Werewolf fairytales

Dreaming of a prince

*Paisley*

As if he’d read my mind, he says, “I want to hear more about Rodney.” I should never… never… have told Theo about Rodney. Somehow, during these nocturnal tête-à-têtes, it’s hard to keep secrets, and Theo had already guessed I’m running from someone.

“Well… he has a tendency to start braying when he’s nervous,” I offer, feeling a wicked delight in betraying my former betrothed.

Theo nods. “I know the type. I think it goes along with the English ancestry. I expect he hunts, and delights in shouting absurdities like tallyho.”

“I expect so,” I say. I can’t help but conjure a mental picture of Rodney sitting on his horse in that red hunting coat that makes his buttocks look four times wider than they actually are. Involuntarily, my eyes drop to Theo’s legs.

They are all muscle, as different from Rodney’s as night from day.

“Are you comparing us?” His voice has gone low and husky.

My nerves jolt again, but I nod. I can’t lie to Theo any longer, now we are so close. Friends, or perhaps even something more. “You are very different.”

“Perhaps because he’s an Alpha’s legitimate son.” He doesn’t say it bitterly.

“He’s always had everything he wanted, but that doesn’t excuse his fat bottom,” I observe.

He looks at me, a question in his eyes, “Was he really seven when he fell in love with you?”

“He was nine. I was seven.” I mumble.

“Astounding,” Theo says, staring at me as if I were some sort of exhibit in a traveling show.

I catch back a smile and toss my head. “Are you saying, Mr. Theodon, that I was not desirable at age seven?”

“You are as pretty as a fairy-tale princess,” he says, his voice suddenly husky. “I’m quite certain that you were just as enchanting at age seven.”

“I actually used to dream of being in a fairy story,” I admit.

“Vanity, thy name is she-wolf!” Theo says, pulling a strand of my hair.

“Not from vanity. I always pictured a prince who would ride up on a white horse. I’d be there, in the village square, and he would sweep across and wrap his arm around me and pull me before him in the saddle.”

Theo’s eyebrow is up. “That would take quite a bit of skill. The story would be so disappointing if you took a hoof to the head. Was the prince wearing shining armor, by any chance?”

“Naturally,” I confirm.

“Near impossible,” Theo says. “Scoop a she-wolf…” he pulls back and gives me a quick inspection from head to toe, “… who’s no lightweight onto a horse while wearing armor?”

“My prince,” I say loftily, “would have had no problem with the feat. He considered me as light as a feather.” I give him a look akin to the one he has given me. “That was thanks to his physique, you understand.”

Theo bursts out laughing and then stops suddenly when Jonas flutters his eyelashes.

“You have no romance in your soul,” I say. I lean back against the sofa and sigh. “It was only very recently that I realized the fairy story had more to do with escaping Rodney than being carried off by an acrobatic prince.”

Theo leans over and peers at Jonas. “Fast asleep.”

“I should bring him back to the nursery. I think he sleeps better in his cradle.”

“No, he sleeps better in your lap.” There’s a note in his voice that transforms a simple comment into something altogether different.

I can feel my cheeks turning pink. Maybe he will lean over… maybe he will kiss me. I can almost feel his lips on mine.

But not quite.

So I stand up, and together, in the darkness, we make our way back to the nursery. Theo stands next to me, watching silently, as I gently tuck Jonas back into his cradle.

When I straighten and turn around, he’s there, just before me. His head bends, slowly, and his lips slip along my cheek. I stay still, my heart beating in my throat, willing his lips to touch mine.

“I shouldn’t be doing this,” he says, low and sweet.

He is looking down at me with velvet dark eyes. He is too beautiful for me, too sophisticated, too princely…

“Yes, you should,” I say.