Wicked lessons with the rakish wolf

Very different lives

*Ethan*

I stride into my residence and stagger to a stop as a couple weaving toward the stairs nearly stumbles into me.

“My Alpha.” The young man slurs with an awkward salute before tumbling into a heap on the floor, dragging the she-wolf at his side with him.

I believe there is little worse than a man who cannot hold his liquor.

With a delighted laugh, Aphrodite untangles herself from the drunkard and pushes herself to her feet. She sways towards me. “Riverdale, I seem to have lost my partner. I’d prefer to have you anyway.”

Her gossamer gown reveals all her curvaceous attributes. Her blue eyes, glinting with desire, slowly run a hand up my chest, over my shoulder. “I’m yours,” she says with a sultry voice.

Yes, because I pay her... not in coins, but in excess. Clothes, jewelry, baubles, perfumes.

“Not tonight, Aphrodite.” What I desire tonight, I had been unable to obtain, which only serves to make me want Rosalind Shadowveil all the more. I can’t recall the last time I have been denied anything, the last time my thoughts have been so occupied with one she-wolf.

Without guilt or remorse, I edge politely past Aphrodite... she will find a new partner easily enough... and stride down the hallway to my library. A servant... not only standing at attention but also standing guard, as no one except servants, and me of course, is allowed in this room... opens the door. I step inside. As the door is pulled closed behind me, I walk to a glass case that houses my spirits. A marble table rests beside it, with glasses and decanters.

After filling a tumbler with scotch, I take a chair near the fireplace and down half the glass's contents before sighing and dropping my head back.

How has my life come to this debauched existence? Beauties of questionable character are always on hand.

Young men are continually dropping by for a taste of she-wolves, drink, or cards. I don’t know the names of half of them, but they all know orgies are carried on within the confines of my residence.

It all began when I was much younger when I spent more time lost in she-wolves and wine. But of late, I have begun to grow bored with it. I seldom accept the she-wolves' offers anymore. I can no longer differentiate one from the other. Perhaps I never could.

They had been a means to deliver surcease for my aching loins. They had provided a few moments' respite from dark thoughts... just as the drink does. It seems of late I am relying more heavily on the drink.

I take another sip, forcing myself to savor it. I savor so little. I plow into pleasures as though they are the answer.

When I don’t even know the bloody question.

Another sip. A dark chuckle. Had I really thought about bringing Rosalind Shadowveil here? To witness my madness, to see how far I have fallen into depravity?

I could have explained my guests by saying tonight is merely a party...

Why do I feel I need to justify the way I live? I do not. Not to her, not to anyone. I do what I want, when I want, as I want.

I get up, stride to my desk, and yank the bell pull on the wall behind it. I walk to the window. Gaslights illuminate the gardens and the people cavorting about, some dancing naked in my fountain. There was a time when I would have joined them.

Tonight I merely find them wearisome.

The door opens.

“I want them gone,” I announce before my butler has taken half a dozen steps into the room.

Silence. Finally, “Them?”

“All these people. The she-wolves, the gents. Have the she-wolves call upon my man of business if they need assistance settling elsewhere.” I say.

“Yes, My Alpha. Will there be anything else?” He asks.

I continue to stare at the gardens. “Have all the mattresses replaced. Pillows, cushions. Replace what can be replaced, get rid of what can't. Any furniture that reeks of sordid activities I want gone. This residence is to appear as though no one has ever been here save myself and that I have lived as chastely as a monk.”

“I shall see to it posthaste.” He says.

“And ensure there is a servant on hand who knows how to attend to a she-wolf of high rank.” I mumble.

He nods. “Yes, my Alpha.”

I can hear the question in Thatcher’s tone: is the Alpha on the verge of taking a mate?

“That will be all.” I say.

“As you wish, my Alpha.”

After Thatcher leaves, I lean against the window casement. I plan to entertain Mrs. Rosalind Shadowveil in my residence in the very near future. I want her to feel comfortable, for everything to be to her liking, so the preparations need to begin in earnest now.

She will not be an easy conquest, but conquer her I will.

*Rosalind*

Lying in bed, I stare at the ceiling. I have had a dreadfully fitful slumber, sleeping a mere two winks, if that.

It is blasted Riverdale’s fault. I had grown so warm that, at one point, I had considered divesting myself of my nightdress. Even knowing it is nigh impossible, I could have sworn that I still felt his lips moving so determinedly over mine. He had displayed no hesitation as he guided his hands along my side. He is a man who knows precisely what he wants. And he wants me.

Over the years, other men have as well. I have grown skilled at enticing them near, yet holding them at bay. I am not certain Riverdale will be quite as easy to manipulate. He is dangerous, not likely to settle for the crumbs with which I am willing to part.

I would do well to seek out another benefactor, but Riverdale fascinates me. ‘I will have you,’ he had said. As I am not likely to shake him off easily, I might as well embrace the challenge of besting him. It could be fun and include a few additional pleasantries. Kissing him is certainly no hardship. As long as I remain in control and hold him to that, I think I can gain everything I want.

A quick glance at the clock on the mantel reveals that it is midmorning. Tempted to pull the covers over my head to see if I can fall more easily into slumber, I resist, knowing that Benjamin will be enjoying breakfast now. I should have checked in on him last night, but I had the insane notion that if he awoke, he would be able to look at me and know the sort of mischief I had been up to with Riverdale, had even wondered if he might have caught the scent of the Alpha on my skin.

Guilt can certainly make one irrational.

I roll out of bed and begin to prepare for the day: washing up, brushing my hair, and pulling it back, holding it in place with a ribbon, and donning a simple blue dress that requires no assistance. As soon as I am satisfied with my appearance, I wander down to the breakfast dining room.

"Hello, dearest," I say to Benjamin as I walk in. He is four years my junior, not that many would guess that, as life has not been particularly kind to him, and the hardships have taken a toll. Leaning down, I press a kiss to the top of his head. "How are you this morning?"

"Well," he replies, his eyes sparkling with joy as he gives me the smile that never fails to warm my heart.

He sits at the head of the small square table. Sitting opposite him so it will be easier to carry on a conversation, I lift the teapot and pour some of the brew into my cup. A few covered dishes rest on the table. As it is only the two of us each morning, we keep the meals small and simple. No sideboards are laden with assorted items.

We cannot afford the waste.

“Did you have fun last night?” he asks.

I drop four cubes of sugar into my tea and stir. “I did indeed. Although I missed you terribly, not to mention our reading. I'm most anxious to discover where Gulliver's travels take him next.” Reading to him is our nightly ritual. “I shall stay in tonight.”

“Tell me about the place you visited,” he urges.

“The building is incredible, the people are adorned magnificently. We shall begin as I walk through the doors.” I say.

Then, recalling every detail memorized, I set about painting a vivid portrait of the night, which I hope will give him a memory he will never be able to acquire on his own.

“I wish I could see it,” he murmurs when I am finally finished.

“I wish you could, too, my love. I'll draw pictures for you later if you like.” I promise.

He gives a barely perceptible nod before returning his attention to his food. I know sketches are a poor substitute, but I cannot risk his ruining my plans. Our future depends on them.