The Werewolf's Bride Page 3

  “Hello, everyone, I’m Lady Fleur Orpheline, a volunteer here at the tourism office. It’s my great pleasure to welcome you to our city.” She gestured to her dress, saying, “The first thing we’ll discuss is our mode of attire, which as you can see is probably not what most of you are used to. This is a non-negotiable aspect of your visit to the kingdom, but I hope that instead of seeing it as a prohibition, you’ll think of it as an opportunity to experience our culture.”

  Well put, he thought. No wonder she was considered to be the communications expert.

  “Prior to boarding the ferry, you were scanned for any modern communication devices. Please know that even if you were able to find a way to sneak your phone in, it still wouldn’t work here.” She gave them a charmingly sheepish smile, saying, “Let’s just say the signal’s extremely bad.”

  One of the tourists raised his hand. “I have a question.”

  “Milady,” Fleur said sweetly. “As the daughter of a baron, I’m to be addressed as ‘milady.’ Of course, I’d rather you say Fleur, The Prettiest Girl in the World, but—-” She gave the tourists a pretty little shrug. “We must learn to cope.”

  Her audience laughed.

  She looked expectantly at the man who spoke earlier.

  An infatuated look on his face, he said obediently, “I have a question, milady.”

  Fleur clapped her hands in delight. “Oh, that’s wonderful!” She rewarded him with a smile and then shared it with the rest of the tourists, murmuring, “I hope you understand that you won’t mind we’re all so formal here. Again, it’s all a matter of perspective. If you will, just pretend you’re like Alice, and you’ve fallen into a rabbit hole that’s transported you to the land of fairytales.” She did a little twirl, and the skirts of her pink gown twirled around her.

  Ilie looked at the tourists, and he was amused and impressed to see everyone had fallen under her spell.

  The orientation ended twenty minutes later, and Fleur was the last to come out of the classroom. She curtsied upon seeing him, murmuring, “Good afternoon, milord.”

  He bowed. “Good afternoon, milady.”

  An older woman came forward then, and Fleur introduced her to Ilie, explaining, “Miss Margaret is my companion.”

  Ilie greeted the other woman pleasantly, and Miss Margaret let out a girlish giggle.

  Fleur snapped her fan open and covered her mouth so she could grin. Miss Margaret was normally prudish, but she had suspected her companion would be no match for the marquis’ seductive airs.

  And she was right, Fleur thought, grinning again. Wait until she told Soleil about this.

  She glanced at the Marquis, asking cheekily, “Are you looking for my sister?”

  “Will you tell me where she is?”

  “Of course.” Mischief danced in her eyes as she added, “But only if you tell me something first.”

  Ilie had to smile. “Are you actually trying to blackmail...me?”

  Fleur let her eyes go wide. “I have no idea what you’re saying, milord.” She gestured to the stairs. “Shall we? The tourism office has a beautiful garden at the back.”

  And so they walked, and while surrounded by tourists and workers, they restricted themselves to pure pleasantries.

  But when they reached the garden, with Miss Margaret walking a small but proper distance behind them, Fleur asked flatly, “Will you have other women even when my sister’s your heartkeeper?”

  Ilie choked. He had not expected that at all.

  Fleur looked up at him, her gaze serious. “Soleil was fifteen when she first saw you.”

  He was stunned. He’d never imagined she had known about him for that long.

  “You weren’t alone though.” Fleur’s lips were compressed. “You were with...” Her voice lowered, and she looked behind her shoulder to make sure her companion wouldn’t overhear her. Satisfied, she looked back at the marquis and said darkly, “You were with a...doxy.”

  Ilie flushed as Fleur’s words painted an unbecoming portrait of himself. He could just imagine how his heartkeeper felt, having seen him with another woman.

  “I deeply apologize for that,” he said stiffly.

  “You should say sorry to her, not me.”

  “I will most assuredly do that as soon as you tell me where she is.”

  She shook her head. “Not so fast, milord. You haven’t answered my question yet.”

  He gazed at her thoughtfully, his head cocking to the side. “You appear to be the sensible sort, milady.”

  “I’m sensible,” she agreed, “but not as smart as Aurora or as practical as Soleil.”

  “Good common sense is all I need,” he assured her. “You are aware of how heartkeeping works?”

  “Just what most people know,” she answered.

  “Then you know, milady, that heartkeeping doesn’t necessarily mean two people being in love with each other?”

  “And your point, milord?”

  “Fidelity is not a requirement of the union.”

  “Then she won’t accept you,” Fleur said without hesitation.

  “You sound so certain of this.”

  “I am.”

  “But you also mentioned your sister being practical.”

  “That’s mostly a front,” Fleur said with a shrug. “She’ll kill me for saying this, but really...” Her voice lowered into a confidential whisper. “Deep down inside, my sister is the biggest romantic of all.”

  “Really.” Somehow, he could not picture the extremely lethal leader of Les Trois Belles Lames as a romantic.

  Fleur nodded vigorously. “She’s always dreamt...” She paused. “Actually, forget that. I think that would be drawing the line, and Soleil’s never going to talk to me if I let that one out.” She looked up at the marquis, wondering what the right thing to do was.

  They had always known who Soleil’s heartkeeper was, and she and Aurora had teased their sister all the time about the marquis being the opposite of Soleil’s ideal man, which was someone gentle and scholarly.

  She almost snorted at the thought.

  She was absolutely not going to allow her sister to end up with someone so boring.

  But—-

  Fleur bit her lip. She did want the opposite of tedious for her sister, but the marquis seemed a bit too much. He was a rake, a wolf, and a demon. He was dangerous, in every way. Did she really trust this man to look after her sister?

  “Milady,” the marquis murmured.

  She carefully wiped her face clean of any expression, asking, “Yes?”

  “I can promise that I will do everything not to hurt her, and this I swear on my honor as one of the Galeré.”

  She said slowly, “Alright.”

  Seeing the apprehensive look she gave him, Ilie said mildly, “I’m no monster, milady.”

  “Oh, but you are, milord.” Fleur’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Everyone is, next to my sister.”

  ILIE’S HIRED CARRIAGE parked a few feet away from the cake shop, allowing him a generous view of the establishment and its patrons. Old rose damask graced the walls, its intricate floral patterns complementing the scrollwork on the ceiling and the elaborate design of the carpet.

  The shop was near to full, but he found her easily enough, seated alone in one of the tables, enjoying a slice of cheesecake while reading a book of poetry.

  The biggest romantic of all, Fleur had said.

  Ilie frowned. He had thought the girl was lying, but maybe not.

  With his power cloaked and the hired carriage giving him anonymity, Ilie had all the chance in the world to feast his eyes on her, and so he did, his gaze roaming over her ever so slowly.

  Her hair was a mass of elegant curls arranged on top of her head, with a few locks let loose to frame her heart-shaped face. Her eyes were the brightest shade of blue, like the skies of Ciel. And her lips were small and shaped like a rose—-

  Ilie imagined those lips under his, and lust uncurled inside him, heating his blood.

&n
bsp; Soleil Orpheline was his heartkeeper.

  His.

  No one else’s.

  Possessive pleasure flooded him at the thought.

  He had known about the possibility that she existed, of course, but he had not let himself hope. He had been roaming the world for over nine hundred years. He had thought he had seen it all and believed that he had missed his chance.

  His gaze drifted back to his heartkeeper. She was dressed in a gown of lilac silk, and he scowled when he noticed how low the neckline was, revealing more than a hint of her generous bosom. Those beautiful big breasts were his, and he was determined the day wouldn’t end until she knew this, too.

  He saw her turn the page of her book. Her eyes widened a moment later, and a blush of pink touched her cheeks.

  Was that really poetry she was reading, he wondered, intrigued.

  Leaning back against his seat, the marquis crossed his arms over his chest and considered his options. If she truly was a romantic, then he had to do things by the book and court her with the full works – flowers, chocolate, and other trinkets, escorting her to parties and inviting her for a walk in the park, the likes.

  She would appreciate that, wouldn’t she?

  She probably would, but the problem was, that was not Ilie’s style at all.

  He had always liked going against the rules, and the idea that he would have to actually bow down to custom chafed.

  Might there be a compromise? Might it be possible that he be allowed to court her in private and—-

  His nostrils suddenly flared, his wolf instincts catching the scent of another predator – someone infinitely punier to Ilie – attempting to poach on his territory. His gaze swung sharply back to her, and that was when he saw a rakish-looking nobleman chatting her up.

  “LADY SOLEIL?”

  Soleil snapped her book shut, cheeks flushing as she looked up. It was Sir Reginald, considered one of this Season’s better catches. What he lacked in terms of titles, he made up with his considerable fortune.

  “Good afternoon, sir,” she murmured as he bowed.

  He smiled at her, saying, “My day’s complete now that my eyes have rested upon you, milady.”

  “Here we go again, milord, with your too-pretty words,” she said lightly.

  His gaze slid curiously to her book. “What’s this you’re reading?”

  Before she could answer, the knight was already reaching to pick it up—-

  No!

  She would be ruined if anyone found out what she was reading!

  Soleil hurriedly reached for the book, and their fingers touched.

  A gasp escaped her. She had held men’s hands countless times, but they were men she was targeting to kill. This was totally different.

  But before either of them could yank their hands away, another hand appeared and the book disappeared from their grasps.

  She gasped again, twisting to see who it was, and a third gasp escaped her when the marquis, standing behind her chair, gave her a lazy smile.

  The last time Soleil had seen him, it was while battling for her life, and before that, it had always been from afar, with Soleil never risking to come any closer in fear of the marquis recognizing the connection between them.

  This was the first time she was able to look at him up close, and though she had mentally prepared herself for such a meeting, one glance at the marquis told her that those endless hours of practice were for naught.

  Ilie Marcovici would always take one’s breath away.

  Always.

  He was so much taller than she thought or dreamed of, and his body was built even more lethally than she imagined. His hair, the shade of ice and gold at the same time, shone even more brilliantly under the lights, and his face—-

  Every inch of it seemed to have been carved by a grandmaster, and she clasped her hands tightly on her lap lest she forgot herself and reached out to touch his cheek.

  Her gaze accidentally clashed with his, and the way his silver eyes gleamed so knowingly made Soleil quickly look away. Then she saw her book held securely in his hand, and her lips parted—-

  He said kindly, “You’ll run out of oxygen in my company if you keep that up, milady.”

  Her mouth snapped shut, and she reddened and glared up at him at the same time.

  “That was quite rude, milord,” Reginald decreed hotly, having recovered from his shock. He knew who the other man was, but what he had never expected was to meet the wicked marquis in this type of establishment. It was a well-known fact the marquis only frequented brothels and other unmentionable places.

  “Was it?” the marquis returned idly. “I was only expressing my concern for milady.” He smiled down at Soleil again.

  Soleil didn’t smile back. That smile didn’t look good. In fact, it looked downright bad – the kind people had nightmares of.

  And it was, as a moment later Soleil was horrified to hear the marquis drawl, “My behavior is but typical of a betrothed, do you not think?”

  Chapter Four

  The silence that descended on the cake shop following the marquis’ announcement was comical, and Soleil had the unforgivable urge to laugh. I am cursed, she thought miserably, with the oddest sense of humor.

  “Is this true, milady?” Sir Reginald demanded, hurt confusion in his gaze.

  Her heart immediately went out to him, and she started to protest, “Sir Reginald, please—-”

  “Keep it a secret,” the marquis finished in a lowered voice.

  And of course, with that word, Soleil saw everyone’s ears practically perk up.

  “Although I have already asked the baron for her hand and everything has been formalized, I would still like to give my beloved betrothed the kind of courtship she deserves.” The marquis’ voice was gentle, but the gleam in his silver gaze was mocking, daring the other man to take offense and challenge his word.

  Sir Reginald was visibly fuming, and her unease grew. She turned to the marquis, but he only responded to her warning glare with a roguish smile.

  Liquid heat ran through her body, and she looked away again. Arrogant boor. But the thought lacked heat, and the way her heart was racing so fast made it worse.

  “May I have your word as a gentleman on this, sir?”

  She took one look at the knight’s face and knew he hadn’t bought one word of it.

  And if she let him speak, then they would end up dueling, and it would not be an even match at all. Sir Reginald might be the reigning champion in the city’s sporting hall, but he was still a man. A child even, compared to the likes of Ilie Marcovici.

  Sir Reginald began, “You, milord—-”

  “—-are telling the truth,” Soleil heard herself say, and she forced herself to meet Sir Reginald’s gaze. He looked crushed, and her conscience stung painfully. “I’m sorry, sir.” As she spoke, the marquis casually took hold of her hand.

  For one moment, she froze, the scorching heat of the contact stunning her.

  Ilie saw shock flare in his heartkeeper’s eyes and could not fault her. He was similarly stunned as well, only he was better at hiding it.

  Merely holding her hand was an exquisite pleasure, and he could not help think of the other and equally pleasurable parts he could touch. He was suddenly impatient, and he looked at Soleil, his eyes boring through hers.

  Get rid of him, or I will.

  She jumped in her seat at the sudden sound of the marquis’ cold voice inside her head.

  Oh, she had forgotten about this stupid blood bond between heartkeepers!

  The command still ringing in her ears, Soleil had an inexplicable urge to defy the marquis, just to show him she wasn’t going to submit to him so easily.

  But then she saw the marquis glance at Reginald, and this time he was no longer looking at the knight as a mortal to be tolerated. This time, the marquis was looking at the other man the way predators mercilessly viewed their prey—-

  An image flashed in her mind, sent by the marquis.

 
He was in his wolf form, and he was crushing the knight’s ribs under his paws before his viciously sharp canines tore the man’s throat—-

  The image vanished, and the marquis murmured, “Lady Soleil? You have something else to say?” He smiled at her, and she could almost imagine his fangs flashing.

  I won’t warn you again, milady. His thumb rubbed across her knuckles, his touch possessive, tender, and hot.

  It was also extremely distracting, and Soleil had a hard time finding the right words to say. Her attention kept straying to the way the marquis’ touch made her feel. A part of her was lost in a daze.

  The Marquis di Lunare, the man fated to share her soul, was holding her hand.

  “Milady?”

  The hopeful look in Sir Reginald’s eyes sent her crashing back to earth, and Soleil swallowed. “Lord Ilie and I have an understanding, sir. I am so sorry if—-”

  “There is nothing to apologize for, milady.” His cheeks were flushed with a mixture of resentment and shame, and he was unable to meet her gaze. “I was the one who misunderstood.”

  This was her fault, she thought, cringing. News of today’s incident was sure to spread like wildfire, and she wouldn’t be surprised if they were the talk of the town by tonight. The thought made her feel resentful herself, and Soleil unthinkingly tried yanking her hand away.

  But the marquis’ grip only tightened, with just enough strength to remind her that she was fighting a futile battle.

  Remember what I am, ma lisse. His voice was gentle, but possessiveness still threaded through it.

  She ceased her struggle, not because he had reminded her of his otherworldly bloodlines, but because of what he had called her.

  Ma lisse.

  My lily.

  He had called her ‘his lily.’

  Again, the odd urge to laugh struck her. Did he remember what she was as well? Did he remember that she was, for all intents and purposes, a professional killer?