Bitten Too

BITTEN TOO

by

Chapter One

Death.
Jorge Grauwolf urged his horse faster.
My bite will deal death to those who killed my brother.
He stifled a growl to avoid spooking his horse. He had no wish to be thrown, especially at this speed.

King Malveaux and his new bride would pay the price for Youel's murder. Jorge only wished he'd been able to extricate himself from his family obligations and come sooner. Why didn't his family grieve? Why didn't they support his need to avenge his brother? Their own blood relative! He bared his teeth, clenching them in sheer effort to prevent yelling his frustration.

He neared the
Rift
River
Valley
at a full run, his horse laboring for breath. The sound of his animal's heavy, rhythmic puffs drowned out birdsong and
added a musical element to
the
rumble of the
river where it flowed at the base of the roadway's sheer drop-off. He left rocky outcroppings behind. As grassy fields came into view, he reined his horse slower.

The sunlit valley removed the
A
lpine
M
ountains'
chill, and he slowed his horse to a walk to prevent ruining the magnificent beast. An idyllic village spread on the other side of the river. He narrowed his eyes and headed for a wooden bridge that crossed a fast-moving span of water. His horse's hooves clopped over its sturdy boards.

Happy chatter met his entrance on the village's main thoroughfare. People moved from shop to shop, easy and comfortable in their conversations. Some smiled at him, but he didn't return their unspoken greetings. He searched faces, hoping to recognize someone. Anyone.

He had enough anger in him to leap from his horse and attack in bright daylight if he spotted Ebenoral Malveaux. The pact of secrecy be damned.
The scent of humans had his hunting instincts on full alert
. Everywhere, humans roamed this place.
H
alf
would
faint
at the sight of a werewolf, and
the other
s
would
pissing their pants and run.
Weaklings.

Nobody looked familiar, however. He continued through town and emerged onto a country highway.
Forest
lined both sides. An occasional estate broke into tree line where expansive lawn and gardens formed large breaks in the trees. He understood his aunt, Lady Grauwolf, kept an estate along this road. Youel had come two months earlier, and it had cost him his life. Jorge would practice more care.

Fifteen minutes later, he passed under a stone arch marked
Grauwolf Haus
and marched his mount down a tree-lined drive. In the distance, his aunt's gray stone mansion sat like a jewel atop a sprawl of green lawn.
A
t the center of a circle turnaround
, a fountain sprayed water.

A servant in blue livery met him at a broad stone stairway leading to the main entrance. "Welcome, my lord."

The scent of
wolf in the man
allowed Jorge to relax for a moment
.
He knows me as werewolf. He knows me as Grauwolf.
"Where is she?"

"Your aunt is at the back with her guests, my lord."

"Thank you." He dismounted and handed the servant his reins. He removed his black hat and greatcoat and handed them over, too. Then he headed around the mansion.

Laughter and sounds of multiple conversations carried on a breeze past the back corner of the west wing. He stepped onto the rear lawn.

Gentlemen in tan trousers, white and pastel striped jackets, pristine linen shirts and neat neckties mingled with ladies in flouncy day dresses. Some lounged on blankets under a spreading shade tree. Others played crocket, lawn tennis, or lawn bowling. More stood or sat in lounge chairs near a bank of glass windows. At the far end of the sitting area, Lady Grauwolf laughed at the top of her lungs at something said by a gentleman next to her.

More than half of the assembly emitted werewolf pheromones. The rest were human.
How do these superior werewolves deign to associate with such frail creatures?
He resisted an urge to curl his lip in disgust. Tugging his shirt cuffs past the edge of his jacket, he strode toward Lady Grauwolf.

She spotted him as he approached the seating area. "Jorge, what a pleasure to see you." Her eyes held a sadness he despised.

How dare she feel sorry for him? "Aunt Charlotta. Forgive me for intruding."

"It's no intrusion, dear. You're always welcome in my home." She offered him a broad smile and extended her hand.

He took it and kissed her knuckles. "Thank you."
If you knew my purpose, you wouldn't be so accommodating.

"I haven't seen you since you were a wee boy. You've grown so handsome and tall. Are you in need of rest?" she asked. "I can have Steiner show you to a guestroom."

"I'm fine. I won't be staying."

She frowned. "Just passing through? It's getting late. Have you even had luncheon? Why don't you plan
to stay
the night? Join my party and have some refreshment."

He hesitated. Staying with her would lend him credibility and be far more comfortable than hunting his enemies from the woods. Especially if
he
took
longer than a day to get close to the werewolf king. Also, taking a room at an inn might appear suspicious with family so close.

"Fine
,
"
he said.
How close was her estate to the Malveaux castle?

A servant handed him a glass of punch with a bit of slush floating on top. He took a sip, glad for the iciness to cut through the heat building from sun on his black jacket and slacks.

"Let me introduce you. We have some delightful nobles here in Rift." She waved.

He didn't bother to look. A body moved, stirring a human scent on the breeze. He had no interest in meeting anyone of the lesser order. Then a mixture of orchid and Queen Anne's la
ce swirled in the moving air. Their perfume
wrapped about his head and filled his senses. Breathing deeply, he faced the source.

Large brown eyes surrounded by long, black lashes and set against porcelain skin blinked beguilingly. A lush, reddish-pink mouth smiled without artifice. Black curls piled atop her head shined in the sunlight, and a few tendrils escaped to brush delicate cheeks and a long, slender throat.

He followed the line of her neck to a swell of ample breasts covered by a gathered bodice of lavender organza trimmed in white lace. A broad white ribbon hugged her ribs beneath the low-cut squared bodice, emphasizing the perfect, high mounds. Organza continued to her slipper-clad toes and sprouted a tiny bit of lace at the hem.

Lady Grauwolf offered a kind smile. "Jorge, please let me introduce you to our lovely Lady Yasmine Hanswald, daughter of Viscount Walden. Yasmine, this is my nephew, Lord Jorge Grauwolf, Marquis of Austral. Youel was his younger brother."

Her smiled faded. "I'm pleased to meet you, Lord Grauwolf. I'm truly sorry for your loss." Her dark eyes held concern.

He swallowed. Why didn't her consolation bother him? Her words actually comforted
, which astounded him
. She was a mere human. Hardly worth his notice.

"Thank you," he managed after too long a pause, equally astounded that he actually meant it. "I'm delighted to make your acquaintance, Miss Hanswald."

Lady Grauwolf gave a satisfied nod and moved to rejoin the gentleman she'd left standing.

Jorge paid her no mind. He couldn't take his eyes from Yasmine Hanswald.
S
unlight danced in her dark curls and shining eyes. It kissed her skin, bringing out a tinge of pink. She licked her lips, and light glinted in the momentary sheen.

"I know you from somewhere," she said quietly, her lids forming slits. "Have we met?"

He shook his head. "
Perhaps
you met Youel?"

"Yes." Her gaze turned soulful.

"Perhaps the family resemblance stirs a familiarity. He and I were only a year apart and similar in appearance." He let his eyes travel from her face to her throat. Her collarbone took his gaze to her shoulders where cap sleeves provided practically no cover. As if he slipped into a dream, those sleeves slid down her arms. Her bodice lowered, baring gorgeous breasts with hard nipples. The ribbon untied itself, and her gown slid lower over a cinched but slightly rounded waist and off flaring hips.
Silk
pooled at her feet, leaving her in short bloomers, stockings, and her shoes.

She tipped her head. "I did meet your brother
,
though
briefly." Her gaze slipped.

You're hiding something.

"I don't think you look anything like him, other than your coloring."

His dream-state resumed, releasing her hair from its coif to tumble curls about her shoulders and down her back. Her lips parted slightly and her lids lowered in seductive laziness as her bloomers slid down her long, shapely legs. The stockings followed. Her shoes came off.

He cleared his throat.
I'm losing my mind. I can't blame the punch. I've only had a swallow.

"Lord Grauwolf? Are you okay?"

She levitated off her feet,
tipped
into a supine position midair, and then settled to the grass. Everyone around them disappeared. The sun became a moon. She lifted a hand, beckoning him.

He gave his head a vigorous shake.

"Jorge?"

His name on her lips jerk
ed him to awareness
. He blinked. "I'm sorry. My journey must've tired me more than I thought."

She stood
before
him, her hair up and her gown in place. "Perhaps you'd prefer to go inside? It's warm today."

The sun
felt
scorching after the cold of the mountain pass, and the idea of getting her alone
appealed to him in a way
he could
n't
resist. "That might be best. Keep me company? I'd like to talk with you."

He headed for a pair of glass doors at the back of the mansion.

"Of course."
She stayed at his side, a worried frown furrowing her brow. She waved at an older, well turned out couple he took to be her parents. The woman offered a kind smile then returned to her conversation.