Page 46 of A Lady’s Guide to Werewolves

Aidan released her abruptly. Then he ducked under the willow branches and stalked back to Freya, who waited, looking deeply unperturbed. Almost bored. Sorcha followed him, more slowly. The kiss still rampaged through her body, stealing all sense.

“You hurt her,” Aidan accused Freya. There were duels waiting to be fought in his voice.

Freya shrugged. “Magic is magic.”

“You won’t do that again,” he said roughly.

Freya smiled, but it was sharp. “Interesting.”

“Not interesting,” Aidan corrected her. “Fact.”

Her eyes narrowed, no longer bored. “Careful, Coventry.”

Aidan did not look as though he intended to take that advice. He did not look polite or restrained. He looked positively feral.

Sorcha touched his arm. Her witch knot felt burned and bruised. “Aidan.”

He turned toward her. He might not be wearing the wolf, but the wolf was wearing him. It called to her. Drew her in. She could not look away. Especially not when she could still feel his mouth on hers.

“I’m fine,” she said. “A kelpie bite hurts far more.”

“When did a damn kelpie bite you?” he demanded. He was distracted, if not exactly the way she had planned. His brows lowered.

Freya listened as though they were the most fascinating play on Drury Lane. And then abruptly she waved her hand. “Go on,” she said. “I have things to attend to. And so do you.”

Sorcha wondered if all wolves practiced that grim and forbidding tone. Because it was very effective. But still not quite enough to stop the yawn that pulled at her. She suddenly felt as if all of her bones had turned to rusted iron and cathedral stone. She could as easily move a mountain as move her legs. The kiss had burned everything away, the curse, the pain, but now she was a field after harvest. She was dry soil, aching backs, blistered hands.

Aidan watched her carefully. “I should warn you.”

She closed her eyes. “There’s more?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“What is it?” She was weaving on her feet. She’d never been so tired in all of her life.

“My mark protects you among the wolves.”

“Oh. All right.”

“But it’s not enough. They have to know you’re mine, no matter what magic touches you. Not just wolves, but witches too.”

“So what does that mean?”

His voice went deep, soft. “It means we’re betrothed now, songbird.”

Sorcha blinked owlishly. Had he just said betrothed? That couldn’t be right. The Earl of Coventry would never marry her. Even if he kissed like he might like to.

“It’s the only way to safeguard your secret if you’re going to meddle.”

“Oh.” She yawned again, even though this seemed important. “Congratulations?”

He sighed, nearly smiling. Then he turned to Freya. “Freya?” he said sharply.

She sighed and flicked her hand toward Sorcha.

Sorcha’s eyes rolled into the back of her head and she dropped. The last thing she felt was Aidan catching her in his arms before she hit the ground.

Aidan woke drenched in sweat, as always.

A village tormented by a wolf. Claw marks in a broken door. Blood on sharp teeth. A woman weeping.