Enchanted By The Wolf - Michele Hauf

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of his father.

      “She will be one of the Unseelie king’s daughters,” Etienne added with a hopeful lilt.

      One of them? How many daughters had he that the man could deal one out as a seal to the many bargains he may make?

      “Our breed gets along well with the sidhe,” Etienne tried. “Er, regarding when it comes to mating. And faeries are very often quite lovely. I don’t think you should worry about how she looks. And I have heard that wings can be quite—”

      Kir put up a hand to silence his principal. He needed to think about this. Sunday was two days away. He was captain of the enforcement team, alongside Jacques, who was the lieutenant. His job required he police the wolf packs in Paris, and it kept him busy much as a nine-to-five job would.

      He didn’t need a wife. He wouldn’t know what to do with a wife. If his own family’s history was any example—well, that was it; his family was no example of how to live and love in a happy, healthy relationship.

      Kir wasn’t prepared to welcome a woman into his home. Nor did he want to stop looking at other women. He didn’t want to stop having sex with other women. What must that be like to sleep with only one woman? For the rest of his life? And to be castigated by a wife for looking at another woman?

      Heart pounding, he caught his palm against his chest.

      “So it’s agreed, then,” Etienne finally said. “The ceremony is scheduled to begin at twilight. I’ll have my wife arrange all the necessary suits and whatever else is needed. All that wedding frippery, you know. You’re a good man, Kirnan. Thanks for doing this for pack Valoir. I’ve got to rush out now.”

      Etienne walked Kir to the door and down the hall to the front door of the nondescript concrete building the pack used as a headquarters. The principal flagged down his driver, who waited at the curb, and, with a wave, was off, leaving Kir standing on the sidewalk, hands hanging at his sides and jaw dropped open.

      Married in two days? To a woman he’d never met.

      Kir felt like the last one standing on the gym floor after all the rest had been chosen for sides. And he was the odd man out, not needed for either team, both of which stood on the sidelines laughing and pointing at him.

      And, to make matters worse, he had no one to confide in, no one to ask for guidance. His father he had not seen for a decade. His younger sister, Blyss—it had been years since she had been estranged from the pack. They spoke on the phone because she summered in the United States with her new husband. But she wouldn’t be interested in his dilemma. She had just given birth to a new baby and was busy with life and marriage.

      That left his mother, Madeline, whom he tolerated and begrudgingly respected at best.

      “Married?” he muttered.

      The clenching in his chest seized up his breath and he gripped his throat.

       Chapter 2

      The forest shivered with a warm midsummer breeze that seemed to sing in a language Kir recognized but could not interpret. It was a joyous sound, which helped to settle his crazy nerves. Overhead, thousands of tiny lights darted within the tree canopy. Faeries. Kir was surrounded by his pack and all sorts of sidhe. Jacques stood at his right side, shrugging his shoulders within the tight fit of the rental suit. The scion’s attention also wandered high to follow the flickering lights.

      The woods had glowed from afar as pack Valoir had arrived en masse. A stage set for a performance, waiting for him, one of the main players. Faeries had clasped Kir’s hand and bowed to him, greeting, acknowledging, surmising. He’d not been introduced to the Unseelie king and wasn’t sure the man was even here. Etienne had briefly introduced Kir to Brit, the harpie who had brought the deal to the table. She’d been stunning in a silver sheath that had revealed more than it hid.

      But it had all been a whirlwind since he’d arrived. Dozens of strange and interesting faces, elaborate and glamorous clothing and costume, delicious peach wine and tiny cakes that tasted either sweet or savory but was always too small to satisfy his fierce appetite. And the greetings and silent perusals. He hadn’t had time to think in the few hours that had passed since his arrival.

      Or to escape.

      And now he stood, knees locked and fingers flexing nervously at his sides. The suit was tight across his shoulders and it was hot. He wanted to scratch at the starched shirt collar but wasn’t sure his fingers could perform the move because they felt so far away and detached from his body.

      Kir couldn’t concentrate on the words the officiant spoke because beside him stood her. The woman soon to be named his wife. And after that they would dance and drink, and, well, he’d heard there was a honeymoon cabin erected not far from here.

      Something sweet, like flowers or fruit, or maybe even sugared fruit topped with flowers, tickled his nostrils. The petite woman who stood beside him, the crown of her head below his shoulders, smelled like dessert.

      He did like dessert.

      He didn’t want to like her. Because that would mean he was cool with this stupid agreement. One that stuck him with a woman he didn’t know or want.

      For the rest of his life.

      Werewolves could live three centuries or more. That was a hell of a long time to spend with one woman. Especially a woman he had not chosen.

      He wanted to look down—the top of her head was capped with flowers and fluttery butterflies that seemed to hold the veil in place—but he dared not make the blatant once-over with the audience behind him. He’d remain stoic and say all the right things. His pack was watching. He was doing this for them. They had better appreciate his sacrifice.

      The ceremony officiant rambled on about loving the other until death did part them and enduring magic most vile and exquisite through eternity.

      Vile magic? What the...?

      Kir closed his eyes. His heart did a weird dive and then free-fell within his rib cage. It didn’t land with a splat, though, because something distracted his imaginary death-dive. She smelled really good. His mouth actually watered, and he cursed inwardly for not having eaten all day. Too nervous.

      There would be food later. And drink.

      There was not enough whiskey in this realm to get him to the point where he could accept this situation.

      Behind him, he felt the gentle sweep of wings as the woman beside him shifted on her feet. As she’d walked down the aisle, she had worn a long sheer pink veil over her head that fell over her body and to her bare feet. Her feet were decorated with bright arabesque violet designs, like some kind of mehndi artwork. Her wings were unfurled to display gorgeous violet and red gossamer with darker shading in the veins. Her hair was dark. He could see that much beneath the veil. But he could not determine if she was pretty.

      They’d wrapped her up as if she were a gift, and he didn’t like it.

      Suddenly feeling as though he was forgetting something important, Kir lifted his chin and focused as the officiant announced the twosome had been joined in matrimony by the authority of the Unseelie court. And later they must seal that promise by bonding.

      What a way to start a marriage.

      When he had, at the last minute, thought he’d need to buy a ring for his new bride, the liaison harpie, who had arrived early to ensure the details had been handled properly, stated rings were an offense. Mortal metals must never be worn by the sidhe. All that was required was that the two bond as Faery decreed.

      A ring would have been so much easier.

      “Join hands,” the officiant announced. “And bind yourselves to one another.”

      What? Right here? The bonding? Kir looked over his shoulder and caught Etienne’s eye. The elder wolf nodded. And beside him stood his mother,

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