is, I think, closer to four, and so very calm.”

“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.

He tilted his head and she saw the wolf in his eyes.

“Run,” he said.

So she did.

She didn’t get very far, but she wasn’t trying to actually escape. She did pretend. She struggled, feeling herself swell and ache and yearn, even as she writhed against him. It was exhilarating and maddening because she wanted so much more.

He managed to grab hold of her easily enough, then swept her up and dumped her into the bed – their bed. He loomed over her, captured her wrists in one big hand, and held her down with the comfort of his weight.

And took her.

And kept her.

And gave her everything she yearned for – love and living and fulfillment.

She wrapped herself around him, legs and arms in coils, nails scoring down his back as she struggled still to reach something more, something glorious.

He gave her that, too.

A second heartbeat, she thought, his heartbeat, as the pleasure crashed over her.

There was nothing of ice in him then; he melted atop her – liquid, boneless, and prone – entirely hers.

When she grumbled about his weight, he huffed against her neck, where he was nestled, and flipped them both so she was draped over him.

She imagined walking with a white wolf along the tops of the white cliffs of Dover. She imagined the fur against her hand, the ocean scenting the air, and those ice-blue eyes looking up at her.

She looked down into them now, pale-lashed and fathomless, and so very warm.