First Beast (9 page)

Chapter Seven

It felt like she was drifting through some bizarre fairytale where nothing was as it seemed. As Enoch, the elder, coiled white gauze around both her and Caleb's wrists, effectively binding them together, Talia felt her eyes sting with unshed tears. She had promised herself she wouldn't cry. Had been determined not to show Caleb any weakness.

When Enoch steered her around to face Caleb, she deliberately avoided his gaze and stared at his chest. He'd chosen dark slacks and a simple white shirt for the ceremony. In contrast, she had worn her little black dress, trusting that Caleb would take the inference.

She noticed Caleb's chest expand and contract as he spoke his lines. No way would she refer to them as vows, not even in her mind, because the whole thing was a travesty. It was as if they were performing in some kind of macabre play.

When it was her turn, she repeated by rote what Enoch said, still refusing to look Caleb in the eye. To her own ears her tone sounded sharp, prickly. She didn't care. Surely everyone here knew that this whole thing was a farce.

Only members of the Council were in attendance, and Joshua. But she took no comfort in Joshua's presence behind her. She hadn't looked at him once. It was an awful thing to admit, but part of her blamed him for the whole situation. It wasn't his doing, of course. He was as much a victim of this whole charade as she was.

Enoch said something about them now being mated, or married, she wasn't sure which. That didn't matter either. The deed was done. She now had to face the consequences and make the best of them. But for damn sure, there would be some rules of her own making.

Talia went through the feast that took place following the ceremony in a further daze. She didn't want to eat, but did request her wine glass be topped up at every opportunity. Caleb sat to her right, his attention riveted by something Tynan said. To her left, Joshua ate his meal in silence.

When the meal finished, several speeches took place, mostly celebrating her further welcome into the community as Caleb's chosen mate, and Caleb's good fortune in having a wife of such beauty and grace.

She'd show him grace all right. Every chance she got, she'd show him grace. Only her kind of grace would be akin to that of a banshee, or she-devil or whatever hell else she could pull from the depths of her angry soul. Then he could celebrate his good fortune right enough.

A gavel came down, obviously signaling something of greater note than the earlier speeches, because to a man everyone fell silent immediately. All eyes turned to her and her stomach went into freefall. Hell and damnation. What now?

Beside her, Joshua stood. He took her hand and brought it to his lips. Making herself look at him, she saw that his eyes were flat. “I'll say goodnight,” he said as several of the men came to stand behind him. Leaning down, he murmured, “Thank you for this,” before dropping another kiss to her white knuckles.

She wanted to question him, ask where he was going, but the men flanked him and escorted him out of the room. Talia swallowed. She was starting to get an even worse feeling. Beside her, Caleb stood. Like Joshua, he was flanked by another group of men who escorted him out of the room also.

Talia was left with a dozen men all still staring at her. What in the world was going to happen? Her legs went shaky as the men stood, bowed and one by one left the room.

Alone, she looked around her for some indication of what she was supposed to do. A moment later, the door opened and two women came in. They were about her age, dressed in simple white dresses and ballerina pumps. Talia recognized them, but couldn't remember their names.

As they came toward her, the brunette smiled. “Hi, my name's Naomi. You are to come with us.”

Talia swallowed, and clasped her hands together. “Where?”

“We are to prepare you for your wedding night.”

“I can prepare myself, thanks very much.”

Naomi laughed. “It probably seems a bit old-fashioned to you, but this is our way.”

“Old-fashioned? It's positively antiquated.”

“Agreed. But our men like tradition.”

“I never had this sort of treatment when I married Joshua.”

Since Naomi's smile almost turned to a sneer, Talia assumed she was a member of the anti-Joshua-as-leader brigade. “Now you are married to our rightful leader. That requires certain rituals be performed.”

Talia didn't like the sound of that. “Rituals?”

The blonde leaned her elbows on the table in front of Talia and winked. “Sexy underwear, potions, lotions. You get the idea.”

“I'm not sure that's necessary.”

Naomi hopped onto the table and looked at Talia over her shoulder. “Honey, you've gotten the pick of the bunch with Caleb. Do you know how many women would like to be in your position now?”

“They're welcome to trade.”

Both women laughed and Talia relaxed a tad. These two seemed normal enough. In fact, most of the women in the community appeared normal. It was only the men who seemed to live in a time warp.

“Does everyone in the pack know about me? About this?”

“Pretty much. At least all those over eighteen.”

Talia let out a breath. So much for dignity. “Do I have to go through with these…rituals?”

Naomi's eyes were full of understanding. “Caleb is considered our rightful leader. It's the first son of the first son thing. As his chosen mate, you get special treatment as befits your status.” She touched Talia's shoulder. “Shall we get started? Then you can hurry along to your new husband.”

Talia stood, wishing with all her heart she was hurrying along to her
old
husband. It seemed evident that tonight would be just Caleb, that Joshua had been exiled somewhere and she wouldn't get to see him. All she could do was accept her fate and get on with it.

Two hours later, she'd been bathed, pummeled, manicured, pedicured, been given the most amazing facial on God's green earth and dressed in a red silk bra and panties with a matching wrap. The attention had relaxed her a little and some of her nerves had abated. She'd enjoyed chatting with the women and discovered that Naomi was the granddaughter of Enoch, the senior Principal, and as such her status in the pack afforded her the right to attend the leader's bride on her wedding night.

Sybil was a beauty therapist and about to be married herself. They both acted as if the whole ménage-marriage thing was perfectly acceptable. They'd told her some stories about Caleb's legendary prowess between the sheets, which hadn't exactly put her at ease. Thinking about it again brought fresh nerves jumping along her spine.

“There.” Naomi stood back and admired their work. “Perfection.” She turned to Sybil. “Agreed?”

Sybil fluffed Talia's hair, then gave a theatrical bow. “We, who are about to covet, salute you.”

Talia couldn't quite summon the enthusiasm to respond with gratitude. “Thanks,” she said dully. “You ladies do good work.”

Naomi leaned forward and looked at Talia in the mirror. “I don't know all the details of this arrangement, but Caleb really is a good man and he'll do right by you.”

Talia managed a weak smile, wondering how Naomi would feel about her esteemed leader if she knew the truth of his penchant for blackmail and his threats to his sick stepmother.

Sybil leaned down on her other side and together the three women faced each other in the mirror. “You look great,” Sybil said with a wink. “You really are a lucky woman.”

Right then Talia wished she could share the sentiment, but
lucky
wasn't currently featuring in her thoughts. Guilt clung like a second skin, permeating the anxiety that was never far away. She wondered where Joshua had gone. What was he doing? What was he thinking, feeling?

And how would he react if he knew that on some level, in a deep and hidden part of herself, Talia wasn't exactly averse to what was about to happen? Oh heck, how could that be so? How could she actually want Caleb? How could she be feeling something akin to nervous excitement? She hated herself for it, detested that in spite of the sort of man he was, she was actually attracted to him.

Naomi picked up a phone. “Ready.” Shortly afterward, a knock came at the door and Sybil opened it.

Tynan stood there, looking handsome in a dark blue suit. Talia had met him several times now and liked him very much. He had stood beside Caleb at the ceremony, so she supposed the two were good friends.

She couldn't quite summon up the effort to return his smile, but she noticed how Naomi tensed and looked away. Tynan's gaze moved briefly to Naomi and his smile wavered.

Under different circumstances, Talia might have pondered the reason for the tension between them, but when Tynan held out his hand, she had her work cut out fighting the butterflies stomping around in her middle and making her feel sick and uneasy.

Gently, Sybil nudged her toward the door and Talia took Tynan's hand. She heard the door close behind her, then she was led down a long corridor toward the door at the far end. Tynan tapped lightly before turning the handle. As the door swung open, he stepped back and the full impact of what faced her hit Talia like a brick.

The room was…decadent. The sort of décor and ambience that screamed boudoir and left itself open to only one purpose. Staring at the plush burgundy drapes drawn across a huge window facing the door, Talia swallowed down the ever-growing lump in her throat. The carpet was thick pile and a shade darker than the curtains. In the corner, a highly polished mahogany table held a silver tray with champagne chilling beside two crystal flutes. Deeply upholstered sofas faced each other, adorned with sumptuous cushions and throws, in front of a roaring log fire.

Glancing to her left, Talia noticed a huge bed, covered in rich black and burgundy bedding, turned back as if awaiting its occupants.

Her stomach pushed into her throat. She had the urge to run in the opposite direction, except she didn't know where that would take her. What with the ceremony, the banquet, her pamper session, and now this—she had no idea where she was in the large building where all Pack Council activities and functions were held. Besides which, knowing Caleb, she would run smack into guards or warriors, or whatever the hell else they called themselves.

While she deliberated, Caleb stepped out from behind the door. Still dressed in his wedding garb, his gaze raked down her body and then up again, before he inclined his head.

Soft footfall behind indicated that Tynan was making his exit, which meant she was now alone with the man she'd married a few hours earlier.

“Are you coming in?” He raised his eyebrows. “Or standing there all night?”

“I'll take the latter if it's all the same to you.”

He only stepped back to indicate she'd better get her tail in there or he'd take matters into his own hands.

She moved forward, but couldn't help taunting him. “No whisking me over the threshold? My, my. And here I am thinking you were a traditionalist.”

He shut the door behind her, then moved across to the bar in the corner. “Our traditions are different from yours.”

Ours. Yours.
He still didn't accept her as one of them. Which was, of course, exactly why they were in this position. If he thought her one of them, if he accepted her, she wouldn't be standing here now.

He retrieved the champagne from the silver bucket and started pouring it into the crystal flutes. She didn't want champagne. She wanted hard liquor. Something to dull the nerves thumping around her insides with their heavy boots on.

When he walked over, and offered her one of the filled flutes, she kept her attention firmly fixed on his chest, as she had during most of the ceremony. Which was probably not such a good idea. He'd slipped open two buttons at the top of his shirt, and dark chest hair peeked out from beneath it. Moisture filled her mouth, and an accompanying wetness blossomed between her legs.

Lord above. If she was affected by the sight of silky black hair lacing, okay, a pretty impressive chest, it did not augur well for her intention to remain aloof and unresponsive.

Tugging the front edges of the flimsy robe together, she waltzed into the room. “Got any whisky?”

His laugh was quick and easy. “You don't like champagne?”

“Only when I've got something to celebrate.”

“By the end of the evening, I can promise you'll have something to celebrate.”

She whirled around to face him, intent on giving him a piece of her mind. But his eyes gleamed dark with a warning that he would allow her only so much latitude, which in turn strengthened her own resolve to remain taciturn. Yet, as their gazes clashed, something turned inside her, provoking memories, distant and inaccessible, which nudged for attention. She refused to lose her focus, knowing she needed every bit of control around him. If she let her mind wander, there was no telling how fast he'd swoop and take advantage.

“I'll just put them here.” He moved to the bedside table and set down the untouched flutes before meeting her eyes again. “For later.”

She folded her arms tight across her chest before turning away from his disturbing perusal. “Please yourself.”

“I intend to.” She hadn't been aware he'd moved, but he was right behind her and she jumped as his hands landed lightly on her shoulders. “I also intend to please you.”

Steeling herself against the steady slide of his palms over her silk-covered shoulders, she swallowed and forced her mind to dwell on her current work assignment, a strategy she had decided on late last night when sleep had eluded her. A modern take on
lie back and think of England
, but hopefully it would work.

It didn't. It took only the change of direction of his hands as they slid down her back and curved around her hips to make her completely lose her train of thought. Angrily, she willed her attention away from what he was doing, and tried to focus on the potential land development of nearby Monkton, which had gotten the locals all heated up. They'd arranged meetings, rallies and boycotts to make their point that…that…