Page 49 of The Wolf in My Tavern

Yet something tells me that I have imprinted upon Gray, too. Maybe I don’t have an inner beast, yet my heart beat faster for him right from the start. To forget him is not an option, even though remembering will always be bittersweet.

He has a mate, and soon, I will have a husband, one I love.

Suddenly, I know I can endure all these future pains if only I could see his wolf just once. A memory I can keep inside me, a secret that will go with me to the grave, of a love that could never be. “Please, Gray,” I whisper, my eyes imploring him, knowing the request is ill-advised, yet helpless to resist. “Let me see your wolf one time before you must walk away.”

A tic thumps in his jaw. He holds my eyes for the longest time.

My heart beats wildly, and I scarcely breathe lest it break the spell.

The air crackles, stirring a shocked gasp from me. His body implodes and then reforms into a menacing, dark shape.

My eyes rise up and up—he is so much larger now—until I find his beastly head mere inches from the ceiling. His clothes lay in tatters, shredded from his change. I expected a wolf. Maybe he has a wolf, too. But this is not it. This is an immense beastly creature covered in thick gray fur who stands on his two hind legs.

His snout is long and his teeth glisten, white and sharp looking. It is undeniably a wolf’s head. When I glance back down, I find his back feet claw-tipped and much like a wolf’s, while in place of front paws are giant fur-covered gnarled hands tipped by lethal claws.

“Goddess, your beast is huge,” I whisper as he lowers to a crouch, bringing us closer to eye level. “And beautiful.” I cup the side of his snout, my fingers curling into the thick, soft fur. I smile. “Did they name you after the color of your pelt?”

He makes a deep chuffing sound like he is laughing at me. “Nay, wench,” he rumbles. “It is merely coincidental. Within our pack, there are many gray wolves.”

His tongue darts out to lick at my palm, then my wrist, then the crease of my elbow, my shoulder, and then along my collarbone before the side of my throat, and across the seam of my lips.

“Oh.” It ought to disgust me. He is a beast, yet wherever his tongue lashes, fresh goosebumps spring, and tingles follow in their wake.

When he lifts his head, his eyes seem to glow brighter in the shadow-filled room.

He emits a deep, rumbly growl, and it sets all the tiny hairs across the surface of my skin springing to attention. Unbridled longing slams into me, so intoxicating that I fear I might actually come.

My hand lowers; I curl it into my chest and bite my lower lip hard enough to taste blood.

He presses up against me, crowding me back against the wall again. His tongue catches my cheek, lapping up the tears. “You smell like temptation. I want to devour you, little mate.”

He is already mated. Why does he taunt me so?

Why do I still want him?

One gnarled hand cups my breast, and his thumb gently brushes across my nipple.

“Oh, Goddess,” I say, as my nipple peaks to attention.

“Does that feel good?” he asks, toying with my nipple through my clothes, making the sweet, needy sensations clamor within me.

I nod helplessly, already breathing fast and shallow, although he is barely touching me. I try to remember why this was a bad idea, but my thoughts are naught but a scattered mess. There is only this beast before me and this strange urgency rising inside.

His nose nudges the swell of my breast before his tongue dips under my neckline to catch my nipple.

I groan. Claws spring out. Material flutters away, exposing my tender flesh to his wicked tongue. He teases me, lavishing attention with rough fingers and a hot tongue until my breasts grow heavy with arousal and heat pulses in my core.

His other hand lowers to part the folds of my skirt until his rough fingertips find the tops of my stockings. His claws spring and scrape lightly over my skin before snagging my left stocking top.

It shreds.

He growls, deep and full of satisfaction, crouching lower and trapping me, trembling against the wall. He pushes his snout against my core and sniffs.

I feel his claws snag my right stocking top, shredding it, too.

He rumbles again and pushes my skirts further aside so his thick tongue can lap the top of my thighs.

“Even your skin is delicious,” he says between licks. “Such a sweet little lass who wanted to see my wolf.” He laps against the seam of my panties. “Well, now you have seen my beast.”

---