Enchanted By The Wolf. Michele HaufЧитать онлайн книгу.
the girlfriend wept over the ash, Jacques and Kir stepped outside the house. “Demons?” Kir asked. “So, this isn’t werewolves?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, if it’s not, it’s not our problem.”
“Right.” Kir clenched and unclenched his fists. “Let’s give her a minute, then see if she’ll let us search his things for clues.”
The wolves waited out on the front step until the sobbing settled. A half hour later, quietly and respectfully, they went through the house but found nothing of use for the investigation.
“You have a safe place to go for a while?” Kir asked the vampiress.
“You think they’ll come after me? The pack?”
“Not sure. Why do you think he was taken by a pack? He said something about a denizen. That’s demons.”
She shrugged. “He’d mentioned something about a wolf following him a few days before he disappeared. I assumed.”
“Usually the packs grab a vamp off the street. I don’t know what the hell your boyfriend was coughing up. Or what a wolf could have done to him to make that happen.”
She nodded. “I have a friend who will let me stay with her. Thank you.”
“You shouldn’t thank us for what happened here.”
Her eyes wandered to the stake sitting on the pile of ash. “I couldn’t have done it alone. I wish he could have been more help to you.”
“We’ll find the pack or denizen responsible for his death. I promise you that.”
Leaving her at the door, Kir joined Jacques in the car.
“Let’s hope it is demons,” Jacques said. “We have enough on our plate already.”
“I promised her we’d help her. No matter what.”
“Ah, man.”
“She’s a woman. Alone. Who lost her boyfriend.”
“She’s also a vamp, and it’s not clear wolves were responsible for that vamp’s death.”
“I’m won’t let her down.”
Jacques sighed and shifted into gear. “You and your damned sense of honor.”
Damned or not, if it wasn’t a pack, and they weren’t required to bother with this crime, Kir wanted to stand true to his word. Because he couldn’t stand back and allow anyone, even a vamp, to die for reasons unknown.
The faery had never been shopping before. Bea had told Kir that in Faery she could pull on a glamour to change her clothing and look, but since arriving in the mortal realm her glamour was weak and it was a no-go for clothing changes. So when she strode into the high-end clothing shop on the rue Royale, her squeal might have been heard by dogs.
As well as by wolves.
And Kir liked the sound of her joy. It went a long way in erasing the lump that sat in the pit of his stomach after the call to the vampiress’s house this afternoon. He never liked to destroy another living being or witness it. Since he wasn’t able to get in to see the doctor he’d contacted until tomorrow morning, he decided putting some clothes on his wife would relax him after a long workday.
A salesgirl with brilliant red lips to match her nails led Kir and Bea into the back area of the shop that was more private than the sales floor. He sat on the designated “boyfriend couch,” which was shaped like a huge pair of red lips, sipping champagne and refusing the chocolates offered by the cooing salesgirls while he waited for his wife to slip into the first outfit the staff deemed fitting for her.
The dressing room door opened and out wobbled a faery in a white sheath that hugged her petite figure yet went all the way up to her neck. Pink high heels, higher than the Eiffel Tower, hampered her walk as she clung to the wall and tried to stand upright and maintain a modicum of dignity.
“High heels are new to me,” she said. “Who’d have thought, eh? So is lace. There’s so...much of it. I don’t think white is my color.”
“Nope,” Kir said.
Bea’s lips dropped into a sad moue.
“I won’t lie,” he offered. “It’s too much,” he said to the saleswoman. “She’s brighter and more fun. And sexy.”
“And maybe not so tall?” Bea said as she wobbled behind the saleswoman back into the fitting room.
The next outfit was introduced with a jump as Bea landed expertly on heels half as high as the previous ones. She wore black suede thigh-high boots that were laced with white ribbons from thigh to ankle. The skimpy black dress was cut out at the torso to reveal both hips, and the neckline exposed her breasts nearly to the nipples.
“Now, this is me,” she said, sashaying before Kir. She bent over and flashed him a view up under her skirt. Hot-pink panties. “You like?”
Kir croaked, then he checked himself and sat up straighter, catching the saleswoman’s knowing smirk. “Uh-huh, that one’s good. Shows off your...fun. Right, your fun stuff.” He cleared his throat. “But you need more than one outfit. You can’t wear that all the time.”
“I’ll mostly be wearing nothing around the house, but if you insist...” Bea twirled into the dressing room and called for more, more and more.
Wearing nothing at all around the house? Kir could handle that. He’d probably have to put up curtains, though, since the neighbors’ yards hugged his closely. He didn’t want to risk anyone catching a glimpse of his naked and winged wife. He worked hard to maintain his secrecy among the humans. If they were to learn his true nature, it could affect not only him but the whole pack.
But he suspected Bea was going to be one hot little number to keep under control. Yet, if he could appease her with clothing and jewelry, he didn’t mind doing so. The joy and the utter delight she displayed at receiving such things went a long way toward securing his comfort with her.
Maybe this marriage thing wouldn’t be so awful. His new wife appealed to his lust. He wouldn’t mind having sex with her daily, if she was on board with that. The fangs were an issue, but he’d keep her in line. And he didn’t feel a hunger for blood, so he was crossing his fingers the doctor said he was in the clear. And she was self-sufficient, taking care of herself while he worked. So far, this marriage was a win-win situation.
Next up: a pink dress. It was made out of high-gloss latex that hugged her body and pushed up her small breasts nicely. Black thigh-high stockings that sported matching pink bows at the tops ended in pink heels as glossy as the dress. Kir gave the look two thumbs-up.
A punky black number with a big white cross slashed across the shirt that stopped just below her breasts was paired with tight red jeans that sported black zippers down the sides. Black sandals that exposed her delicately marked feet? Yes, please.
Bea danced out of the dressing room wearing a long sheer black dress that had patches of flowers embroidered here and there. The embroidery covered nipples and her crotch—and nothing else. She wore a black fedora pulled down over her eyes. Her hips shimmied seductively, having mastered control of the high, black heels. He could see almost everything beneath the dress, and what he couldn’t see he could imagine running his tongue over and tasting until she came in shouts of pleasure.
And faery dust. He absently brushed his fingers over a temple.
“My favorite,” he offered, setting the champagne goblet aside and focusing on the sashaying faery.
“You want me, werewolf?” she teased, dashing out her tongue and tipping up the brim of the hat with one finger. A nod of her head toward the dressing