The Remarkable Miss Frankenstein (32 page)

Clair leaned back and gazed up at him. “Can I be turned into one?”

“No, Clair, that is an old wives’ tale. Werewolves can only be born, not made by being bitten.”

The thought momentarily shocked Clair. She glanced down at her stomach. “Our children will be shapeshifters?” she asked.

She didn’t know how she felt about that.

Ian studied his wife, his expression intense, his dark green eyes glittering with emotion. He was proud of his ancestry. He wanted and needed his wife to be proud of it as well. “Would you mind?”

She thought for a moment. “I don’t think so. I love you and would love any child you gave me. But still, I don’t have enough data to completely support a declaration at this time,” she answered honestly. A sudden image of herself feeding a cute furry wolf cub flashed in her mind, and she smiled with happiness.

Ian nodded, seemingly satisfied. He then gave her more information: “When two weres mate, they produce were-children. When a were and a human mate, their children are human, although the child sometimes has extraordinary hearing and eyesight. But if the were and human mate two days after the full moon, if the female conceives then, the child will be born a were.”

Clair was fascinated and thrilled. This was having her werewolf and eating him too. She had a thousand questions. She had Ian, her own personal lab rat to study—correction, lab wolf. She started to ask more, but Ian shook his head. “I need to speak with your aunt Mary to swear her to secrecy. Have you told anyone else?”

“No. I began to tell Brooks, but I couldn’t get the words out.”

“You wouldn’t be able to.”

“Why not?” she questioned, her eyes full of that indomitable Frankenstein curiosity.

Ian smiled. Many women would have fainted if they knew they were married to a card-carrying werewolf; his Clair was exhilarated. He was a lucky man, if he could only keep her out of trouble.

“We’re protected by an ancient spell. Humans that know about us can’t tell unless they tell someone with a strong blood link to them.”

“So Uncle Victor can know, and Great-aunt Abby,” Clair surmised. She frowned. “But not Frederick?”

Ian shook his head. “Frederick is an exception. He can be told.”

“How strange,” she muttered, her mind reeling.

“Every newly wedded couple has a learning period,” Ian suggested.

“Yes, like, do you like orange marmalade with your toast? Not, what did you eat last night—or better, whom?”

Ian arched a brow, his expression affronted. “I don’t eat humans! My clan never does. We are extremely civilized, Clair,” he said stiffly. “If shape-shifters ate humans, we would be discovered, and we haven’t lived this long by doing stupid things. Only a few rogue clans attack humans for food, and they are far, far away.”

Clair cocked her head, chewing on her lips. “Just how old are you, Ian? How long do weres live? For centuries, like vampires? I know Asher is over four hundred years old.”

The earl’s name brought an instant scowl to Ian’s face. He didn’t like the fact that Asher had fallen in love with Clair. She was his, and the handsome master vampire had better never forget that. Still, Asher had saved Clair’s life.

“Ian?” his wife prompted, her eyes round with concern. She feared she would grow old and gray while Ian remained handsome and vigorous. She would be on a cane, and he would be running circles around her.

“We can live to be a hundred and thirty. I’m forty-three in werewolf years. We age more slowly.”

Clair shook her head sorrowfully. “Drat. I’ll be an old woman when you’re still a spring chicken. Will you still love me when I’m sixty-four?” She tried to make her voice light, but inside she was hurting. She would have wrinkles, and he would have trollops winking at him.

“Of course I will, darling. You are my mate for life. I won’t mate again,” he answered truthfully. “By the time you’re fifty, I’ll be fifty-nine in werewolf years, so we’ll both have a gray hair or two,” he assured her. He held her close and let her feel his love. “Like I said, all new couples have to make adjustments.”

His answer soothed her, just like his hand, which was rubbing circles on her back. Yes, Clair supposed she had a few adjustments to make, marrying a werewolf. But how hard could it be? The bed linens would probably have paw prints on the full moons when it rained. But, then, as a child she had slept with her dog, a large collie, and that had been both warm and comforting.

Ian would probably need to shave twice a day. Clair wondered briefly about fleas, and if she might sometimes join him baying at the moon. It had actually looked rather fun.

Yes, she decided, she would be fine. The adjustments would probably be few and far between. She would tackle them with her usual Frankensteinian fortitude. Besides, how many women had a real wolf in their bed?

“You do know, Ian, that I am still going to be competing for the prestigious Scientist of the Decade Award. Instead of werewolves and vampires, I’ll go back to my ghost research.”

Ian nipped her ear. “I had hoped to have you started on motherhood as soon as possible,” he urged, his large, capable hands caressing her stomach.

“As soon as I win the Award, we can have all the children you want.”

Ian started to argue, but Clair placed her finger over his lips. “You have no room to complain about my working for the Award, not when you are moonlighting as a werewolf.”

He arched an eyebrow, then nodded and grinned. “I think I’ll like having the Scientist of the Decade for a wife.”

Clair laughed. “You know the trouble with you, Harry Ian?”

He leaned back and studied her. “What?”

“Absolutely nothing.”