Run-away mate

He will what

*Killian*

It is the very worst mistake I have made in my life. Worse than the time I angered a tribal warlord by flirting with his daughter, or went swimming in the great river and nearly became a crocodile’s main course, or misjudged the weather and got caught in a snowstorm in the sky mountains.

I know I have made a grave error in judgment, egging her on until she finally opens her mouth to me and welcomes my assault. If I thought for one minute that my father held sincere affection for this she-wolf, if I thought he viewed her as anything other than a means to an end, I wouldn’t have indulged; I would have kept my distance, would have been true to my word to remain a gentleman.

But those luscious lips that spout such tart rejoinders, that tip up only slightly when she smiles, that promise pleasure to be found within her arms, are simply too tempting for any mortal man to resist. I merely want a taste, one little taste, and then I can move on to a tavern wench this evening.

Only now I know that is going to be nigh on impossible. She tastes of peppermint, and I suspect if I rifled through her reticule, I would find a little stash of the hard sweets. She has no doubt sucked on one just as she is now sucking on my tongue, driving me to distraction, causing me to clamp my arms around her all the tighter. She is bold, daring, as adventurous as I. My father wants a she-wolf who knows her way around a man’s body.

I have a feeling that Mrs. Tia Goldpaw could turn a man inside out, wring him dry, and have him gratefully asking for more.

Tearing my mouth from hers, I stare down at her. Her eyes are heated, her breaths shallow. Shoving on my shoulders, she steps back, leans against the railing, and meets my gaze head-on as though she has done nothing of which to be ashamed.

“I hope you enjoyed your taste, my Prince. Once I’m wed to your father, there will be no more sampling of the goods.”

So cool, so calm, but the flush in her cheeks gives her away. She has not been as unaffected by the kiss as she is striving to appear. What has caused her to learn to shield her emotions like that? What has transpired to make her so wary of revealing how she truly feels?

She gives nothing away, this one. I doubt I will learn anything about her by reading the correspondence, at least nothing that goes below the surface. Every word she speaks is calculated to reveal only enough to satisfy. But then I, too, am a master at keeping my distance, giving little away. I want to know no one well, want them to know me even less. The heart is better protected that way. If no one matters, no one can cause me to sink into despair. Protect my sanity at all costs, that is my mantra. “I assure you, you have nothing to worry over. I would never cuckold my father. And married she-wolves have never been to my taste. I have no respect for those who engage in deceit.”

I think I catch sight of the barest of flinches. Although perhaps it is simply relief washing through her to know that once the vows are exchanged, I will give her a wide berth.

With a sigh, she glances around. “I believe I have seen enough, my prince. Your father is no doubt beginning to worry. I should return to him.”

“Surely after such an intimacy, we can be a bit less formal. Please call me Killian.” I offer my arm.

“I believe I can make my own way.” As though to prove it, she charges forward, her heels clicking over the stones, then the wood as she crosses the threshold.

While I follow at a discreet distance, I enjoy this view of her, the rigid set of her spine, the enticing swaying of her narrow hips. I close the door to the terrace, follow her up the stairs, and begin locking the entrance to the grand salon.

“Is that really necessary?” she asks. “With only adults living here, surely it is enough to simply tell them not to open the doors.”

After securing the door, I turn to her. “Apparently my mother’s ghost can’t travel through locked doors, so the more of them that are locked, the more likely it is that she will remain out on the moors.”

She gapes at me, her eyes rounded with surprise.

“Here now, in all the exchanged correspondence, did my father neglect to mention that the castle is haunted?” I ask.

“Surely you don’t believe that.”

I shake my head, “Of course I don’t. But he does. I’m sure once he has visited your bed tonight that he will warn you to lock your door after he departs and to never sleep with a window open. Never go out on the moors at night. She will snatch you up.”

“Cautions to make young lads behave.”

“But I am no longer a young lad, yet the cautions remain.”

“I suppose I should be relieved then that I don’t believe in ghosts either.” Pivoting on her heel, she heads down the stairs.

I like this view very much indeed, and I have to enjoy it while I can. I have told her true. I will not cuckold my father. Once they are married, I am going to avoid her as though she carries the plague.

I catch up to her in the foyer, with only a few inches separating us as she strolls into the parlor. My father is slumped in the chair, eyes closed.

Her hand goes to her chest. “My Goddess.” She turns to me, panic reflected in her eyes. “Is he dead?”

She seems genuinely concerned, but then with his untimely death before the vows are exchanged, she would lose the dower house and anything else my sire had promised her. My father releases a thundering snore. With a little screech, she hops back.

Chuckling, I move past her. “For someone who doesn’t believe in ghosts, you are awfully skittish.”

“I feared he was dead.”

“Not yet; he is simply prone to falling asleep at odd times.” I kneel beside the chair, curl my hand around my father’s shoulder, and give him a little shake. “Father, wake up.”

My father’s eyes flutter open, unfocused, distant. “Is Linnie calling for me?”

His pet name for my mother, Madeline, who apparently had detested being called Maddie. “No.”

“Good. I have time to get ready for dinner. She despises when I’m late for dinner.” He mumbles.

“Mrs. Goldpaw is dining with you this evening.” Easier to bring him into the present than crush him by making him face the truth of his past.

“Mrs. Goldpaw? I don’t know a Mrs. Goldpaw.”

I look back over my shoulder and arch a brow at Tia. See what you’re getting yourself into?

She steps in front of the Alpha Prince. “I’m Mrs. Goldpaw, my Prince. Tia Goldpaw.”

My father’s face lights up, and he snaps his fingers. “Of course, of course. I remember now. Did you enjoy your tour of the residence, my dear?”

“It was very enlightening.”

Tactfully put, I think.

“Take a seat and tell me all about it, but first where’s the vicar? He should be here by now.”

“I’m certain he is on his way,” I assure him. If you did indeed inform him that he needed to be here. I hope he has only done it in his mind.

Tia returns to her chair. I sit on the end of the couch, nearer to her this time, although I can’t comprehend why I want less distance between us. “Father, it occurred to me that it might be best to wait a few days before proceeding with the wedding, give Mrs. Goldpaw an opportunity to become more accustomed to what her life here will entail.”

“Neither frugal nor practical, Killian. I agreed to pay her a thousand coins each day the wedding is delayed.” My father says.

“I beg your pardon?” I ask.

“I signed a contract. If she doesn’t marry today, I have to pay her a thousand coins every day until she is wed. If I call off the wedding completely, I have to pay her ten thousand quid.”

I bolt to my feet. “Have you gone mad?” Of course he has. He had gone mad years ago.

“I had to give her some sort of reassurance that she wasn’t making this trip for nothing. That my intentions were honorable. That I wasn’t seeking to take advantage.” My father says.

But he was. I shift my gaze to Tia, who is wearing a beguiling yet almost innocent smile, her eyes on me, screaming satisfaction, as though she has bested me. The little witch. She had mentioned the contract. Had known when she walked through the door that no matter how much I might not wish it so, this marriage is going to take place, or I’m going to pay her a hefty purse. She had said as much.

I had been so intrigued by her damned eyes that I hadn’t thought to question it then. “I want to see this damned contract.”

“I thought you might,” she says sweetly. Reaching into her reticule, she withdraws a small leatherette, unties the cord, and removes several folded sheaves of paper. I snatch them out of her hand and proceed to scour the contents.

“Tearing them up won’t help,” she says blithely. “My solicitor has a copy.”

“I have a copy as well.” My father says.

Not helping, Father.

I read the words carefully. The Alpha Prince of Evermarsh might be mad, but he isn’t an i***t. He would have provided himself with some avenue of escape. And there it is, carefully hidden among a gibberish of words. I almost laugh aloud, the wily old bugger. He is clever.

I slide my gaze over to Tia Goldpaw and, for the first time, clearly see her for what she truly is. A mercenary, a title chaser, someone wanting to rise so badly above her station she would use any means necessary to accomplish her goal, including taking advantage of an aging prince. The sort of she-wolf I could never grow to care for, could never love, could never give my heart to.

She is bloody perfect.

“I will marry her.”