Betrayed by his Luna

Out of fear

*Madelyn*

I wander through the residence. I hadn't taken the time before Bryant's arrival because I hadn't wanted to be caught snooping, so I waited for him in the library. But now, alone again, I want to get some sense of my mate.

He has an eye for finely crafted furniture, but everything appears haphazardly arranged. In the parlor, I move a large lamp from a small table to a sturdier one. Then I place a miniature statuette on the first table. Such a small adjustment, but it balances the room a bit. Why do I care anyway? I'm not going to be staying. He's made that perfectly clear. I should leave tonight, but where the deuce would I go? My father doesn't have a residence in London. He abhors the city. I will have to give serious thought to my next plan. But not tonight. I'm so weary, yet I'm fairly certain I won't be able to sleep.

Hence my aimless wandering. What strikes me the most about the residence is that there are no family portraits. I suppose they are all at the estate. The occasional painting here depicts a dog. The most poignant one shows a dog curled up beside a casket. I don't know why I'm so troubled by it, why my mate enjoys such gloomy images.

This residence possesses a loneliness that seems to settle over everything. I push a small sofa nearer the fireplace, to create a sitting area that's a little cozier, then wonder why I bother. It's my nature, I suppose. I've done the same with the manor. I want each room to welcome and embrace its occupants.

I go to move a chair and stop myself. "Leave it," I mutter. "Once you truly begin, you will be here all night, and you have no idea when Bryant will return."

Or if he even would. I have handled everything so poorly. It's time to consider another plan. But there are so few options. I had considered them all when Beth had first approached me about providing her with a mating Season. Our mother had died, no other she-wolf would tolerate our father's ill temper.

I had suggested our cousin Chastity, who had married in December.

"She's with child and won't be in London," Beth had informed me.

"You might ask Bryant's mother, the Princess of West Cliff." I then tried.

"She's scandalous. Word is that she's taken up with an artist. She won't have time for me."

Who remained? Certainly not the aunt who had raised us. Seeing no other choice, I had consented to giving my sister a mating Season.

Beth had hugged me tightly. "Oh, thank you, thank you. You have saved me from a fate worse than death."

But now I can't help but wonder at what cost to myself. I'm embarking on this endeavor with as much trepidation as I had my marriage.

The ceremony had taken place at Barkley’s country home, in the small chapel just down the road from the castle. A gathering of Great Britain's most illustrious packs and royalty had been in attendance.

The exchanging of our vows and all that followed had been a haze until Bryant escorted me from the small church and settled me into the white open carriage to journey back to the residence for a celebratory breakfast. The fog had lifted and reality had set in when he had muttered, "Damned glad that's done with."

My heart had sunk clear through the floor of the carriage, to be left behind on the road, trampled by horses and carriage wheels. My mate desired this arrangement no more than I did.

What an abominable state of affairs, I think hours later, as I walk through the elaborate gardens, having finally escaped the festivities that had continued throughout the day. While traditionally, the groom and bride would have left by then on their wedding trip, my mate and I are staying the night at Grantwood castle because it is far nicer than his ancestral estate. At least for now… until my dowry allows him to put matters to right.

Soon I will have to retire to the bedchamber to await him. My mate.

I had barely recognized the tall man who stood beside me at the altar. The last time I saw him, paid any notice to him, he was gangly, almost scrawny. But now, at twenty five, he has achieved a height that adds grace to his slender physique. Humor, lightheartedness, joviality, however, continue to elude him.

When my cousin Chastity arrived in London the previous spring to experience her first mating Season, she wasted no time in informing me of the latest gossip concerning my betrothed. Apparently, he had developed quite the reputation in the bedchamber. I try to draw comfort from knowing he won’t be a bungling fool when he comes to my bed, but all I seem capable of realizing is that he will bring far more experience with him than I wish him to have. How can it not be intimidating to know that he has lain with she-wolves far lovelier, and perhaps far more adventurous, than me?

Anytime I imagine lying on the bed while he raises the hem of my nightdress… as my spinster aunt Mary warned me that he would… my heart flutters madly like the bird with the broken wing that Blake and I nursed back to health and sent back to the sky. It was frightened. I felt it trembling against my palms, knew it simply wanted to be released. I feel that way now… if only I were free.

"Madelyn?"

I spin around, my heart filling with gladness. "Blake."

He is so incredibly handsome standing there in his dark jacket, waistcoat, and gray trousers, his cravat perfectly shaped. His blond hair is a trifle disheveled as though he has recently plowed his fingers through it, but then it always gives that appearance. Even when he is outfitted in his finest, he does not appear nearly as put together as Bryant. With Blake, there's always a bit of a tousled look as though he's only just risen from bed, as though he doesn’t take his role in life as seriously as his brothers do. Three men who share the same mother but little else.

He cradles my jaw with one hand, presses his forehead to mine, and chuckles, his whiskey-scented breath wafting over my cheek. "What are you doing out here, sweetheart?"

"Trying to gather my courage." I admit.

Swaying slightly, he rears back. "For what?"

The heat suffuses my face, but he is my friend. Has been forever. I can tell him anything. "My wedding night," I whisper.

"Ah, yes, consummation." He grins.

"Bryant terrifies me." I mumble.

"He terrifies everyone. It’s that perpetual scowl he wears as though he's not happy with anything. But not to worry." He leans in as though to impart a secret. "He’s very skilled when it comes to the bedchamber. Not as skilled as I, of course, but then no one is."

I see no humor in his remarks. "Blake, you make it sound as trifling as a game of cards."

He seems momentarily taken aback, then his blue eyes widen. "Are you crying? Good Goddess, sweetheart, don’t cry. You know I can't deny a weeping she-wolf anything."

"I’m not crying," I say, swiping at the tears trailing down my cheeks. "It’s just that…" I spin away from him, “…I barely know your brother. And the things that will pass between us... I don’t know. I only wish I were more comfortable with him."

"Tell him. Tell him you’re not ready to be a mate." He suggest.

I turn back to him. "Do you think he’ll listen?"

"No, unfortunately. He needs this marriage, Madelyn, needs the dowry that comes with it. He’ll want to ensure nothing will take it from him. He will no doubt feel obliged to, well, to do his duty."

Duty? Is that all it will be to him? No passion, no fire? Just cold duty?

He touches my cheek. "How truly frightened are you?"

"Truly, truly." I admit.

"Well, then. We just have to ensure that he doesn’t want you tonight." He says.

"How do we do that?" I ask.

He gives me a devilish grin. "Do you trust me?"

"With my life." I tell him.

"Good girl. Then listen carefully. Prepare yourself for bed, place a lamp in the window when you’re ready, then leave it all to me."

And I have left it all to him, I muse now. I didn’t want to take responsibility for meekly accepting my marriage, so I gladly accepted his offer to make everything all right. In the end, we had done little more than step onto a path leading to disaster.

I do not want to make that mistake again, but the Goddess help me, I do not know how to avoid it.