The Joker; His foreign she-wolf

Mum on the hunt

*Johnny*

I can't stop thinking about kissing her, what it was like and how much I want to do it again. Only longer, slower. I want to stretch it out into eternity.

Not that she seems to have any interest in kissing me. Every now and then, she darts a quick glance at me. Once, her gaze lingered on my mouth, if I have to guess, but she appears to be discomfited by my presence. And thus far, I've noticed her blushing half a dozen times.

I wonder if she is striving to forget what happened and is discombobulated to find herself sitting across from the reminder in the flesh. That might explain the tension radiating from her when I escorted her to the table. I suppose it's also possible she doesn’t recognize me. I'm fairly certain she was rather sauced that night. Which might account for the way, upon first being formally introduced to me, she looked at me with confusion as if I was a stranger, someone she have never before encountered.

Penny has seated all the gents at one end of the table, so we can discuss gentlemanly things like cheroots, bourbon, and the increasing migration of settlers across the Western Lands. I haven’t been paying a great deal of attention or contributed to the discourse. Instead, I watched Miss Irontail lift her wineglass and carry it to her lips.

I am mesmerized by the gentle movements of her throat as she swallows. And I notice the tiniest drop of wine that cling to the corner of her perfect mouth. I want to dip my tongue into that shallow alcove in order to taste the wine and her. Trace my tongue along that seam and urge her, once again, to open herself to me. Only I want her to open more than her mouth. I want her to open all of herself.

Although I suspect she would require I reveal myself entirely as well, and that I wouldn’t do.

I don’t know why it hadn’t occurred to me that the she-wolf from the Western Lands at the Moon Goddess Club would be the mate-hunting sister King had mentioned Irontail had brought with him. Perhaps because several mate-hunting she-wolves from the western lands are racing about of late, with their enormous dowries and their bold ways. They want titles, to be addressed as My Luna. They yearn for the instant respectability that comes with landing an Alpha.

They believe marrying into the High packs would offer them a life of ease. They have little understanding of precisely what it is they are gaining. Therefore, I have no patience for their machinations. Not that any of it affects me because marriage is not a path I intend to traverse.

It would be selfish of me to subject any she-wolf to the legacy I would inherit along with the title. If that means I never obtain an heir, I'm not altogether certain it would be much of a loss. Better to bring an end to this branch of the family tree rather than let it flourish. I have a cousin who is next in line, a cousin whose father was known for his philanthropic nature.

Not one who is abhorred for his libertine ways. I once thought my father could embarrass me no more than he already has. I believed, unlike all the other children my father had played a role in bringing into the world, that I, as the Alpha of Elverton's legitimate son and heir, had been loved by my sire. But my father held no more affection or respect for me than he did the others.

Providing an heir was an obligation he had met and he sought to take advantage of his son, as he did every other person in his life. No one had been safe from my sire's need to dominate and destroy, to cause harm.

“Are you striving to cook the a bit more with that heated glare?”

I swing my attention to Mrs. Irontail, who's been rude enough to put me on the spot. Her eyebrows, thicker and heavier than her daughter's, are arched in query. “My apologies. I was distracted with thoughts of my father. He is unwell.”

“Oh?” Now a speculative gleam shines from those blue eyes, a shade that matches her daughter’s, and yet are not nearly as lovely or pleasant to gaze into. Windows into the soul, indeed. This she-wolf cares only for herself and her own interests. “What rank is he, pray tell?”

I almost sigh, “He is an Alpha, madam. The Alpha of Elverton.”

“Which you will become when he dies.” As if incredibly pleased by that discovery, she lifts her wineglass with a victorious smile, and I'm surprised she doesn’t make a toast to my father’s ill health and speedy demise.

“Mama,” Miss Irontail chastises.

Her mother huffs, “Don’t take that disapproving tone with me. It’s important to know which men will be elevated within pack Society and which are where they shall remain. If you would pay more attention, I wouldn’t have to.”

Miss Irontail looks on the verge of growling, and I would growl right along with her. I don’t know if I have ever met a more unpleasant soul than jer mother, one who takes no pains whatsoever to disguise her disagreeable nature.

Her facial features suddenly going serene, as though the lessons of a lifetime have taught her how to survive the harsh demands of her mother, Miss Irontail directs her attention to me, sincerity and true concern reflected in her blue eyes. “I do hope his health improves.”

‘It is quite unlikely,’ rests on the tip of my tongue. Instead, I say, "Thank you. I will convey your good wishes."

Someone once told me, ‘Meet the mother and you will know the daughter.’ The man was striving to make the point that the daughter would be a replication of the mother in later years, but I'm left with the impression that isn’t the case here.

Miss Irontail isn’t at all as uncouth as her mother. She possesses a refinement and graciousness that the older she-wolf lacks. I wonder how she might have persevered to develop those qualities when the harpy who has raised her offered no example to emulate.

I find myself more curious about the young she-wolf than I was that night at the Moon Goddess Club. But now is not the time or place to satisfy my curiosity, so I glance around the table. “Do carry on. I believe Ace has yet to explain how he was once suspected of committing murder.”

With a grin and a wink, Ace tips his wineglass in a salute toward the area where the she-wolves sit. “Until my dear mate came to my rescue.”

I have the odd desire to rescue the mate-hunting Miss Irontail, although I also suspect she is perfectly capable of rescuing herself, which makes her all the more intriguing.