Beauty and the Wolf (13 page)

T
he wind howled that evening like an angry animal. Isabella twisted her wedding band around her finger, fighting off fatigue until the bedside clock signaled two o’clock.

She rose, lit a candle branch, then moved toward the wall sconce located to the left of her four-poster. Full of trepidation, she opened the panel and inched into the shadowed corridor.

Isabella knew she wasn’t doing the wisest thing, but she was beyond caring. She simply wanted her amulet back. After securing the necklace, she would leave this place and never come back.

She hurried beneath the glow of the fresh candles and when she reached the stone steps, she climbed them at a fast pace. Shuddering from the fierce draft that whipped along the stairwell, she stood in front of the stone wall that led to Draven’s bedchamber. She assumed that one of the stones would depress and allow her entry. After she pressed on five or six of them, an oversized stone made a latching noise. The entire wall swung away from her. When Isabella followed behind it, she realized she’d entered the room through the wall to the left of Draven’s bedchamber hearth.

Her nerves prickled.
What if Draven awakens, angry as the devil that I don’t trust him?

Chiding herself for being so frightened, she crept toward the gigantic sleigh bed. Draven was asleep on his back, snoring softly. Shadows of light and dark spilled over his face and he looked unbearably handsome. He also seemed uncharacteristically peaceful—as if he were free of his usual torment for once.

Resisting the urge to sweep a strand of his black hair from his forehead, she moved to his dressing room where she extinguished the candles and deposited the candle branch. The last thing she needed was its light waking Draven.

Returning to the sleigh bed, she scanned his bedside table for the amulet then dropped to her knees in order to search under the bed. Isabella’s judgment became convoluted in the dark and she let out a cry as she banged her head on the bottom of the bed frame.

Draven groaned and rolled over. Heart hammering, she remained still. Stifling the pain, she watched her husband fidget in his sleep before he settled down. Convinced he had slipped back into a deep slumber, Isabella continued her search under the bed only to turn up nothing.

She was just about to stand when Draven yanked her to her feet. He was holding a sheet around his waist and his eyes were flashing madly.

“How did you get in here?” He clutched her shoulder tighter. “I’m in the habit of locking my door at night.”

She cleared her throat. “I discovered the secret passageway—”

“You found it on your own?”

She remained silent.

“Ah, looking for your amulet, are you?” he asked. “I thought you and your father were finished searching my private quarters.”

Flushed with embarrassment, she tried to escape his grasp.

His black eyes narrowed. “You, my dear, are as cunning as a thief. How do I know you aren’t here to
plant
that amulet in my room? Perhaps you and your father have conspired together.”

“How dare you insinuate such a thing?” she fumed. “Do you see that I’ve brought my amulet with me? Well, do you?”

Draven eyed her with uncertainty and released her shoulder.

“My necklace is still missing,” she retorted. “And furthermore, you were a
cunning thief
when you robbed me of the prospect of motherhood. I suppose we are even.”

Wearing an amused expression, he made no effort to reply.

She put her hands on her hips. “What do you have to say to that?”

His lips curled at the corners and his tone dropped several octaves. “I say, ‘Let the passageway be our little secret.’ ”

She squirmed at the suggestion. Standing this close to him in the moonlight, she became aware of the broadness of his chest and of the cut of his torso muscles. Although he radiated charm from beneath his bed-mussed hair, she pretended not to notice. “Another secret to add to your list, Draven?”

“Secrets are the ammunition of life,” he said. “I would be naïve to think you have no secrets to share.”

“I don’t.”

He breathed heavily. “No? But I can think of one. The secret of Joseph Gossington.”

Her face burned hotter. “
I . . . I
know no such man.”

“Come now.” He tsked. “You shouldn’t lie.”

“He is an acquaintance of mine. That’s all.” She wanted to race from the room.

Draven fingered one of her curls. “Don’t worry, Isabella. I am well aware that you committed no impropriety with that vulture.”

“I-I didn’t,” she stammered. “But how do you know about him?”

He stepped closer still. “That’s another secret I can add to my ‘list,’ as you called it.” He loosened his grip on the bedsheet. It fell to the ground like a drifting feather, revealing his arousal. Isabella gulped.

“Seeing you in your nightgown reminds me of the night you came back to me,” he whispered as he reached forward to stroke her cheek. “Your breasts were wet from the rain and asking for a man’s touch.”

He lowered his hand to the ridge of Isabella’s shift. After playing his fingers along its trim, he slid his touch to the outline of her right breast and traced it in erotic circles. A decadent smile spread across his lips while he teased her nipple to full erection. “Did you dream of me as I dreamt of you during our time apart?” He paused. “Do you dare share my bed once more before you leave?”

She batted his hand down and said nothing, though a fiery chemistry blazed between them.

“Well?”

She arched away from him. “You know part of me hates you.”

“Yes, but it’s the other part of you that interests me.”

Draven grasped the nape of her neck and edged her closer. His lips collided with hers and his tongue forced its way inside her mouth. Isabella’s head spun. Lifting her nightgown out of the way, he slid his hand inside her underclothes. He caressed her skin with a touch that was nearly too hot to bear. With three stiff fingers pressed together, he lowered his hand and sunk it into her moisture.

Once he’d claimed her mouth with another kiss, he pulled away to gaze into her eyes. “I can’t seem to resist you,” he murmured with smoldering want. “Give me the chance to convince you to stay—”

Clamping both hands around her waist, Draven lifted her onto the bed. Isabella’s hair fanned away as she dropped like an apple from a tree onto the bed-sheets. He hung over her appraisingly then dove in for a kiss. She, in return, wrapped her arms around him with a desperation that surprised even her. Ensnaring her fingers in his hair, she closed her eyes as he devoured her with abandon.

Breathless with desire, Draven opened the drawstrings of her nightshift and tugged the garment off her body. He pressed her bare breasts together and lifted them up, suckling them hungrily, while his gleaming hair draped over her chest. Sitting back on his haunches, he tugged off her pantalets in quick yanks. Stifling a cry, Isabella did nothing to stop him. He pried her legs apart with his bulging arms and slipped his torso between them. Rising up on one arm, he grabbed his hard shaft and rubbed her slick folds with it.

“By God you’re wet enough,” he rasped. “But I won’t take you just yet.”

His eyes blazing and his cock as stiff as steel, he put his swirling tongue to the tender spot beneath her chin. Streaming it down her neck and chest, it reached her dark nipples in a trail of excitement. Taking her nubs in his mouth, Draven pulled them into hard points.

An impatient whimper escaped Isabella’s throat. She wanted him more than she’d ever wanted anything. Would he enter her?

 

Draven drank in the sight of Isabella under him, flushed and breathless, and he wanted to scream out. She looked like a radiant angel, innocent and pure—yet evocative enough to make any man go mad. Her hair, the color of rich cinnamon, draped across the pillow like a silken sash, and her lips, as glossy as a still lake, hardened him like a rock.

Draven’s mind whirled. Should he reach for a sheath? That he would leave her with child was a slim possibility. From that slim chance there was a fifty-fifty probability he would plant a male seed.

He made no move for the sheath. After all, having a child is what Isabella wanted.

Meeting her eyes with a deep-seated passion, Draven tested her readiness again. She was as moist as dew. He found her budding center and eased his sex inside of her. Isabella sucked in a sharp breath. His shaft fit like a key’s perfect entry into a lock.

She was tight at first. He didn’t want to hurt her, but he had to break the barrier he felt deep inside her. He pushed. She winced then groaned. His throbbing charge filled her while blood rushed through his veins like a mighty river. Cries of their pleasure mingled together. The moonlight streaming through the window made her body shine like marble. Now that he was inside Isabella, he wanted to ride her until night brightened to day.

Draven grabbed her hips and fisted the flesh around it. Pulling her buttocks off the bed, he dove into her at a steeper angle. With her pelvis lifted toward him, her stomach became hollow and her breasts stood at attention. He gazed into her almond-shaped eyes and rocked his hips forward fast and hard, making his cock throb hotly inside her. Isabella’s center pulsated around him, further intensifying his thrusts. Sweat beaded on her breasts and she clung to the sheets as if her life depended on it. Draven crushed his chest against her mouth and she tasted the salt of his flowing perspiration.

Isabella had given him a reason to live and he was about to make her his. Nothing on God’s green earth could possibly make him more aroused. A spark-flying friction brought him incredibly close to glory as he pumped his way in and out of her. And when Isabella’s squeaks of delight heightened to cries of ecstasy, he couldn’t withhold his seed any longer. Emitting a protracted grunt, he shattered a long and satisfying climax. She responded by flooding his erection with her own rush of warm liquid. As he slumped forward, the rise and fall of his breathing vibrated against her breasts. He gasped for air while her tears dampened his skin—and he wondered if he’d hurt her.

“My Bella,” Draven whispered against her neck. “I’ve waited so long to show you my passion.”

A myriad of emotions rushed at Isabella. Her heart raced and her face whitened. Had she lost her mind? She was leaving Draven. Why hadn’t she urged him to use protection during their lovemaking?

Could I have been impregnated
?
If so, let it be a girl.

Draven had bedded her, which meant she’d just gotten her wish. Why then did she feel so confused?

A chill raked through her but before she could speak, a series of primal howls rang out in the night.

D
raven rolled off the bed and sprinted to the window. Isabella followed close behind. Through the steamed glass, she saw a dozen wolves lined up within the courtyard.

“What on earth—?”

“Don’t be frightened,” he said.

She covered her ears against the deafening howls. “I don’t see the black wolf among them.”

“No.” Draven’s voice was odd.

Isabella frowned. “Where did they come from?”

He turned to her. “I don’t know.”

“How will you get rid of them?” she asked as her mouth grew dry.

Someone knocked on the door. “Master Draven!” Rogers cried. “There is a pack of wolves in the courtyard. One o’ them crashed through a window and is wanderin’ through the house!”

“Keep everyone in their bedchamber!” Draven cried. He turned to Isabella and urged her to dress and go back to her room via the secret passageway. “You’ll be safe there. When you reach your suites, lock yourself in.”

The thought of the rat-infested labyrinth made her stomach plummet. She shook her head. “I’ll come with you.”

“No!” he shot back. “The last thing you want to encounter is a wild wolf.”

“Then I’ll stay in here.”

“You can’t.”

“Why?”

“Do as I say. I must go.”

Isabella eyed the candles visible from inside Draven’s dressing room. She estimated that, if she hurried, she’d have enough wick to return safely to her room.

“Be careful,” she said.

Another howl split the air.

Draven nodded as he pulled on a shirt, trousers, boots, and swirling greatcoat. After he escaped the suite for the courtyard below, Isabella returned to the window and peered out. Both Draven and Rogers emerged into the frosty night. Her husband was wielding a pistol. He raised the firearm to eye level and moved slowly toward the incensed pack of wolves. She could see that he was speaking to the animals that, strangely enough, seemed to obey him. They released their snarled expressions and hung their heads.

As Draven crept closer to the wolves, they padded backward out of the hedge-trimmed courtyard then vanished into the night.

Isabella had never seen anything like it.

A howl resounded from inside the house. Heart hammering, she dressed, retrieved the candle branch, and rushed toward the secret passageway.

With quivering hands and unsure feet, she re-entered the open panel just beyond the shifted hearth. After closing the section of wall behind her, she lifted her skirts and descended the moisture-caked steps down to the passageway below.

Suffering through the twists and turns of the hallway, Isabella glanced at her burning branch. Its four candles had melted at a simultaneous rate, mere centimeters from being extinguished. She quickened her pace. If she became imprisoned in the dark, the rats would have a field day with her.

As she took another step forward, her shoe caught on a raised stone. She tumbled forward into the blackness and the candle branch flew out of her hand. The flames disappeared seconds before her head hit a section of the cold, stone wall.

When she regained consciousness, the blinding darkness felt like the controlling cloak of the devil. Groggy and disoriented, she had no idea how long she had been lying on the bumpy stone floor.

A gush of liquid flowed over her forehead. Isabella could only assume it was blood. With a great deal of effort, she struggled to her feet and stretched out her hands. She felt the barriers of the wall, but she had no idea in which direction she faced. She shuffled slowly along the corridor, using her hands as a guide.

Whimpering from the pain that gripped her head, she called out for help. She pounded her fists on the walls that held her captive, but there was no answer, only silence. Inching her way without the light of the candles, she resisted hysteria. She forced herself to continue but stopped when her foot struck something. She bent down and swept her hands over the ground until she felt the candle branch lying on its side. Relief rang inside her. Perhaps she could strike the stones with it to attract attention. If anything, it meant she was going in the right direction.

More time passed as she searched.

She journeyed along, exhaling with frustration. When she turned to assure herself that the wall behind her hadn’t led off in some obscure direction, the candle branch knocked against a jutting stone and flew out of her hands again. She jerked in the direction of its clatter. But in which direction was she facing now? Sinking to the floor, she buried her head in her hands and began to sob.

“Isabella!” a voice called.

She wiped away her tears and pulled herself to a standing position. Something clamped its teeth into her foot and pain radiated up her leg. Screaming, she kicked the rat away and stumbled along in the direction of her husband’s voice.

“I’m here, Draven!” Her hoarse throat muffled the words.

A glow of light stretched around a corner of the passageway. The vision was followed by Draven grasping a candle branch.

“My God, Isabella!”

Her vision spun in vicious circles as she crumbled to the floor.