Page 42 of Wolves’ Witch

Isobella opened her eyes to find herself on Edmond’s lap, her back to his chest, her legs straddled over his, spreading her wide, and his big arms wrapped around her naked middle.

Oh. She froze. Tenth century or not, this was a compromising position. Intimate. Sexual.

Edmond groaned, the sound vibrating against her shoulder blades. Soft lips pressed down on the curve of her neck, and the scratch of his beard sent tingles through her already sensitized body.

“Bella.”

The warm whisper of breath across her skin forced a moan from her lips and a dampening between her thighs. Was it wrong to want this, want him?

His arms loosened around her, and she was turning in his lap, snaking her hands around his neck and riding his thighs before she’d given a thought to the consequences. The smugness of her wolf colored her mind. She was all in.

Edmond cupped her face. In his eyes a longing so all-encompassing Isobella could not resist it. She pressed her lips to his. Soft, tentative, a plea. Would he take up her offer, or would he brush her away?

With a low growl, Edmond claimed her mouth, coaxing her lips apart. She leaned into him, and he deepened the kiss, chasing her tongue, and she gave him everything he asked for and more. His kiss was…electric. It curled her toes and made her forget where they were and why they were there. It had her pressing into him, rubbing her core against the hard length in his breeches.

Was this what it was like between Annabelle and Gabriel? This visceral reaction, a current of need drawing them together? By comparison, Douglas’ kisses had been…perfunctory. Emotionless, a duty. No wonder Annabelle had been unable to resist her mate.

Mate? But she wasn’t…

Edmond released her, sliding her off his lap and setting her on her feet at arm’s length. He closed his eyes, his struggle for control etched across his face. She reached out to cup his cheek, but he caught her wrist in his hand. His eyes snapped open, regret shimmering in their brown depths.

He rose, letting her wrist drop and averting his eyes. “You did well, chaton.” His voice was raspy and rough. “We will try it again. With each shift, it should become easier for you to slow down her release.”

Isobella backed away, turning away from him as she grappled with her emotions. Brushed aside again. Like with Douglas. She rubbed at her chest and did a rapid blink of her eyelashes. He’d been as swept up in the moment as she had, hadn’t he?

When she got her game face back on and turned around, Edmond was all business. As though nothing had happened. As though they hadn’t rocked each other’s world.

“When you are ready,” he said, “call your wolf forward again.”

All business except for one part of his body which had yet to get the memo. She couldn’t help but stare at it. Tenting his breeches, it was as impressive as the rest of him.

Edmond’s nostrils flared and a muscle ticked in his jaw. “The sooner we get you trained, the sooner we can go after Faucher.”

Right. Faucher. Her mission. Training. Isobella pulled herself together, but she couldn’t help the small surge of hope. He wasn’t as unaffected as he would like her to believe.

She centered herself, locked onto the place in her mind that was her and her alone, and called forth her wolf. Again and again and again. She practiced under his watchful eye, under his instruction. With each shift, she came closer to being present in her wolf form, her commands stronger and more confident. Unlike the first time, there was no kiss, no hint that this was anything but a training session. As much as she yearned for it. Though he caged her in his arms, preventing her from hurting him or herself, Edmond was all discipline. Unlike Isobella, he had his emotions under control.

When she was so exhausted, all desire having long since burned itself out, replaced by a gnawing hunger of a different kind, Edmond called an end to their training session.

She dressed in silence as he unbolted the door. With a weary sigh, she followed him from the training room. She hoped for a hint, a touch, a look to suggest that kiss, that amazing, bone-melting kiss, might be repeated. He gave her nothing.

He paused outside her bedchamber door. “Rest now. It will take some time before your body becomes accustomed to shifting. Your muscles will be sore. I will get Anne to organize a warm bath for you, and I will have the kitchen staff send up something for you to eat.”

She stared after him as he headed down the stairs. She’d thought for a moment, when he’d called her his girl, when he’d kissed her, she might be his mate. But the way he’d switched off…

She leaned against the door frame. Douglas had been all in at first, too. In hindsight, she could pinpoint the moment he’d turned cold. She’d put it down to the stress of work and the unrest in the coven. It had had everyone on edge. She’d been sympathetic, more attentive. If anything, it had made Douglas pull away more. But it hadn’t been the coven or work. It’d been because of Irena King.

Edmond disappeared around the corner. Whatever Edmond’s reason for changing his mind—something Gaharet had said, Aubert’s dislike of her—she wasn’t going to make excuses for him or try to coax him around.

She had a mission to focus on. A witch-hunting bishop to stop. These thoughts and emotions about Edmond were confusing the matter, muddying the waters.

Isobella flopped on the bed, her muscles groaning in protest. When a man tells you with his actions how he feels about you, believe him. That’s what her papá had said. And that’s exactly what Isobella planned to do.