Wolf and Punishment (The Alaska Princesses Trilogy, Book 1) (16 page)

He could almost see her doing the princess calculus inside her head as she decided whether to give in to his request. And it made him wonder what kind of math she’d done when she hooked up with him three years ago.

“Okay,” she said. “It’s just a silly little song, and it sounds better with a drum, but here goes…”

She tapped her hand against her leg to keep the rhythm and sang a song in a dialect he recognized as belonging to the state pack even though he’d never heard a few of the words before. He could tell she was embarrassed as she sang, yet her voice was high and strong, and he liked the soulful undertones she brought to the otherwise chant-like song.

She was right, though. It was a silly little song, which mean it ended way too soon. She quit after just a minute of singing.

“I thought you said there was a dance that went with it,” he said. “What happened to that?”

Janelle looked truly appalled now. “Well, like I said, I’m not dressed in the proper attire. I’ll do it for you next time, I promise, but—”

“Do it for me now. Exactly like you would if I were visiting you at home. I want to see it all.”

She stared at him, and Mag stared back, curious to see if she’d drop the perfect princess routine and refuse him.

But in the end, she put on that pretty smile of hers and sang the song again, this time with movements that made the meaning of the song clear, even if her pack dialect only shared a distant relationship with his own. It was a song about a male who hunts… the white bear over great ice hills… the whale in the great sea… the caribou in the great tundra… the bird in the great trees. The song ended on a line that was repeated four times and could be translated into English as “And then he always comes home to me. And then he always comes home to me.”

Janelle’s eyes followed her hands for most of the dance, but on the last line her eyes came back to his in a way that seemed so intrinsic to the song, Mag couldn’t tell if her looking straight at him like this was choreographed or not. “And then he always comes home to me,” she sang in her language. Her voice was a siren’s call, and though Mag had been the one to make her sing the song again, he now felt trapped in her web.

This time when she finished the song, she asked “Um, are you sure you want me to do
all
the moves?”

More sure than he’d ever been of anything in his life, but Mag answered with a light shrug. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

“Okay then, we’re supposed to end the song like this…”

She took his face in her hands and gave him a
kunik
. An actual fucking
kunik
of all things, putting her nose right next to his, and sniffing so hard it felt like she was hoovering his scent into her nose. Then she put her nose to the other side of his, and did it again. This was a real Eskimo kiss, not the bastardization of it that had been popularized by people ignorant of their culture.

It shouldn’t have turned him on, since the real version of Eskimo kissing was pretty much the least erotic form of kissing on the planet. His own mother had given him and his brother plenty of Eskimo kisses, especially after she’d had a few Natty Lites. But this… this. His cock strained against his jeans, wanting Janelle so bad, he could—

“You’re supposed to do it back,” she said softly.

He took her face in his hands, but instead of a few quick suctions back, he put his nose next to hers, breathed in her scent… and just stood there. Holding her face to his, breathing her in for what might have only been a minute or two, but felt like hours.

Seeing her like this… Exposed. Dirt on her face. Cheeks flushed as she sang her silly little song. She had no idea what that did to him.

She broke your heart
, a voice inside his head reminded him.
Tore it to pieces
.

The thought of her greeting him like this when he came home from long trips, their pups in tow, singing a traditional song… he remembered his mother throwing an empty Natty Lite can at his father whenever he came back to the RV after one of his multi-day binges.
Where the fuck you been?
she’d asked.
Away from you and your fucking scent!
he’d screamed back. And on and on. The exact opposite of a dance and a song topped off with a real Eskimo kiss.

She had no idea how bad she made him want things. Things he’d only dared to dream of when he was with her. Things he didn’t know if he could—

“I’m not sure what you’re hoping to gain from this, but even if you somehow survive this fight, you won’t get it.”

The image of Jeffrey, the newly crowned King of Wyoming, ambushed his mind like an invading force. And the blond king was once again standing six feet away from him, his voice as sharp and thin as the rapier he held pointed downwards in his hand.

“She-wolves like my fiancée don’t just fall for wolves like you. She goes to whoever her father chooses, and he would only choose you if he were completely desperate. It doesn’t matter what human sport you play, you’re a nobody in our strata. And you always will be.”

Mag also held a rapier, but he didn’t feel nearly as confident with it as Jeffrey seemed to be. Grady had predicted the king would choose fencing for the final challenge fight. It was a sport he’d trained in since his youth and one not many challengers would have access to. It also didn’t hurt that his beta had chosen mixed martial arts as his challenge battle fighting style.

Mag could see the brilliance in Jeffrey’s chosen fight form at that moment. His arms were aching after having had to go several physically taxing rounds with Kenny. After that first grueling challenge fight, even Mag was no longer sure he could beat the blond king.

“If you give up this challenge now, I’ll allow you to go home without any further punishment,” Jeffrey had told him. “Don’t get yourself killed chasing after a delusional fantasy. She’ll never truly love someone like you.”

“Mag?” he heard Janelle say back in the real world outside of his head. “Are you okay?”

Jeffrey was dead now. After sustaining several cuts, Mag had finally managed to put his rapier blade through the arrogant king’s throat. But it had taken all of his strength, and he now admitted to himself that the blond king had called it exactly. The Alaska king had only agreed to Mag’s pledging Janelle out of desperation—Janelle herself had more or less confirmed it with her plea not to drag out their pledge negotiation if he didn’t intend to honor it.

She was using him. Again. He knew she was just using him, and he didn’t have to put up with it. He had money now, a title—he didn’t need her or the Alaska king’s approval. He could go through with his initial plan and end this now. He could…

His mouth found hers. He didn’t know how it happened. One moment he’d made the decision to finally let her go, and the next, his tongue was in her mouth while his fingers fumbled to undo the metal catches on her overalls.

And she didn’t push him away like a good little princess should have. No, not only did she kiss him back, she helped him unhook the straps of her overalls and yank them off her body like they were on fire. Then there was nothing except her white string bikini between them. But even that was too much. He could feel her against his erection, the triangle between her legs hot as an oven, begging for this, begging for him.

Inside, his wolf had broken out of its cage. He was going to fuck her. Fuck her so hard, and for so long, neither of them would remember what had happened three years ago when he was finished. He pulled the bikini bottoms aside, opening her up to receive him, but then he felt…

Nothing. No evidence of her arousal. Just a reminder of who she was. An unheated princess who had used him three years ago because she’d been curious about sex.

He snatched his hand away and took a step back from her.

“Oh, God,” she said. “I can’t… I can’t believe that happened. I can’t believe, I… you’re right. We should wait for my heat night. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

16

W
HEN in doubt, apologize. That lesson had been drummed into Janelle from the time she started making appearances at state functions. It was so easy for princesses to come off as spoiled, her mother had told her, and it would reflect badly on Alaska and on black she-wolves in particular if Janelle came off as anything less than infinitely gracious at all times.

“You’re this state’s first black princess,” her mother had said. “These people are just waiting for you to act the fool. Don’t ever give them a show.”

Her mother was from a mange state and had spent her first years in the kingdom learning the hard way to be regal while in public or run the risk of embarrassing her wealthy husband. She hadn’t wanted her daughters—Janelle especially—to go through the same extreme learning curve she had and she’d taught her from the beginning to stay in character, no matter the personal cost.

If conflict arose between Janelle and anyone, she had been taught to apologize. Apologize first, second, and last. If someone bumped into her, Janelle apologized. If a caterer or vendor got something wrong, she either worked around it, or apologized profusely for the confusion, before correcting it. The more confused she was, the more she apologized.

So when Mag abruptly stopped kissing her, just when she thought he was going to… well, she was very confused.

But unlike the caterer who’d shown up with a two-tier cake as opposed to the six-tier one she’d ordered for the Arctic Wolf Games opening party, her apologies didn’t seem to be helping things at all.

Mag just backed away from her, like she was a leper he’d mistakenly allowed himself to touch. Then he’d turned and gone back into the house, leaving her standing there in nothing but her string bikini.

And it didn’t get any better after that. She’d actually cooked dinner herself that night, a halibut chowder she hoped would remind him of the food back in Alaska. She also hoped eating together would give them the chance to talk and get to know each other again.

But when she knocked on the door to his bedroom there was no answer. So she walked a few feet to the door that led to the study. It had been open before, but it was closed now, so maybe this was where Mag had disappeared.

She raised her hand to knock on the door, but stopped when she heard the sound of his voice.

“I heard her knocking on my bedroom door, I should get off. But yeah, I’m glad I called, too. I got a lot of business to handle here, but I’m going to try to get back to L.A. soon to see you. All right. All right… me too. Bye, Sophia.”

Decidedly unladylike jealousy reared up inside her. Who the heck was Sophia? Apparently someone important enough that he’d fly back to L.A. to see her.

She knocked on the study door.

“Who is it?” he barked through the door.

“Um, it’s Janelle,” she answered, feeling awkward, but not wanting to open the door without invitation. “May I come in?”

“What do you want?”

Seriously? He wasn’t even going to invite her in? Janelle struggled to keep her voice pleasant. “Well, I made dinner. Halibut clam chowder...”

“Good, leave it outside the door.”

“You don’t… you don’t want to come down?”

“No, I’ve got a lot of work to do. Kingdom stuff. You know how it is.”

Actually she didn’t. Her mother had a hard and steadfast rule about everyone under the roof coming down to eat dinner together, and her father had never disobeyed it. Janelle couldn’t even imagine him eating in his study alone while the rest of his family ate downstairs.

But she and Mag weren’t mated yet, and she doubted he’d fall in line even if she did have the temerity to demand his presence at the table she’d already set downstairs, so… she brought a tray up for him. She left it outside his door, thinking surely he’d have to come out of the study sometime…

But she was wrong. Like many kingdom house studies, the Wyoming one was connected to the master suite, making it easier for the king to nap between meetings or change into a suit for VIP visitors. However, Mag seemed to be using the study like a hideout, claiming to be busy and not inviting her in, but asking her to send Mrs. Coates up with his meals.

Apparently, Mrs. Coates had a standing invitation to enter his domain whenever she wanted. But Janelle? No such luck.

The only times she saw him over the next few spring and summer months were when he was coming and going: meetings, meetings, and more meetings. If Mag was to be believed, he was so busy with kingdom work, he never had time to come down for any meal at all: breakfast, lunch, or dinner. Though, occasionally, she’d come home from lunching with the wife of a council member to find Mrs. Coates clearing a lunch plate off the kitchen table—and sometimes there was food still left on the plate, as if whoever had been eating in the kitchen had heard her coming and hightailed it back up to his study.

Then there were the conversations she sometimes overheard before she passed by the study door. Often at night. The voice was a woman’s… calm and self-assured. The mysterious Sophia maybe? Janelle wished she could hear what they were saying.

But if she got anywhere close enough to hear, he seemed to know it and she’d only be able to listen for a second or two before he stopped talking and said, “What is it, Janelle?” like she was a pesky toddler who wouldn’t leave him alone.

Then she’d have to make up some excuse for stopping outside his door. Would you like a snack? Is there anything I could bring you? Really, I don’t mind…

The answer was always “no,” but as soon as she moved a few feet from the door, she’d hear him and the woman talking again.

It was, to put it mildly, very confusing. And then the August full moon happened.

There were three places she hadn’t completely redecorated in the Wyoming house. The first was Mag’s office. The second was the guest house and its accompanying garage—both had been locked up tighter than Fort Knox and when she’d asked Mrs. Coates about getting inside, she’d been told Mag had the locks changed and hadn’t provided his housekeeper with the keys.

The third was the basement, which boasted a set of four floor-to-ceiling changing cages. Most wolves, including the ones in her family, preferred to go through their full moon change outdoors. Normal wolves wanted to run wild and free, reveling in their animal side as the moon shined upon them.