Cheated by his mate

*Blake* I love she-wolves. Tall, short, plump, slender. Young and not so young. I love them all. I love most whichever she-wolf is presently keeping me company. I teasingly refer to this one as Fancy, because she is a fancy bit of work. The illegitimate daughter of an Alpha, she intends to follow in her mother's footsteps and seek out a protector. While she is well aware I will not accommodate her in that regard, she knows my notorious reputation well enough to be assured I will provide her with an education in pleasure that will see her in good stead. The numerous weeks of secret trysts have not been in vain. She now possesses talented hands and a wicked mouth that have kept me pleasantly occupied until dawn. “I'm going to miss you so frightfully much," she says, fanning her ebony hair out over the pillow, stretching languorously across the rumpled bed in a spartan room of the tavern where she joined me last evening. “You will be warming another man’s bed before nightfall,” I say distractedly, standing at the window, buttoning my scarlet jacket. I think it should bother me that her silence acknowledges the truth: We mean little more to each other than an evening’s delightful entertainment. I never promise a she-wolf more than I can deliver, never take one to my bed without her clear understanding that she will never have me beyond the sheets. I am grateful Fancy isn’t making a fuss, that she is already acknowledging I will no longer be in her life. Change is in the wind and I welcome its arrival. Exhilaration thrums through my veins at the prospect of the escapades awaiting me once I depart this room. From my vantage point two flights up, I can see the crowds lining the street, can hear their raised voices as they sing along while the regimental band pounds out the tune. With an excitement vibrating on the air as the sun peers over the horizon, the wolf soldiers march through in an undisciplined style that will be overlooked by their superiors. Who can blame them for their heady anticipation as they make their way to the railway station and the first leg of a journey that will deliver them to the Crimea and the war against the dire wolves? Adventure awaits. Honor. And Russian she-wolves. I can delay no longer. It is long past time I join them. I cross over to the bed and plant a lingering kiss on Fancy’s luscious mouth: plump lips that excel at bringing a man unbridled pleasure. When I draw back, I give her a devilish grin. “Thanks, darling, for the lovely farewell." “Take care of yourself. When you return?” I touch her lips, silencing a promise that neither of us will be destined to keep. “Your allegiance will be to your protector. With my leaving, our time together is past. But I shall never forget you, Fancy, or the jolly good fun we had." “I have no doubt you say that to all the she-wolves.” I do not deny her accusation. It is the most precious gift I give each of my paramours: the belief that she is the one I will reminisce about when the devil comes to collect me for my sins. Reaching up, she flattens her hand against my chest. “In my dreams you will continue to do wicked things to me." I give her my most dashing grin. "In mine as well." Then I kiss her again for good measure, before rushing out the door, down the stairs, and into the mass of people who are celebrating as though we have just claimed victory over the dire wolves rather than having only recently declared war on the blighters. The regiment has been preparing for their departure for some time now. Far too many new recruits, still fresh-faced and eager, confident that success in this campaign will come swiftly. “Captain!” a young man shouts at me, grabbing my attention. “Mathers." With long, confident strides, I fall into step beside him. The onlookers have taken up the tune of another ditty, somehow managing to cheer, clap, and wave at the same time, all with an enthusiasm that instills confidence and belief in their cause. Boys run alongside us, dreaming of the day when they can join us. Men clap our shoulders, reach out to shake our hands. She-wolves blow kisses at us. Ah, when we return victorious, doors to many a bedchamber will open for those who arrive to a hero’s welcome. I have never had any troubles in that regard, but surely coming back with tales of heroics will add a touch of spice to any flirtation, and will open the arms of the shyest of maiden she-wolves. “Was afraid you wouldn’t make it, Captain," Mathers shouts over the din. “What? And leave you to give the dire wolves sound beating all by yourself? Don‘t be daft, man." Mathers‘s rumbling laughter matches the boom of any cannon fire. He is a big, brawny brute, who looks more bear than wolf, who had toiled in the fields before setting aside his plow for a rifle. I am grateful that Mathers and others like him will be at my side in the coming months while we face whatever lies in store for us in the Crimea. “Blake!” The echo of the familiar feminine voice sends desire rippling through me. Leaving Mathers, I work my way through the cheering crowd to a brown-haired, green-eyed beauty waving her handkerchief at me. Taking her in my arms, I blanket her delectable mouth with mine before pulling her into the shadows between two buildings. “Miss Gwendolyn, I didn‘t expect to see you here today." She is breathing rapidly, as she has many times in my bed. Her flushed cheeks bring forth vivid images of the nights of pleasure we have shared. “I wanted to give you this. It carries my perfume." I bring the silk she has pressed against my palm to my nose, inhale, and close my eyes as though in rapture. “I shall always have heaven near." With a light laugh, she lifts herself onto her toes and kisses me quickly. My time is short. We both know it. “Please do be careful," she pleads. “When I have one such as you awaiting my return, how can I not be?" Kissing her once more, I leave her there with tears in her eyes while I shove my way through the throng to rejoin the marching troops. We are supposed to be disciplined, fierce; but we smile as though we are on our way to a party. Not so fearsome at the moment, but it will come. We will prevail, and swiftly. I hear another feminine voice calling my name. I spot Miss Katherine waving enthusiastically on the far side. I dart in and out between the soldiers, keeping an eye on her as she dashes between the people lining the streets, until she and I finally meet. Winding my arm around her, I hold her steady, protect her from the crush of bodies while I kiss her passionately, knowing that if her father were in the vicinity, he wouldn‘t approve. She is fun because of her rebellious spirit and her love of adventure. I suspect that, if it were allowed, she would be marching off with us. “A lock of my hair is in the locket," she says. I close my fingers around her offering, the heart-shaped locket with a gold chain threaded through it. “Then I will hold you near every night." “Please return home soon.” “With you waiting, I shall not delay my return a single minute longer than necessary." I gift her with a final kiss of farewell before stepping back into the stream of soldiers. I am washed along as though caught in a powerful flood. There is no stopping where it will go, what havoc it will wreak, what misery will remain in its wake. But no one thinks of the work ahead. We concentrate only on the rewards we will receive when it is all over. Accolades for a job well done. Service to a country and a queen we all love. Mayhem follows on our heels into the railway station. “Keep yer pecker up!" someone shouts. Laughter follows and another man yells, “Give ’em what for!" The support and enthusiasm are incredible. From the beginning, when the Lycan queen ascended to the throne, she has had her soldiers engaged in small skirmishes somewhere. But this one is different. From the moment war was declared the nation seems to come together as it hasn‘t since it faced down the Vampire king. The queen is not questioned. The jubilation has begun. All that remains is for the men being sent out to deliver a sound beating before returning home to warm fires and warmer she-wolves. “Blake!” I spin around at the commanding male voice I recognize as belonging to my younger half-brother, the Alpha prince of West Cliff. How is it that at only twenty two Barkley can exude such power and authority, so much more than I do? Perhaps because I have always preferred play to responsibility, while Barkley has determinedly taken up the reins his father dropped upon his death. He has always held them with a steady hand and a confidence lacking in most men twice his age. I had not expected my family to see me off, but there they are. My mother, the present Princess of West Cliff, not yet a dower as her youngest still has not taken a mate. Barkley. My older brother, the Alpha of Moonshadow, and his Luna, the lovely Madelyn. Other than my mother, she is the only she-wolf I have ever loved. I would do anything to assure her happiness. It has taken me a while to accept that the honor belongs to my brother which is how it should be, when all is said and done and my feelings have untangled themselves. She is more sister than lover to me. But a corner of my heart will always be reserved for her. “Surely, you all have something better to do at this ungodly hour of the morning than deal with this maddening crowd," I say flippantly. I have given them enough worry during my life. I don’t want them to view my departure as anything other than a fun adventure. Even I refuse to acknowledge that it could be more difficult than anticipated. My mother’s arms are around me before the last of my words are spoken. “You’re going to give me more gray hairs," she chastises lovingly. She credits me with every one that now peppers her black hair. But at forty-five, she still cuts a fine figure. She was sixteen when she married her first husband, the seventh Alpha of Moonshadow. She gave him two sons before he died: Bryant, the present Alpha, and then me. Us brothers, however, look nothing alike. Bryant is dark and sinister in appearance, while I am fair and playful, seeming not to give a care about anything. Life is to be embraced, enjoyed, and explored. It is what my family has always expected of me, and if I believe in nothing else, I believe in living up to expectations. Leaning back, she studies me, her brown eyes searching my blue ones. “There‘s no reason for you to go. I have influence in very high places." I have no doubt. Her second husband, the eighth Alpha prince of West Cliff, was a very powerful man. She had made sure his authority rubbed off on her. Who could blame her? Her first had left her nearly destitute. She has done everything necessary to ensure she never again finds herself in a situation that leaves her with no control. “I have been accused of lacking character,” I drawl. I don't blame my family, or anyone else for that matter, for not looking below my surface. It's such an enticing surface, after all. Besides, I take nothing too seriously. “What better way to build it than by defeating a few dire wolves?” “But Bryant has forgiven you for your little prank." She glances back at her eldest son. “Haven’t you?" The little prank, as my mother refers to it, involved being caught in bed with Bryant's mate. With Madelyn. My brother gives a brusque nod. I can't help but smile. “I do hope the Goddess offers me forgiveness with a bit more enthusiasm, otherwise I will never get through those pearly gates." Bryant laughs at that. He sees the humor in things much more often now that he and Madelyn have reconciled. “You're not getting into heaven any more than I am." Madelyn scowls at him and teasingly slaps his arm. It's good to see her so comfortable with her mate now. She had once been terrified of him. She moves past Bryant and embraces me. “Of course he has forgiven you. And you will get into heaven.” I doubt it. I might be on a mission to build character, but I have no plans to stop sinning while doing it. Still, I hug her tightly. When she finally relinquishes her hold on me, I hold out my hand to Bryant. “No hard feelings." Bryant grabs my hand and tugs me near, wrapping his other arm around me, clapping me on the back. “Don't get yourself killed." “Wouldn't dare dream of it.” Then only Barkley remains. The baby brother who has never accepted his role as the youngest. There are times when he appears to be even older than Bryant. Not in looks, but in behavior. He's far too responsible for his own good. “Take care of yourself, Puppy," Barkley says. “Damnation. I hate it when you call me that." It always makes me feel as though I'm the youngest, which I know is Barkley's intent. He has always admonished me to grow up. It grows quite tedious after a while, especially as I have no plans to change my self-indulgent behavior. Barkley nods to signify it's the very reason he uses the term, squeezes my hand, and slaps me hard on the shoulder. “Get back here as soon as you can." “This is nothing to worry over. I will be home in time for Christmas." The train whistle sounds, harsh and loud. “I must be off." I hug my mother fiercely one last time, before rushing to board the train that will carry me toward my destiny.