Alphas prefer fiesty Lunas

Hair and promises

*Freya*

I suddenly feel my anger dissolve into pity. What on earth has happened to this man that has made him so hard, so cruel? "Haven't you ever loved anyone?" I ask quietly.

Zac looks up sharply at my soft question and seems surprised to see true concern in my eyes. "And have you loved so many that you're an expert?" He counters in an equally soft voice.

"Not like that," I say pointedly. "But I will. Someday, I will. And until then, I have my father, and Uncle Damon and Aunt Norah, and Angel and River. I couldn't ask for a more wonderful family, and I love them all dearly. There's absolutely nothing I wouldn't do for them.".

"I know you have a family," I continue, remembering my encounter with his sister. "Don't you love them?"

"Yes, I do." His expression softens for the first time this evening, and I can't miss the love in his eyes when he thinks of his family. He chuckles softly. "Maybe you are correct. It seems that there are a few she-wolves in the world who are worthy of love. Unfortunately, I seem to be rather closely related to all of them."

"I think you're frightened," I say daringly.

He raises a brow, "I hope you intend to explain that comment."

"You're scared. It's far easier to shut yourself off from people than to love them. If you keep your heart surrounded by strong walls, no one can get close enough to you to break it. Don't you agree?" I look up into his eyes and am startled by his intent gaze. Cursing myself for a coward, I look away. "You…see…" I stammer, fighting to keep the courage I need to speak to him in such a forward manner. "I can tell that you're not a bad person. You obviously care for your family very deeply, so you must be capable of love. You're just afraid to make yourself vulnerable."

*Zac*

I am stunned by both her soft lecture and its discomforting accuracy. Her quiet words make me extremely uneasy. Doesn't she realize that her tender words can tear through my armor far more effectively than any sword? Suddenly uncomfortable, I decide to change the subject before she has another chance to unsettle me.

"You still haven’t told me why you were out and about dressed as a servant this afternoon," I say abruptly.

Freya is clearly startled by the sudden turn in the conversation, and the sharpness of my voice rouses her ire once again. "Whyever would I explain my actions to you?"

"Because I insist that you do so." I say.

"What? You must be joking!" She splutters. "You... overbearing, arrogant, unscrupulous..."

"Once again..." I cut in smoothly. "I find myself in admiration of your vast vocabulary."

"There are quite a few more where those came from," Freya says between clenched teeth.

I sigh, "I don’t doubt it for an instant."

"Why, you insufferable, odious..." She growls.

"Here we go again," I mumble.

"...PIG!" Freya claps her hand to her face clearly realizes what she just said, and she starts to shake silently with laughter. She simply can’t help herself, it’s clear to see. Sitting on her soft white quilt in a most unladylike manner, she hugs her bent legs to herself and bows her head as she laughs, her body rocking uncontrollably as she tries to contain her mirth. The complete ludicrousness of her situation has suddenly been brought home to her, and though she must know she ought to do something like swoon, she simply can’t help but be utterly amused.

I regard Freya’s laughter with surprise. That a she-wolf can actually find humor in her compromising position... it is inconceivable! But I soon find that her mirth is infectious. My rich chuckle joins her silent laughter as I watch her pale, delicate shoulders rise and fall with each giggle.

My chuckle proves to be Freya’s undoing, and she explodes into a loud, throaty laughter. Unable to keep a tight rein on her shaking body any longer, she acts just as she would have done if it had been, for instance, Angel in the room instead of the Alpha of Avalon, and she flops out onto her back, legs hanging over the side of the bed.

I watch her with fascination. Spread out on the bed, with her flaming hair fanned out against the pale sheets, she seems not to notice me. Lost in her laughter, she is primitive and without artifice, completely oblivious to my hungry gaze.

I think she is magnificent.

How am I ever going to keep my hands off of her?

*Freya*

"Oh my," I gasp, finally emerging from my fit of laughter. I am fighting for breath, trying desperately to contain myself. I place one hand on my heaving chest as I regain control. "Whatever must you think of me?"

"I think..." Zac pauses as he crosses the room in quick strides and perches himself at the foot of my bed. "...that you are beautiful."

I pull my legs back onto the bed and shrink back against the headboard. His silken voice melts my limbs, and I am terrified by my reaction to him. I have to put as much room as possible between myself and the dangerously handsome man who has snuck into my bedroom. "Beauty is only skin deep," I quip, trying to relieve the tension that hangs in the air.

"Very astute," Zac says with a nod. "Allow me to rephrase myself. I think that you are splendid."

Joy shoots through me like ten thousand tiny flames, and my body tingles with strange, unfamiliar feelings. All I know is that Zac’s presence affects me in ways I do not understand, and I am almost frightened.

Zac catches my timid gaze. "My dear Freya," he begins.

I suddenly feel the need to assert myself and regain some self-confidence, which he has washed away. I straighten my back with false bravado. "I am certainly not your dear Freya," I say primly.

"Really? Then whose dear Freya are you?" He asks.

"What an absurd question."

"Not at all. Because..." He catches my unshod foot and begins to massage it. "...if you don’t belong to anyone else yet, I think I might make you mine."

I gasp as his hands continue to knead the muscles in my foot. I have never dreamed that a touch to my foot could send sensations up to my stomach, I think frantically as I pull at my leg to escape his grasp. My struggles only seem to strengthen his resolve, and his strong, tanned hands move upward under the hem of my skirt to my calf. I unconsciously wet my lips as delicious spasms of pleasure shoot up my leg.

"Feels good, doesn’t it?" He grins.

"No, I don’t think I like it at all," is my strangled reply.

"Oh?" Zac asks innocently. "Then I’ll just have to try harder." His hands lazily move upward until he is touching the soft flesh just above my knee. "Do you like that?" At my dazed expression, he continues. "No? Perhaps then a kiss."

Before I have any chance to react, he tugs at my feet and pulls me down so that I am lying on my back. He stretches out beside me, the hard length of his body pressing into my side. Cupping my chin with his strong hand, he pulls my face to his and his lips gently meet mine.

"No," I whisper weakly. I don’t understand how this man came to be in my bedroom or how he came to be lying on my bed, but most of all, I do not understand why my body suddenly feels like it was about to go up in flames.

"Just one kiss," Zac moans against my mouth, his voice thick with desire. "If you say no after one kiss, I'll stop. I promise."

I don’t say a thing, simply letting my eyelids flutter shut as his tongue traces the outline of my lips. That delicate touch proves to be my undoing, and my body responds shamelessly. I snake my arms around the back of his neck and press my hips instinctively into his. Moaning slightly, I part my lips, barely conscious of my own movements.

Zac takes full advantage of my reaction and presses his tongue into my mouth immediately, searching its inner depths. "Dear Goddess, you're sweet," he murmurs huskily. He plunges back into my mouth, pressing and probing. I meet this intimate caress with an ardor I had never dreamed I possess, one hand grasping at the silken fullness of his thick hair, the other roaming over the hard muscles of his back.

Zac groans as my touch ignites him. His mouth never leaving mine, he moves and covers my body with his own, pressing me hotly into the mattress. I moan passionately at this new intimacy, and the sound increases his ardor. "Who would have thought such a little thing would be so passionate?" he murmurs as his lips softly trail down my soft, white neck.

I shiver with desire. "What are you doing to me?" I ask huskily.

Zac’s chuckle comes from deep in his throat as his lips return to mine. "I’m making love to you, my sweet. And you feel like you do..." His hand snakes up to close over my breast, and I gasp at the stark heat that pours through the satin of my dress and burns my skin. "...because you want me every bit as much as I want you."

"That’s not true," I say shakily, but I know I am lying even as the words tumble from my mouth.

Zac’s lips move across my face to nibble on my earlobe. "Ah, my dear Freya, have they turned you into a prim English miss already?"

I can feel his warm breath in my ear as he speaks, but nothing could have prepared me for the onslaught of desire I feel when his tongue suddenly darts out and begins to caress me. "Ahh." I sigh, unable to prevent myself from murmuring my pleasure.

Zac only grins. "Don’t be ashamed of what you’re feeling, Freya. Never feel ashamed. It’s completely natural. There is nothing bad or evil about it, regardless of what pack society matrons may say."

"I wasn’t exactly told such feelings were bad in and of themselves," my voice is shaking. "I was just told they were bad unless you were mated."

Zac grimaces at the M word, and his desire seems to recede slightly. "I wouldn’t look to me for a mate and marriage, if I were you," he chides me gently.

"I wasn’t!" I retort, pulling away from him.

"Good!" He says.

I scoff, "I would never marry you."

"That’s very convenient for you because I don’t recall asking you to." He mumbles.

I am fuming. "I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last man on earth!" I pause for a second as I ponder what is clearly an overused cliché. "Well, maybe if you were the last man on earth, but only then!"

Zac seems to decide he loves my obvious common sense.

"But seeing as how you’re not the last man on earth," I continue. "Which is more than obvious considering the fact that I have got a whole ballroom full of eligible bachelors just downstairs..."

Zac’s mouth quickly draws together in a grim line.

"...I think you should leave right now."

"I disagree."

"I don’t care."

"We seem to be at a standstill here," Zac drawls. "I wonder who will win."

"I haven’t any doubt of the outcome," I say bravely. "Get out of my room!"

Zac raises his eyebrows at my ire. His seeming indifference only serves to inflame me further. "Now!" I explode.

He rises to his feet and straightens his coat. "If there’s one thing I’ve learned," he comments caustically, "it’s never to argue with a screaming she-wolf."

I immediately pout. "I wasn’t screaming. I never scream."

"Oh?"

"I was merely raising my voice."

"For your sake, I hope you weren't screaming," Zac says. "Because the last thing we need is your family rushing in. Especially now that we have clearly established our lack of desire to be married to one another."

"Oh, damn," I sigh.

"Such language," Zac chides.

"Oh, do be quiet. The last thing I need is a lecture from you," I spring to my feet and smooth the violet folds of my dress with my hands. "Do I look presentable?" I ask, my eyes wide with need for reassurance. "I don't want to embarrass my family."

"Quite frankly, you look like you've just been kissed. And rather soundly, too."

I groan as I rush to my mirror to inspect the damage. Zac is right. My face is flushed, and tendrils of hair have escaped my barrette and float seductively around my face. "Well, at least it shouldn't be too difficult to fix my hair. Meg tried absolutely forever to get it to conform to the latest styles, but I finally managed to convince her that this was simpler, more comfortable, and more flattering."

"Don't tell me you actually have a maid named Meg."

"Yes, well, it's difficult to be overly creative when one has just gotten oneself whacked in the head," I struggle valiantly to contain my thick hair in the barrette.

"Allow me," Zac purrs as he moves to stand behind me. I am shocked when he picks up my hairbrush and begins to stroke my hair softly, sweeping it up atop my head.

I shake my head, "I won't even ask where you learned to dress hair."

"You probably shouldn't." He grins.

"You have scores of mistresses, I'm sure."

"You've been gossiping about me," he accuses.

"Only a little," I admit.

"How unfair of you. I didn't even know your true name," he plucks the barrette from my fingers and deftly secures my hair into place.

"Well, now you do," I comment, unable to think of anything more interesting to say.

"So I do," Zac replies, for much the same reason.

The two of us pause, simply watching the other tentatively. I finally break the silence. "But you mustn't act as if you know me. I wouldn't want anyone to suspect anything untoward."

"Of course. Although you can be sure that I will seek out a proper introduction as soon as possible. And then you will have a fine time avoiding me."

"Not for want of trying, I'm sure," the insulting words tumble out before I can stop them, but Zac only laughs softly.

"You do have a charming wit, my dear Freya," his head quickly swoops down as he places a quick kiss on my surprised lips. "Now go on and return to your ball. I won't follow you for at least a quarter of an hour."

I rush to the door, opening it, and slipping into the hallway. Pausing briefly, I stick my head back into her bedroom. "Promise?"

Zac chuckles. "Promise."