There is a beautiful young woman in the library who does not look like she belongs there. She would fit better on a painting, perhaps, somewhere safe where nobody else can touch her. Her name, he learns later, is Modesty, and she is a disarmingly beautiful creature, pink lips wet and pouting as she tries to reach for a book that is too high on the shelf. Her sleeve slides from her small wrist and he sees marks on her skin, bruises the shape of fingers that are much larger than her own. He startles and inhales sharply, picking up the scent of another werewolf on her skin, a sign that she belongs to another one of his kind.
A better man would walk away.
But he wants her too much to be better.
~~~~~ Excerpt ~~~~~
In the end, it is Oliver who makes things easier for him. After three days pass with no sight of the man, he buys some pies from the local bakery and knocks on the cabin's door, waiting patiently for the werewolf to let him in so he can introduce himself. After all, they should be working together and going through project dates, funding, and all the details that comes with managing the construction of what will be the largest building in the area.
To his surprise, Modesty is the one to greet him at the door.
She looks scared, but determined. “Hello,” she breathes out, looking him in the eye. She has such beautiful blue eyes. He can't help but remember how he last saw her, naked and trembling in the other werewolf's grasp.
He strains to hear inside the house, but there is only the sound of fire crackling. “Good evening,” he replies. “I am here to see Oliver Vaetch? Are you his daughter?”
She shakes her head. “Oliver isn't here,” she says, ignoring the second question.
It could not have gone better for him if he had planned it. “That's unfortunate,” he says. “I've brought something for him. Perhaps you can let him know that I dropped by?”
She nods politely and brightens when she sees the parcel in his hand. “Is that pumpkin pie?” she asks, seeing the name on the paper bag and smelling the contents. She is bouncing on the soles of her feet in her glee.
It is an adorable sight. He wants to snatch her up and ruin her.
“It is,” he says finally, getting a hold of himself. He had purchased one of each and is suddenly glad for his own foresight. “Beef, chicken, apple, and pumpkin,” he says.
Her expression brightens even more. He wonders how anyone could resist giving her everything she wants. “Come in! I'm just making dinner. Oliver will be home shortly.”
He feels a little annoyed at how easily she trusts him and how quickly she invites him into her home. The smell of wolf is stronger here. His own beast seethes and prowls. It is a challenge to keep his hands to himself instead of attempting to rub his scent everywhere.
She is cooking rabbit stew over the fire. On the table by the fireplace, he sees the book he had helped her reach. It is opened to a page with the instructions written down carefully on a piece of parchment. “Are you growing herbs, Modesty?” he asks.
“Dessie, please,” she says demurely, holding a cup of what appears to be warm cocoa.
It is hard to come by in this parts. He takes it from her gratefully.
“Are you new?” she asks, curiosity getting the better of her. She sits by the fire, her legs folded demurely beneath her skirt. The way she peers up at him through her long lashes is sinful. “I've never seen you before,” she comments, cradling her own mug with both hands,
“I only just moved in,” he says. He's already rock-hard. He wants to throw her over the rug and rut into her. “Dessie, was it? Short for Modesty?” he tries to sound amused instead of aroused.