Page 19 of Wolf's Prize

“Father, Monsieur Aimon.”

“Please come and sit down, Kathryn,” said Aimon, rising to place a chair next to her father.

Avoiding his gaze, she sat, the weight of his regard burning into her. Kathryn fought the urge to place her arms across her chest. She summoned her courage and lifted her gaze, meeting his. Her heart stuttered, and her wolf surged to the surface. She clutched her fingers tight in the folds of her dress.

“We need to talk. There is much to discuss.”

He leaned toward her. Kathryn pressed herself hard against the back of the chair and forced a polite smile to her face. Inside, she wanted to burst into tears.

“To the contrary, Monsieur Aimon, there is very little that needs to be said. I believe we met earlier under false pretenses. It has been a long and arduous day, and I am fatigued. I have, perhaps, given you false hope.”

She kept her true feelings buried deep, something she had become skilled at over the years. She could not falter. For Aimon’s sake. In the periphery of her vision, she caught her father’s confused expression, but she continued on. “I understand the recent change in our circumstances presents an opportunity for you to obtain the d’Louncrais estate.”

If only I…

Kathryn brushed the thought aside lest it weaken her resolve. “I appreciate it is likely you have come here with that very purpose in mind. Perhaps you have already discussed the possibility of a marriage with my father. I am sorry to say you have wasted a journey.”

Aimon’s eyebrows rose, and a suggestion of a smile curled at the corner of his mouth. Her smile faltered. Would he be so uncouth as to not accept her rejection? Did he think to circumvent her wishes by securing an agreement with her father? Kathryn gritted her teeth. The man tested her, surely?

“I have no desire to wed you, Monsieur.” She gathered her skirts and stood. “I am not for sale.”

“Kathryn!” Her father glanced between her and Aimon. “Sit down.”

“Father, I will not—”

“Sit. Down.”

Kathryn slunk back into the chair and glared at her father. He had promised her she could choose. Yes, if circumstances were different, her elation at Aimon Proulx wanting to marry her would know no bounds, but she could not change her reality, no matter how much she wished it.

“Kathryn,” said Aimon. “I need to show you something.” He glanced at her father. “Something you should have been aware of a long time ago.”

“Father?” Her father dropped his head and stared at his hands.

“I want you to know,” Aimon continued, “I will not hurt you. I promise.”

No, but I may hurt you. Please, Aimon, accept my rejection.

“Focus on my hands, Kathryn.”

Aimon held them out toward her, palm down, his gaze fixed on her face. The man was too damn handsome. Even his hands were enticing. Long slender fingers, clean nai—

Oh, dear God!

They were changing, slowly at first, then faster. Bones cracking and popping, white fur sprouting from knuckles that receded and nails turning to claws. She shrank back from him, her throat constricting and her heart pounding out a ferocious rhythm. Her gaze flicked up to meet his steady, blue one, but only for a moment, before being drawn back to the horror of his transforming hands.

He is as cursed as I am!

Her hands flew to her mouth, and she stumbled to her feet, knocking over her chair. A whimper escaped her. Her fear, a living entity, overwhelmed her. Her beast roared to life, and she did not have the fortitude to stop it. Her body contorted and began to change. Through a roaring of blood and heat, she spied Aimon moving toward her. She put her arms out to fend him off.

Her hands shifted into paws. “No!”

“It is all right, Kathryn. Let go. Let it happen.” Strong arms surrounded her, drawing her to him. “I am here. I will keep you safe,” he whispered, holding her firm.

She struggled against him, his musky scent filling her nose, irresistible to the monster inside of her. It accelerated her transformation, the timbre of his voice sending shivers down her spine. She shook her head and tried to protest, but she could no longer speak. Her vocal cords were changing. Her face elongated and became a snout. She slunk to the floor, and Aimon came with her, her clothes ripping and tearing as her body continued to reshape.

“You will not hurt me, Kathryn.” Aimon’s warm breath ruffled the fur of her face, his voice calm and sure, and she focused in on it. “You are not a monster.Weare not monsters. Relax and let it be.”

Against the warmth of his body, his gentle voice soothed, and Kathryn’s terror melted away. She stopped fighting him, leaned into his comforting presence, and did what her body had longed to do for years. With a soft sigh, she completed her transformation. She lay cradled in Aimon Proulx’s arms, a very large, auburn-furred wolf.

---