Her widowed Lycan

Asking his help

*Michael*

Miss Tempest has been on my mind all through the night and into the morning, which is damn annoying. So, I decided to spend the day attending to business.

After a meeting with my business associate and a laid-back meal at The Silverthorn, my favorite club, I hail a cab and ask the driver to drop me at the edge of Tempest's territory. I feel like a walk before heading back home.

I pause for a while, observing the construction work expanding the area. The hammering, grunts of workers, occasional orders shouted, and the creaking of wheelbarrows all form a symphony of sounds suggesting growing wealth and power.

These sounds take me back to my childhood when I accompanied my father to the coal mines to comprehend the workings of the legacy that would one day be mine. I remember going down into the labyrinth of tunnels, even swinging a pickaxe a few times, relishing the strength of my muscles, the hard work, and the focus required to avoid accidents.

The pressure of living up to my father’s expectations faded as the target of my pickaxe became my only focus.

I put the same effort into finding a wife, falling too quickly and too deep. I remember feeling thankful that my father wasn’t around to see the mess I made of that endeavor.

“Where women are concerned, always think with your big head, not your little one,” my father used to advise, adding, “Females can be manipulative wenches.”

My mother taught him that lesson, as he openly admitted. They were barely married for six months when my sister, the Luna of Fairhaven, was born, suggesting my father, too, was tricked.

I never saw any love between my parents. Their mutual disdain turned our home into a cold place. I think my father was relieved when I was born; it gave him an excuse to stay away from my mother's bed.

I should have learned from their mistakes. Maybe then I would have seen that I was bound to repeat my father’s blunder in choosing a wife. I know I will have to marry again to secure the lineage, but next time, I plan to treat it like a business deal, with a list of required qualifications. No brown doe-like eyes, no warm, welcoming smile. Nothing that could lure my heart from its fortified state.

Just like a dog shaking off water after a swim, I shake off these gloomy thoughts as I reach my home. The walk hasn't done much to lift my spirits. Regret is always a hard road to travel.

Unlocking and opening my door, I freeze as Mrs. Bennett rushes out of my living room. I wasn't expecting her. She usually leaves after cleaning up my lunch. There was no need for her today, so she should have left by now. "Is something wrong, Mrs. Bennett?"

"No, sir. I just wanted to let you know that Miss Tempest stopped by. She wants to talk." She says.

I furrow my brow, unsure if I heard right. She has no reason to visit me, especially after our last bitter encounter. "Miss Tempest?"

"Yes, sir. She owns the bookshop on the high street." She explains.

"I know who she is." I say.

She nods. "Well, sir, she came by earlier, as I was finishing up."

I wonder what she could possibly want. "You could have left me a note, Mrs. Bennett."

"I thought it was too important. I wanted to tell you in person." She says.

"While I appreciate your dedication, a note will suffice in the future. There's no need to wait for me. I could have been out all night." Not that I have done that for a while. I pull out a coin for her from my pocket.

She shakes her head. "Oh no, I insist."

"Please, your dedication deserves more gratitude." I had already paid for her daily services before I left.

After she finally accepts my offering, I escort her to the door and wish her a good day.

Driven by curiosity, I soon leave the house myself. Upon reaching the shop, I open the door, step across the threshold, and am hit with a wave of disappointment. A young woman with hair like wheat stands behind the counter. She is not the one I was hoping to see. No, it's not a matter of want. Want implies desire, and I most definitely do not harbor any feelings like that for Miss Tempest.

The young woman greets me with a radiant smile. "How can I assist you, sir?"

It hadn't crossed my mind that Miss Tempest might not be here. Still, among the musty scent of books she has meticulously arranged around the room, I detect her scent, a blend of oranges and a fragrance uniquely hers. "Could you let Miss Tempest know that Mr. Solman stopped by when she returns?"

Her face lights up further, as if her sole purpose is to please me. "Oh, she is here. Upstairs in the reading parlor."

The thought of her having a reading parlor in her shop doesn't surprise me. I picture her curled up in a large, plush chair.

The clerk continues to smile brightly. "You can go up, if you would like."

I suspect that Miss Tempest has played a role in educating this shopgirl, generously imparting her own knowledge to improve others' lives. "Thank you."

I quickly ascend the stairs, taking them two at a time, not because I'm eager to see Miss Tempest, but out of curiosity only.

At the top of the stairs is a small hallway. Another staircase leads further up. I assume it leads to her living quarters, where a light often spills from the window late into the night.

Refocusing my attention to the reason I'm here, I walk towards an open door on my right and stop in my tracks. She is sitting in a large chair, her posture perfect. A dozen or so children are gathered at her feet, all as captivated as I am. She is reading Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, her voice taking on the characters' roles. I'm familiar with the story; I have read it to my niece.

Despite not being deeply involved in my life, Miss Tempest has somehow become a part of it. Otherwise, I would be able to stop thinking about her, from wondering what she's doing when she's not within my sight. It seems She is entertaining children.

She looks up from the book, her gaze landing on me, as strong as a punch. Her mouth curves into a radiant smile, like she has just found her savior. I should leave immediately, but I can't move, held in place by an invisible force.

"Mrs. Byng, would you kindly take over the reading?" she asks, not breaking eye contact with me, as if afraid I might vanish.

A red-haired woman seems surprised by the request. "Miss Tempest, I don't read nearly as well as you."

"You read perfectly well, Mrs. Byng, and I'm sure the children would appreciate a change in voice. I would be forever indebted." She says warmly.

"Nonsense," the young woman replies, rising from her chair. "It's I who owes you."

I ponder what her debt might be. Perhaps a book she bought on credit.

Miss Tempest rises with such elegance that she will put many of the Lunas I know to shame in the coming week. Few can match her grace. After passing the book to Mrs. Byng, she navigates around the children, patting a head here and there, before elegantly walking towards me. It's been a long time since I have been drawn to a woman. Despite wanting to be closer to her, I remain where I am.

"Mr. Solman, I assume you got my message." She sounds out of breath, as if she has run to me. I imagine how her breath might quicken under the influence of passion, under my touch, my body. I resent feeling a twinge of envy towards the man who would introduce her to such pleasures.

I nod slowly. "I did."

"Shall we?" She gestures to the hallway.

With a slight nod, I step back into it, and she follows. It's more shadowy here, and I contemplate the satisfaction of pulling her into a dark corner and claiming her slightly smiling mouth. Not where my mind should be. I nod towards the doorway. "You have a knack for bringing the story to life."

She raises an eyebrow, her smile turning playful. "A compliment? Next, you might even admit you like me."

"I don't dislike you, Miss Tempest." I point out.

"No? I wasn't sure after how things ended last night." She says, raising one of her perfect brows.

I sigh slightly. "I simply object to your pursuit of marrying a ranked man."

"Would you object if I was born on the right side of the blanket?" She asks.

"Your birth circumstances are irrelevant. You are chasing a title, and behind that title is a man." I point out.

"Who will probably be after my dowry." She crosses her arms, accentuating her breasts. My eyes shouldn't have lowered to appreciate the view, but they do, damn them. "Why do you care?"

Because they are perfect, just the right size to fill a man's palms without leaving him wanting more.

"Who I should marry?" She says.

.Right, we were discussing something else, not her perfect breasts. "I respect the high packs and men in particular. I don't like seeing men tricked into marriage or mate bond, no matter how attractive the trickster."

Now, she places her hands on her hips, the falling of her skirts suggesting a narrow waist and feminine hips. Miss Tempest has enticing curves.

"What made you think I would deceive someone to get a mate?" She sounds genuinely offended, then rolls her eyes. "The letter? I can admire a man, a relationship, without using what I know for deceit. Have you had a past encounter that made you distrust women?" She gives me a thorough once-over that makes me feel as if she's running her fingers over every inch of my skin. Sympathy fills her chocolate-colored eyes. "Did she break your heart?"

What Elise had done, how naive I had been, is not her business. "If I knew you wanted to argue and pry, I wouldn't have left my house."

She grimaces and closes her eyes. "I'm sorry. I wanted to ask you a favor, and I probably messed things up so much you will say no." When she opens her eyes, they reflect such sincerity that it might be hard to deny her, whatever she asks. "I hope you don't find me too forward, but I noticed last night, during the few minutes when you were actually paying attention to your book, that you seemed to read very quickly."

"As I said, I was educated. The first pack school." I mumble.

Her eyes widen slightly. "I see."

I don't know why I felt the need to impress her. Unwilling to elaborate, I feel foolish for mentioning it.

"Then you are perfect," she says.

I scoff. "I don’t believe 'perfect' has ever been used to describe me." Certainly not by Elise, at least not after we married. Before that, she had me prancing around like a peacock, thinking every part of me pleased her, when in reality, it was only my title that mattered to her.

"Well, for what I have in mind, you're perfect. My brother's secretary, Mr. Willoughby… you might have met him when you leased your residence as he handles those matters… and I hold an adult class every Monday and Wednesday. We focus on teaching reading. As my nights are going to become quite busy once I am introduced into pack Society, I wondered if you might be willing to take over for me when I'm not available." Her eyes full of hope.

Not on my life. Why would I want to spend more time with a title chaser than necessary? Even if she wouldn't be there, our paths would surely cross. The only favor I intend to do is for myself, and that involves keeping my distance. "I'm sorry. I fear I don’t have the patience for such a task."

"But it is so rewarding." She says, her face falling slightly.

"Do I look to be a man in need of rewards?" I huff.

She looks as if I have just kicked a puppy. Damn her for making me regret my harsh tone.

"To be honest, you struck me as a man of leisure who might be in want of a way to fill his hours and wouldn’t need recompense for the task." She says, straightening her back.

Her demeanor is that of a woman challenging a man. I am tempted to give in, to let her have the victory, but that would be madness. "I may be a man of leisure but that does not mean I don’t have responsibilities and duties that take up a good deal of my time."

"Excuse us, Miss Tempest."

Without hesitation, she steps closer to me, making way for the women and children leaving her parlor, bringing with her the alluring scent of oranges.

"Goodbye, Mrs. Byng. See you next Friday." She pats the heads of the children, bids farewell to the mothers, giving attention to each person, large and small, young and old, who walks by. Even the babies in arms receive a touch on the cheek or tip of the nose.

When everyone has left, she looks up at me, and I realize I haven’t stepped back, not even a little. I have stayed uncomfortably close, so close I can feel her warmth. My hand itches to reach up and cup her cheek, to see if it's as silky soft as it appears.

"My apologies, Mr. Solman." Her low voice is like whispered secrets. "Of course, you have important matters that require your attention. I do hope you will forgive my impertinence."

In that moment, I absurdly think that I could forgive her anything, and I understand with absolute certainty that she is a danger. She won’t use the letter to achieve her goal. She will use her sweet brown eyes, her luscious mouth, her perky breasts, her narrow waist, and most of all her kindness. In the end, some gentleman would fall without ever realizing he has been toppled. Such is her power.

I step back. "Good day to you, Miss Tempest." Then I stride down the hallway to the stairs and descend them as if hellhounds were on my heels.