Soul of the Wolves

Then, Ethan did the darndest thing. He sniffed her. Why did he do this? Is it common behavior among werewolves? Dogs sniffed each other’s butts as greeting, and since domestic dogs were direct descendents of wolves, this sniffing business may be a typical canine quirk.

Still.

Holy hell, this is freaking weird.

When Ethan got ahold of himself, something changed in his eyes. She really couldn’t tell from his expression. His eyes were steely. A smirk faintly curved at the corner of his mouth. She hoped that he bought this deception. The fate of her brother depended on it.

“Alpha, you’re scaring her,” Cain admonished this man who he claimed as his cousin.

Ethan pulled back. “Forgive me. I’m just not fond of roses,” he said.

Sookie glanced at Cain for help. This bastard forgot to tell her that Ethan hated roses. “I’m really sorry. I’ll go wash off this perfume right away. Excuse me.” She couldn’t wait to extricate herself from this situation.

Ethan snagged her arm. “Graystone will show you to the powder room. I’d like you to wait for me in my chamber afterward.”

Her blood ran cold. Being alone with this dangerous man was the prospect she dreaded. It was unavoidable. Technically, Ethan Hunter was her husband. She prayed that he wasn’t a brute of a man. Cain was a bastard and a sadist. He had physically hurt her during her training. One time, Cain almost flipped out when she couldn’t remember Ethan’s mother’s name. Cain’s fist flew in her stomach, causing her to double over, retching. Cain never hit her face. He didn’t want to present damaged goods to his alpha.

Not trusting her own voice, she inclined her head and mouthed a silent thank you.

Graystone, a fierce-looking and formidable man like his alpha, offered his arm and escorted her to the lady’s room.

The Lunar Manor was built at the turn of the century with grandiosity in mind. The Gothic influence heavily oozed from its design: cathedral ceilings, gilded moldings, and intricate woodwork in every nook and cranny. It even boasted a grand staircase that led to the second floor. It was ornately carved by masters of the bygone era and looked as if it came straight from a movie set. If her situation wasn’t that dire, Sookie would love gawking at the place. She loved castles and this manor looked like one.

A few guests stopped their chattering to watch her with contempt and curiosity. Sookie pretended she didn’t see them. Cain told her werewolves weren’t fond of humans. Personally, she didn’t mind. She didn’t like werewolves either.

The beta walked her through a corridor and showed her the powder room. The floor was covered with plush carpeting that muted the sound of her heels.

The powder room looked fancier than her own home. “This is the restroom?” Sookie asked just to make sure.

He acknowledged her with a faint nod. Graystone seemed also a man of few words apparently. She hadn’t seen him talking at all.

She pushed the door and was relieved that it was empty. She put down her purse and turned on the hot water. When she looked at herself in the mirror, her face was bloodless pale. If she didn’t wear lipstick, people would think she was sick.

With a hand pressed against the pit of her stomach, she took several shuddering breaths, chanting a calming mant

ra in her head. She was feeling sick earlier. She almost lost her wits. It was a miracle that she was able to hold herself together.

You have to do this.

For Jesse...

Sookie took her time, washing traces of the perfume from her neck and shoulders that she had dabbed on a little earlier. She guessed a wolfman like Ethan had a sharp sense of smell. She wondered if he could sense her fear. Even though she found him scary, he was more cordial than his jerk cousin.

She was surprised that Graystone still waited for her in front of the powder room. “Sorry,” she muttered as the beta herded her to the alpha’s chamber.

She started getting cold feet.

Would he demand sex from her? After all she was his wife. She dreaded the prospect. Not because Ethan was homely or something. It was the opposite. Ethan was one hell of a good-looking man. He was the epitome of Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome; he was Adonis carved in flesh. Had they met in different circumstances, Sookie wouldn’t mind having a one-night stand with him.

Ethan himself was a sight to behold.

His towering height intimidated those around him and his sinewy bulk gave off a daunting presence that he wasn’t one to be trifled with. His eyes were the color of amber and his hair black as midnight. He was clad impeccably in a black bespoke suit with a black shirt, black tie, and black shoes. She guessed his favorite color was black.

Graystone opened the double French doors that revealed a tastefully furnished room. Unlike the rest of the mansion that was heavily influenced by gothic décor, Ethan’s chamber seems like something out of a decorating magazine. Whomever Ethan had hired as his interior designer had done a great job. Painted with a masculine color scheme and fitted out with modern furniture, Ethan’s private sanctum looked classy.

Still mum, Graystone pointed to where she should sit. He then excused himself and closed the doors for privacy. The dread intensified. Sookie felt as if she was waiting for her execution. She’d never been this nervous in her life.

She wound her way to an ottoman near the fireplace and sat.