His reluctant Luna

The realm of pleasure

Now:

*Melina*

Etiquette dictates that a gentleman caller should not extend his visit beyond fifteen minutes, so I am aware that my time in the company of Alpha Sheridan will soon come to an end, within the next one hundred and eighty interminable seconds. Sooner, if luck is on my side.

However, the gentleman sitting to my left on the sofa in the front parlor seems determined to eke out his maximum stay. Since handing him a cup of tea shortly after his arrival, he seems to have forgotten his purpose in coming here. The fine bone china with the red roses hasn’t once left the saucer that he balances so expertly on his thigh.

This visit is his third within the past seven days, and all I have really garnered from our time together is that he uses a little too much bergamot cologne, keeps his fingernails well-manicured, and periodically releases sighs for ostensibly no reason whatsoever. And that he clears his throat to signal the end of his calling upon me.

I now welcome the harsh gurgle as he sets aside his cup before standing. Placing my own cup and saucer on the low table in front of me, I push to my feet and fight not to look too pleased that the ordeal is finally over. “Thank you so much for coming, Alpha Sheridan.”

“I hope I may call on you tomorrow.” The earnestness in his brown eyes alerts me that he is not truly asking for permission but is merely stating his intent.

“If I may be so bold, my Alpha, allow me to ask if this is truly how you want to spend the remainder of your life… sitting about in heavy silences with only the ticking of the clock to remind us of the passing of time?”

He blinks. “Pardon?”

Now I’m the one to sigh, hating that I am forced to be blunt because he refuses to acknowledge the truth of the situation. “We are not suited, my Alpha.”

“I’m not certain how you have reached that conclusion.” He says, sounding confused.

“We don’t converse. I have tried to engage you in several topics of conversation.” I point out.

He shakes his head, “On the wisdom of our country's expansion in the dark lands. It is not a subject that should concern a she-wolf.”

“It is going to concern a great many she-wolves if war erupts, and they find themselves catapulted into widowhood. Not to mention the financial toll on the country.” I hold up a hand. The man looks positively horrified. “My apologies. You didn’t want to discuss it earlier, and I’m quite certain you don’t wish to now as you are preparing to leave. It’s simply that I have opinions and believe I have the right to voice them. You seem to have no interest in hearing my view on anything other than the weather.”

“You will be a Luna.” He says.

Now it’s my turn to blink. “What has that to do with anything?"

“You will be Luna Sheridan. As such, you shall be too busy overseeing your duties and your charitable endeavors to be sitting about in the parlor with me during the afternoon.” He explains.

“And in the evening?" I ask.

He smiles, “I have an extensive library that will be at your disposal. Although surely you do needlework.”

I shake my head, "I don’t, actually. I find it tedious. I much prefer a rousing debate on social reform."

"I will not tolerate a mate who engages in rousing debates. It’s unseemly." He huffs.

"Which is why, my Alpha, we are not suited." I say it kindly, when what I really want is to ask him why he thinks any she-wolf would want to be his Luna.

He looks offended, "I have a very large pack, Miss Moondancer. Granted, it does need some upkeep, but your dowry will set it to rights."

And there it was, spoken at long last: the reason for his presence in my parlor.

"But you see, Alpha Sheridan, I come with my dowry. Furthermore, I come as I am. With my own ideas, not necessarily my mate’s, with my own interests, again, not necessarily my mate’s. But I want him to respect my opinions and interests. I want to be able to discuss them with him and know that he is listening." I tell him.

"I will give you children." He sounds desperate.

What did that have to do with his listening, which he obviously was failing to do. I feel rather like a mule being tossed carrots in hopes that one would get the beast to move along. And while I desperately want children, I’m not willing to pay any price in order to obtain them. If I'm not happy, how could they be? "Will you give me love?"

He taps his front teeth together. "It is possible that, with time, my affections would grow."

I give him a tolerant smile. "I think you would find living with me to be quite challenging."

"I have two estates. Once I have my heir, I see no reason that we must live at the same residence." He simply says.

It takes everything within me not to laugh hysterically. The man refuses to heed what I'm saying, which has been the problem from the beginning. "Call on me if you wish, my Alpha, but know that under no circumstances will I ever marry you."

"You won’t get a better offer." He huffs.

"That may well be true, but I seriously doubt that I shall receive a worse one." I shoot back.

He jerks his head around, glaring at my mother, sitting in the corner with her needlework as though she were responsible for the words spewing from my mouth. "My Luna?"

"Mrs. Moondancer," my mother interrupts succinctly.

Alpha Sheridan releases a frustrated sigh. "You are the widow of an Alpha."

"I am the mate of Jack Moondancer and prefer to be addressed as such." She says.

He taps his front teeth together several times before clearing his throat. "Very well, if you insist."

She smiles sweetly. "I have from the moment I married him a good many years ago, but I don’t believe you’re here to discuss the choices I have made in my life."

"You are quite right, madam, I am not. Will you be so kind as to explain to your daughter why she should not be so quick to dismiss my suit?" He asks.

Her face serene, my mother bestows upon him an indulgent smile. "To be quite honest, Alpha Sheridan, I think your afternoons would be better spent elsewhere."

Harrumphing, he pins me with his glower. "I intend to have a mate by the end of the mating Season. I shall not wait for you to come to your senses, Miss Moondancer. I shall move on."

"I think that would be most wise," I say.

"You are foolish to give up what I can provide." He states.

I just look at him, "With the help of my dowry."

The tapping of his teeth again. In time, the habit would no doubt drive me mad.

"Good day, Madam, Miss Moondancer." With that, he spins on his heel and strides from the parlor without so much as a backward glance.

With a deep sigh releasing much of the tension that had accompanied his visit, I roll my shoulders before wandering across the room and dropping unceremoniously into the chair beside my mother’s. "Strange, but I would have felt more foolish if I had married him."

Reaching across, my mother squeezes my hand. "You’re not foolish at all. You know your own mind. Somewhere, there is a man who will relish that aspect of you and view you as more than an ornament."

While I’m not prone to pessimism, on this particular subject I can’t dredge up my mother’s optimism.

"I just passed Alpha Sheridan going out as I was coming in," Faye, the Luna of Silverpine, and my dearest friend, says as she walks into the parlor, her two-year-old son perched on her hip. "I daresay, he bore the look of a storm cloud."

"What a marvelous surprise to have you drop by," my mother says, her smile brighter than anything the sun could produce as she rises and crosses over to our newest arrivals. "How is my grandson?"

The boy reaches for her, and she takes him into her arms. "I swear, you have grown so much since last I saw you."

"You saw him a few days ago," Faye reminds her mother-by-marriage.

"Too long." My mother says.

Approaching, I try to read Faye’s expression, but she is known for never giving anything away. It makes her an extremely skilled opponent at cards.

"So, Alpha Sheridan?" Faye prompts.

With a sigh, I shrug my shoulders. "He thought we were well suited. I didn’t."

"He has considerable debt," Faye says.

"Precisely." I sigh.

She makes a thoughtful face, "He is rather nice-looking and can be quite charming."

"He sat here for fifteen minutes staring at his teacup as though hoping to catch a glimpse of his tea evaporating." I mumble.

"Oh dear." Her eyes hold sympathy and understanding. Before her marriage to my half-brother, the Alpha of Silverpine, Faye had been navigating the sea of fortune hunters as well.

"So what brings you to our door?" I ask.

She smiles, "I simply wanted to visit with you for a bit."

"I will leave you girls to it," my mother says distractedly, pinching the child’s chubby red cheek. "Come along. Let’s find your grandfather. He will be delighted to see you." She looks at Faye. "That’s all right, isn’t it? If I take him off for a bit?"

"Of course. I will find you when I’m ready to leave." She says.

"Take your time," my mother says, before wandering from the room in search of her husband. If High pack Society ever saw Jack Moondancer playing peekaboo with his stepgrandson, his fierce reputation would be shattered in a second.

"She does love him," I say, ignoring the ache in my chest because I might never give my parents a grandchild.

Faye smiles, "I know. Furthermore, I knew his presence would ensure we had some time alone when we wouldn't be disturbed."

A mixture of anticipation and dread courses through me. "You acquired the address?"

"Let's have a seat, shall we?" As though she could outrun the conversation, Faye moves swiftly to the sofa and sits.

I join her there, the excitement over the possibilities drowning out any of my initial trepidation. "Do you have it?" I prod impatiently.

Faye shifts uncomfortably. "Are you certain about this, Melina? Once it's lost..."

"I'm well aware of how virginity works, Faye," I snap my fingers impatiently. "Give over the address."

I don't dare say aloud the name of the establishment. No one does. Rumors of the existence of the secretive Moon Goddess Club had been floating through the city for years, but its location is a closely guarded secret because its owners are supposedly she-wolves of the High packs… married she-wolves who had established a place for others such as themselves to bring their paramours for discreet rendezvouses, their husbands none the wiser regarding their illicit affairs.

Its purpose had evolved over the years so that even those who had no lover might secure one for a night. That was all I wanted. One night.

"Your brother will kill me if he learns that I assisted you with this endeavor." She says.

"He won't do any such thing. He adores you to distraction. Besides, he isn't going to find out. It's not as though I'm going to announce it, but you know full well the sort of life he led before he married you. Why is it acceptable for men to be naughty but not for she-wolves to partake in the same liberties?" I huff.

She sighs, "It's simply the way of it. What if you fall in love…"

I can't help it. I laugh out loud at that. "I have seen six mating Seasons, Faye. I'm on the shelf gathering dust, except for the occasional fortune hunter. I have no interest in a marriage that is a business arrangement. I want to be loved for who I am. My immense dowry doesn't aid me in finding love. I'm not particularly pretty."

Faye opens her mouth to protest, and I cut in before she can speak. "You know it's true."

Based upon the dowry my father… one of the wealthiest men in Blackrock City had bestowed upon me, I have not wanted for men's professed affections, but not a single one had carried an ounce of truth. I'm not particularly beautiful, can't even classify myself as pretty or endearing in the looks department. "I have too much of my father in me. His dark eyes, his common features. And I have his head for business. I'm smart, and I speak my mind. I'm not demure or biddable. I want passion and fire, not the coldness of silence and sighs as we wait for the minutes to pass until we're no longer in each other's company. Do you have any idea how often I have sat in this very parlor with an Alpha who did little more than hold a teacup on his lap and comment on the biscuits and cakes as though they are the sum of my life? I'm intimidating, I know that. I consider holding my tongue, but I don't want to give a man a false impression of whom he is courting. I'm not shy about spouting my opinions, and men find such behavior intolerable."

"You simply haven't met the right man yet." Faye mumbles.

“It’s not as though I have taken to hiding behind fronds, I have been visible, seen by everyone. My dowry is attractive; I am not. Men do not seek me out with passion in mind, but rather purse strings. It’s grown wearisome,” I say.

Faye studies me quietly for a few moments. “What if you should get with child?” she finally asks, and I nearly groan at the tedious questioning, but I appreciate that my dear friend means well.

“I have researched, I will take precautions,” I say.

Faye slumps back, nibbling on her lower lip. “The act itself is incredibly intimate, Melina, I can’t imagine engaging in such actions with someone I didn’t love,” she says.

“I’m well aware that it won’t be perfect, Faye, but at this point in my life, I want to feel desired. I have heard that most of the men who frequent the place are of the High packs. So it’s quite possible it will be someone I know, possibly someone I favor. I fancy many of the gents; they simply don’t fancy me,” I explain.

“But after all that you’ll share, won’t it be awkward when you see him in the future?” she asks.

“He’s not going to know it’s me. I will be masked.” The mask I have purchased in anticipation of acquiring the location of the infamous club covers two-thirds of my face, leaving only my eyes, lips, and chin visible.

“But you will know. Everything he did. Everywhere he touched. Everywhere you touched,” she points out.

Warmth and a bit of discomfiture course through me as I imagine being caressed with large, strong hands. I take the images to bed with me every night even though they do little except leave me aching for what I have never experienced.

My greatest fear is that I might actually weep if a man ever fondled me with bare hands. I’ve been touched by men before, but always with clothing… gloves at the very least… serving as a barrier.

“I’ve thought about the ramifications long and hard, Faye. It’s not something I decided on a whim. Do you have any idea how lonely it is to have never felt so much as the stroke of a man’s finger along forbidden flesh? During dinners, no one sneaks in an errant touch beneath the tablecloth, out of sight of others, when my gloves are resting on my lap and my hands are uncovered. No one does anything untoward where I’m concerned,” I confess.

“If I might be honest, this recourse seems rather tawdry. Perhaps you should seek out a lover,” she suggests.

“You don’t understand, Faye. Men don’t find me appealing in that way. They don’t have improper thoughts or consider me alluring. If a man even hinted that he fancied me, I would marry him,” I admit.

“You have had marriage proposals,” she reminds me.

I shake my head, “From impoverished gents, and it became quite clear, quite quickly that they yearned to hold near my dowry, not me. Your advice helped me identify the fortune hunters, and thus far… to my everlasting disappointment… they have all been fortune hunters.”

“Perhaps you took my words too much to heart,” she muses.

“No one looks at me the way my brother looks at you. Even before he professed his love, it was obvious that he wanted you in the worst sort of way,” I point out.

Unable to deny the words, Faye blushes. I stand and begin to pace. I'm striving so hard not to show how nervous I am about this decision. It is the correct one for me. I want to know what it is to be with a man, and I have grown weary of waiting. “The anonymity appeals to me. If I botch it all up, no one is going to know.”

“You won’t botch it. But I do worry that you will be hurt,” she expresses her concern.

Kneeling before my dear friend, I take her hands, squeeze. “How can I be hurt when, for a little while, I shall feel as though I am desired? Faye, I have never once in my life felt as though a man desired me. And while I know that he won’t know it is me, that all he truly wants is my body, it will be my body that he touches, my body in which he takes pleasure, my body that receives pleasure in return. It’s not perfect, but it’s something.”

I look at Faye.

Faye sighs, "It's rather rash when there are alternatives. You could proposition a man to be your lover."

"And how do I deal with the embarrassment when he says no?" I ask.

"He might say yes." She suggest.

"Six mating Seasons, Faye, and I have never been kissed. Never been ushered into a shadowy garden. My dance partners are becoming fewer and farther between. I am recognized for what I am: a spinster. It is time for me to acknowledge that I shall never experience a grand love, and I won't saddle myself with a man who can't love me as deeply as my father loves my mother. Or my brother loves you. If I'm going to be with him for the remainder of my life, I want a gentleman who is besotted. And if I can't have that, I want to know at least once what it is to be with a man without the barriers of societal mores. Maybe then, I can move on and find happiness elsewhere."

With a sigh, Faye works her hands free of my clasp, reaches into the pocket of her skirt, and withdraws a folded slip of paper. I want to snatch it up, but I fear I would tear it because Faye's fingers are turning white with her death grip on the frail parchment.

"Along with the address," Faye begins, "I have included a list of gentlemen to avoid should they cross your path. Silverpine assures me that they are selfish lovers, not that he knew why I was asking, but it seems that in the privacy of their clubs, men are prone to boasting about their conquests." Pursing her lips together, she extends the paper. "Please be very careful."

I close my steady fingers around the answer to my dreams. The time for being careful is long past. I yearn for a night to remember. "Don't suppose you have a list of whom I should consider?"

Faye releases a forced laugh. "Afraid not. I just wished a gentleman could see you for your true worth, something that has nothing at all to do with your dowry."

"Not every gentleman can be as wise as my half-brother." I tell her.

"Pity that." She mumbles.

Pity indeed. But then, I am not one to languish on the negative. I have had no luck with the marriage market. It is time to move into the realm of pleasure.