Page 51 of Their Cursed Wolves

We don’t spend them tangled up in one another, that’s for sure. I shrug. “No, not baying at the moon. I just spend my time amongst the wolves, which is different from being in my coven, that’s for sure.”

“Different, huh? I suppose you're still getting used to the wet dog smell then?” he teases, the curve of his lips absolutely wicked.

My gaze goes to his giant arms, straining the fabric of his dark shirt. I imagine him in my bed for the briefest moment, shirtless and wrapped around me. I bet he’d touch me. He’d make me his wife in all things.

But I don’t say that. “Oh absolutely,” I play along. “Wet dog has become my new favorite perfume. I’m thinking of bottling it up and selling it at the market.”

He chuckles, the sound warm and inviting. “I’d buy it just to support you.”

I can’t help but smile, even as my mind comments on the irony. If only support was what the princes gave me. The instant the thought enters my head, I try to push it away, but it lingers. Do I really need their support? I never thought about it before.

“You have three husbands, Tara. So tell me, do you think there’s room in your life for a fourth?”

I bite my lip, glancing away from him. Maybe if my fourth husband was like you. “I think the three of them are already a lot to handle.”

“Oh?” His breath is hot in my ear as he leans closer. “I think you can handle adding me to the mix.”

I shiver. No man has ever spoken to me like this before. No man has ever even acted like he wanted to be near me. But something about this Garrick was hard to handle, hard to resist. I wonder how many hearts he’s broken in his life. Probably a lot.

“So, do you have a favorite among your husbands?” he probes, a hint of mischief in his eyes.

I feign shock. “You mean I have to choose? I thought the whole point of three husbands was not having to.”

His laughter fills the room again, easing the tension. “Fair enough.”

Biting my lip, I jiggle my knee, fighting my nerves as I feel him watching me. Assessing me.

His voice comes out softer this time, more sincere. “But really, Tara, are you happy?”

The question catches me off guard, my playful facade crumbling a bit. “I’m…adjusting. It’s a lot to take in.” Adjusting to feeling the same way I did in my coven, just with my life on the line here.

I don’t want to say more. If I do, I might cry, and I can’t imagine how embarrassing that’d be. What’s more, I’d feel like I was betraying the guys in some way if I admitted how hard it’s been to be married, but still unloved and unwanted.

There was never a time I imagined married life like this.

He nods, seemingly understanding the unspoken words. Then his gaze softens, and he leans in. “Just so you’re prepared, we’re going to be wed. It’s happening.”

I let out a laugh, almost too loud, too sharp. That’s wishful thinking at best. “Those wolves won’t let that happen.”

Garrick doesn’t laugh. Instead, he holds my gaze steadily. “I don’t think they’ll have a choice.” There’s something in his voice, a certainty that sends a shiver down my spine.

“My mother may not accept the alliance.” I’m taking a gamble, but I feel like something has to be said. Something to disturb his unwavering resolve.

He grins. “I may have gotten a peek at the alliance, and it may have simply been made with the ‘shifters,’ not the ‘wolf shifters.’ I believe, in your mother’s eyes, the deal was made with all shifters in mind. Which means she shouldn’t even need to be involved in this ‘change’ to the alliance, because it’s only a change on the shifter end of things.”

The idea of marrying again, of adding another to the complex dynamics of my life with the wolves, makes my stomach twist. “But, I mean, how would that even work? It’s already a circus with three.” I try to joke, but my voice cracks.

He laughs, but it’s soft, almost thoughtful. “Life is strange, Tara. Sometimes it throws us onto the stage, and we just have to perform.”

My heart is racing now, and not just from his proximity. The thought of marrying Garrick, of becoming more entangled in this world of shifters and their ancient feuds, is overwhelming. “I’m not much of a performer,” I admit, my fingers nervously twisting the fabric of the couch. “I’m more of the girl who cleans up after the animals.”

“Oh, I doubt that very much. You might not have the lights focused on you now, but you’re hard to look away from.”

It’s flattery, but I’ve never experienced flattery before. It’s nice, and weird.

And his expression? It’s so damn sincere. Does he really mean what he’s saying?

I turn away, studying my pants, feeling awkward and nervous all at once. “The thing is, I’m not sure I want to marry you.”

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