B E A U T Y I N S P R I N G

KATIWILDE

C o ntents

BeautyinSpring

Chapter1
Chapter2
Chapter3
Chapter4
Epilogue

FakingItAll

ExcerptfromFakingItAll
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AlsobyKatiWilde

B E A U T Y I N S P R I N G

“A

1

CO RA

reyousureaboutthis,luv?”

It’sthefirstthingthatthehireddriver,George,hassaidsincepickingmeupfrommyLondonhotel

just before dawn, when the full moon still lingered just above the horizon. Since then we’ve traveled
almost two hundred miles north, but the silence between us over the course of those four hours was a
comfortableone.I’dbeentoopreoccupiedforconversation,withnervestumblinginmybelly,myheart
fullofhope,andmyimaginationracingasIpicturedhowBlackwoodManormighthavechangedinthe
tenyearsI’vebeenaway.

ButIneverimaginedthis.Georgestoppedthecarinfrontofthemanor’sgatehouse—thehousewhere

I lived the first fifteen years of my life. The stone structure straddles the lane that leads to Blackwood
Hall,andservesastheentrancetotheestate.WhileIwasgrowingup,neveroncewerethosewrought-
irongatesclosed.Insteadtheywerealwaysopen,invitingvisitorstocontinueontowardthegreatmanor
house that sits like a crown upon the escarpment overlooking the woodlands and beautifully tended
grounds.

Yetnowthosegatesareclosed.Theheavyrustedchainloopedbetweenthewrought-ironbarslooks

asifithasbeentherealmostaslongasI’vebeengone.Aweatheredsignreading“NoTrespassing”hangs
from the gatehouse arch. The gatehouse itself, traditionally the home of Blackwood Manor’s
groundskeeper,appearsutterlyabandoned.

Andthosegroundsarenolongerbeautifullytended.Theovergrownlawnbeyondthegatelooksasif

no one has held that position since my father left—since he took me from Blackwood Manor, the only
homeI’deverknown.ThehomeI’vebeendreamingofreturningtofortenyears.

Butjudgingbythedisrepairofthegatehouseandestategrounds,thathomelooksasifithasbeenleft

torot.Andinsteadofnervesinmybellyandaheartfullofhope,nowdespairthickenssourlyinmychest.

WhyhadIbeenbroughthere?WhenIwascontactedbytheBlakefamily’ssolicitortwoweeksago,

he said that my father’s former employers had learned of his recent death and wished to discuss the
repaymentofadebt.AsfarasIwasaware,theyhadn’towedmyfatheranything,andthesolicitorhadn’t
beenforthcomingwithdetails.AllIcouldimaginewasthatperhapsaseverancehadgoneunpaidwhen
he’d left their employ and they intended to bestow it upon his only living relative. Whatever debt they
owe,theyapparentlyfeltitneededtobepaidinperson,sotheyarrangedformetotravelfromtheSeattle
airporttoLondon,thenhiredadrivertobringmehere.

But why? Clearly the Blakes don’t live here now. If anyone still resided at Blackwood Hall, then

those gates would not have gone unopened and chained for as long as they appear to have been. There
wouldbesomesignofthestaffcomingandgoing,becauseanestateandhouseofthissizesimplycannot
functionwithoutpeopletocareforit.

Yetobviouslynoonehasbeen,andseeingtheneglectfeelsasifarazorisslicingawayatmyheart.
Thedriversoftlyclearshisthroat.“Wouldyoulikemetotakeyoubacktothevillage,then,andsee

yousortedattheinn?”

Itearmygazefromthegatehouse’ssaggingroofandbrokenwindows.Attheinn?Aflutterofpanic

quiversthroughtheheavydespair.

ThereasonIneverreturnedtoBlackwoodManorbeforenowissimplybecauseIcouldn’t.Especially

aftermyfather’slongillness.Evenbeforethat,however,moneyhasbeenscarceforyears.

And although the Blakes bought my plane ticket and hired George to drive me here, those

arrangements didn’t include a return trip—or a stay at a village inn. I assumed that would all be taken
care of after I arrived. Blackwood Hall doesn’t lack for guest rooms…and, in truth, I’d hoped that I
wouldn’thavetomakethatreturntripbacktotheStates.I’dhopedthattheremightbeaplaceformehere,
andthatI’deitherfindemploymentontheestate—

Orsomethingmore.Becausetheestateisn’ttheonlythingIleftbehind.
It’snottheonlythingI’vedreamedofreturningtoalltheseyears.
Becausethere’salwaysbeenGideon.
GideonBlake,witheyesasgreenasspringandadevil’ssmile.Twoyearsolderthanme,wegrewup

togetherontheestate,buthewasneverlikeabrother—andalwaysafriend.Untilhewasalmost more
thanafriend.Butwenevergotfurtherthanakissandapromise.

ThenmyfatherlefthispositionhereandputhalfaworldbetweenmeandGideon.
OfcourseIknewthatmyreturnmightmeannothingtoGideon,andthateverythingI’vehopedforwas

justasillygirl’sdream—Icanhardlyexpecthimtorememberapromiseoflovehemadetenyearsago,
asaboyofseventeen—yetthepossibilityoffindingajobontheestatehadn’tseemedsosilly.

Ineverdreamedthatnoonewouldbehereatall,though.SoIcan’tstay.ButI’vealsogotnowhere

else to go. There’s nothing left for me in Washington and the little coastal town where my father and I
lived,evenifIcouldaffordtheplaneticketback.

Butalthoughthere’snothingformehere,either,I’dliketostayjustlongenoughtosaygood-byetothe

place.

Afterthat…well,I’llfiguresomethingout.
“There’snoneedtotakemebacktothevillage,”ItellGeorge.“I’llgetouthereandwalkuptothe

bighouse.”

“Butthegate’slocked,”hepointsout.
“Ihaveakeytothegatehouse,soIcangothroughthatway.”Whichisalie,butIdoknowawayto

entertheestate.Whenuncertaintytightenshismouth,Ireassurehim,“Theyprobablyjustforgotwhichday
Iwascoming.I’llfindsomeoneupatthehouse.”

Though clearly unhappy with my decision, George obligingly retrieves my big rolling suitcase from

the trunk. Outside the car, I pull on my lightweight jacket to ward off the chill in the air. The breeze
sweeping across the grounds has a dank odor clinging to it, instead of the fresh and clean scent that I
recallfromyearsago.

“Yousureyou’llbeallright,draggingthatluggageupthelane?”
“Itshouldn’tbeaproblem.”Iextendthesuitcase’shandle.“It’snotheavy,andthelaneispaved.It

shouldrolleasily.”

“Allright,then.NowI’llbestoppingatthepubinthevillageforabiteoflunch.IexpectI’llbean

hourorsobeforereturningtoLondon,soyouringmymobileifyouchangeyourmind,andI’lldrivehere
topickyouup.”

His kindness helps to ease my despair, renewing my natural optimism and the hope that brought me

here.Surelythesituationcan’tbesoverydire.

Warmly I thank him, then wait until his car is out of sight down the narrow country lane before

walkingintheotherdirection.Astonewallsurroundstheestate’sgrounds,withaccessgatesthesizeofa
standarddoorinstalledatregularintervalsaroundtheperimeter.EvenwhenIlivedhere,thoseparticular
gateswerealwayslocked,butthatneverstoppedme—andGideon—fromusingoneofthembefore.

Thegateontheeastwallismissingoneoftheverticalwrought-ironbars.Thenarrowgapallowedus

toslipthroughaschildren—thoughbythetimehewasseventeen,Gideonhadalmostgrowntoolargeto
fit.Thelasttimewe’dattemptedit,he’dhadtofighthiswaythroughthegap.

Mystepfalters.Thatlasttimehadbeenthenightofmyfifteenthbirthday.Tenyearsago,minusalmost

one month. The night he’d first kissed me. The night that had ended with something—something, I still
don’tknowwhatitwas—chasingusbacktothesafetyoftheestate.ThenGideonhadgottenstuckpushing
throughthegap,andIremembertheabsoluteterrorandracingofmyheartasIdesperatelypulledonhis
arm,tryingtohelpdraghimthrough,allthewhilehearingthegrowlingapproachofsomethingthroughthe
dark.

I’d…almostforgottenaboutthat.Becauseinthedaysfollowingthatnight,myentireworldfellapart.

The next morning, Gideon came down with a terrible fever that worried his parents so deeply they’d
flown him to see a specialist in Switzerland. Soon we received word that his fever had broken and he
wasonthemend.ButevenbeforetheyreturnedtoBlackwoodManor,myfatherresignedandweleftfor
theStates.

Isupposeinthattimesince,ItoldmyselfthatGideonandIsimplyoverreactedtowhateverhadbeen

outthereonthatmoonlitnight.Itoldmyselfthattheoverwhelmingfearhadfollowedhotontheheelsof
the thrilling excitement of our first kiss—and that we’d probably been spooked by a wild pig, but
adrenalineandhormoneshadblowneverysnufflinggruntwe’dheardintothoseravenousgrowlsandthat
bloodcurdlinghowl.Evenrightafterward,we’dbeenlaughingatourownfear.Gideonhadbeenlimping
aswe’dcrossedthegrounds,becausebetweenmypullingandhisshovinghisbigbodythroughthegapin
thegate,he’drippedopenadeepscratchonhisleg.Yetwe’dbeenlaughing,giddywithsheerrelief,and
already teasing each other about who had been the more frightened—with Gideon claiming that the
monsterhadbeenrightonhimattheend,andhe’ddemonstratedthehotfeelofitsbreathagainsttheback
ofhisneckbybendinghisheadandopeninghislipsagainstmythroat,gentlybitingtheskinthere.I’ve
neverforgottenthat.I’verarelythoughtabouttherest,though.

Yetapproachingtheaccessgatenow,myheartispoundingwithrememberedterror.Mygazescansthe

woodsedgingthelane,myheelstappingoutaquickrhythmontheasphaltinmyhurrytoreachthesafety
behindthewall.

Ihaven’tgrownmuchsinceIwasfifteen.Turningsideways,Islipthroughthegapinthebarsaseasily

asIdidthen.

But I can’t get my rolling suitcase through. I struggle with it until I’m breathless, but the suitcase

simply won’t fit through the gap. Even if I unloaded the contents, the rigid frame still wouldn’t pass
through.

Justlovely.
Butnotarealproblem.Despitethegrayskies,norainisexpectedtoday.AndwhenIreachthemanor

house,therewilleitherbesomeonethereortherewon’tbe.Ifit’sthefirst,wecancomeandcollectmy
suitcase.Ifit’sthelatter…well,thenI’llberollingthatsuitcasetothevillage.Soperhapsit’seasierto
leaveitherenowinsteadofhaulingitbackandforthacrosstheestategrounds—andthere’slittlefearthat
itwillbestolen,sincehardlyanytrafficcomesoutthisway.

Evenifitwastaken,thesuitcasecontainsnothingofrealvalue,anyway.IonlyownonethingthatI

couldn’tbeartolose,andIwearthataroundmyneck.

ThethingoldchainandteardropdiamondpendantwasagiftfromGideononthatsamebirthday.He’d

fasteneditaroundmythroatmomentsbeforehekissedme—andmomentsafterhetoldmethatI’donlybe
wearingituntilwewereoldenoughforhimtoreplaceitwitharing,becauseIwasmeanttobehis.

Sweet,Iknow.Younglovealwaysis.Exceptthatmomenthadbeenfarmorethansweet.Evenasa

boy,Gideonhadbeenintense,driven.Atseventeen,he’dbeenlikeaforceofnature—andhenevermade
promiseslightly.

NotthatIintendedtoholdhimtothatpromisewhenIreturnedtoBlackwoodManor.Yettherewas

somethingbetweenus,anaffinityandattractionsostrongthatI’veneverexperiencedanythinglikeit,not
evenbriefly,withanyoneelse.

I’dhopedtofindthatagain.
That hope doesn’t seem likely now, and as I start walking the gravel path leading through the

woodlands and to the manor house, the thin chain of gold around my neck feels unusually substantial,
almostheavy—asifremindingmeofitspresence,andofallthedreamsandpromisesthatwillneverbe
fulfilled.

A walk through these woods should have cheered me some. Unlike the gatehouse and the grounds,

there’snoneedtocarefullymaintainthegroves,sotheneglectvisiblearoundtherestoftheestateisn’tso
apparenthere.Andthecherrytreesshouldhavebeenburstingwithblossoms,asightbeautifulenoughto
lifttheheaviestspirits.

Yet bare branches greet me, instead. Not just the cherry—the horse chestnut and beech trees raise

skeletal,nakedlimbstothegraysky,asifthiswerethedeadofwinterinsteadofthefirstdayofspring.

So instead of strolling leisurely along the path, appreciating the beauty around me, I find myself

walkingbrisklywithmygazefixedaheadandwithuneasepricklingthelengthofmyspine.Asidefrom
thesoundofmysteps,everythingissilent.

Noteventhebirdsaresinging.
Oh,andwhydidIdressupforthistrip?Withtheideaofaskingforaposition—andperhapsseeing

Gideon again—I’d put extra effort into my appearance today, leaving my blonde hair loose instead of
pullingitback,whereI’dhavebeensavedthetroubleofdraggingthelongstrandsoutofmyeyesevery
timethebreezepickedup.Beneathmywindbreaker,I’mwearingaprettywhiteblouseoveraswingyA-
line skirt that flirts with my knees on every step. But those steps would be a lot quicker if I wasn’t
wearingheels.IfIwereinmyusualsneakersandjeans,thedreadnippingatthebackofmyneckwould
havesentmesprintingalongthispathasfastasIcould.

InsteadIreachtheclearingwhereGideonandIusedtopracticehittingacricketballandstopinmy

tracks,staringinhorroratthesceneahead.

Oneofthereddeerthatgrazethisestateandthenearbyparkhasbeenslaughtered.Notjustslain,asif

byapoacher—butcompletelyeviscerated,andwhatlittleremainsofthefleshisscoredbylong,ragged
tears.Bloodsplattersthesurroundinggrassesandleaves,andpoolsbeneaththecarcassinathick,muddy
sludge.

Red,glisteningblood.Thiskillisonlyhoursold.
Frantically I scan the grove, searching for whatever did this. But what could do this? We’re in the

middleofEngland,notthewildsofAlaska.Yetthedeerlooksasifitwastornapartbyapackofwolves.
There’snothinglikethathere.

Butiftheestatehasbeenabandoned,perhapsapackofferaldogsnowroamsthegroundsunchecked.
Soscrewmyheels.Kickingthemoff,Iscoopuptheshoesandtakeoffatarun,abandoningthegravel

pathforthesoftergrassalongtheverge.Idon’thavemanytalents,butifthere’sonethingIcando,it’s
run.Fast,far.Everymorningbackathome,ItooktothebeachandwentasfarasIcould.Tenyearsago,
itwastoescapemyfatherandhisangryrefusaltotellmewhywe’dleft,whyIwashardlyeverallowed
to leave the house—except for when I visited the beach. Then he got sick, and I ran simply so I could
breathe.Afterhedied,IranbecauseIhadtogosomewhere.Nolongerescaping,butsearching—because
I was no longer bound to the house or trapped by the fear he never explained. Yet still never finding
anything.

Finally,though—I’mrunningtosomewhere.
If not for the state of the grounds and the gatehouse, I’d never have known the residence had been

abandoned,judgingbytheexteriorofBlackwoodHallalone.Thebrickworkandwindowsareallintact,
the grand Palladian facade with its columned portico untouched by neglect. It’s an enormous residence,
built by one of the Blakes’ noble ancestors, with a central three-story block flanked by four separate
wings,eachoneperfectlysymmetricalandsquare.Theausteredesignisrelievedonlybythetowersthat
capthecornersofthecentralblock,andtheoveralleffectisanimposing,refinedstability,asifthehouse
mightstandforathousandyearsandstillelegantlyreignoverthiscountryside.

Iraceupthestairstothemainentrance.Fromthisvantagepoint,Icanseeacrossthegreatlawns,all

thewaydowntothegatehouse.Nopackofdogsisinsight,butI’mstillnotwaitingoutside.Notwiththe
memoryofthatred,glisteningbloodstillsofreshinmymind.

Thedoorsaren’tlocked.ThehingessqueakasIpushthroughintothegrandhall.Coldsilencegreets

me,thesoftslapofmyeverybarefootstepechoingfaintlyagainstthealabasterdecoratingthewallsand
domedceiling.

“Hello?”Icallout.
Noanswerbutthehollowechoofmyvoice.
Thispartofthehousewasrarelyused,anyway.Ifthereisanyoneleft—ahousekeeper,perhaps—they

wouldlikelyresideinthestaffwing.

QuicklyIheadinthatdirection,passingthroughthenarrowcorridorthatconnectsthecentralblockto

thesouthwestwing.Heretheneglectbeginstoshow.Cobwebslurkinthecorners.Dustblanketsevery
surface.Myfeetarefilthywithit,butthethoughtofputtingonmyheels—imaginingtheemptyclapping
echoofeverystep—seemsmoredreadfultomethandirtyfeetevercouldbe.

Butthereisanothernoise.Afaint,metallicslithering.Tryingtodetectthesourceofthesound,Islow

as I enter the kitchen, where every Saturday morning Mrs. Collins used to chase Gideon and me away
fromherfreshlybakedscones.

Then I pass a window and my heart plummets straight to the ground, two stories below, where the

southgardenshouldhavebeen.

Thegardenisstillthere.Butit’sdead.Notovergrownwithweeds.Notuntendedwithwildflowers

runningrampantthroughthecarefullyplantedbeds.Simply…dead.Nothingbutwitheredstumpsremainof
theshrubsandroses,brokentwigslitteringthebareearth.

Hottearsburnatthebackofmythroat.Thatgardenwasmine.Notthatitbelongedtome—everything

herealwaysbelongedtotheBlakes.Yetitwasminetotend,minetocarefor,andhadbeensinceIwas
oldenoughtoplantseedlingsatmyfather’sside.

AndifevertherewasasignthatthehopeI’dclungtowasafool’shope,thatgardenmustbeit.Iheld

on to the memories of this house for so long, spent ten years awaiting the moment I would return. Yet
nothinghereheldontome.ThesoilitselfhadtakenwhatI’dleftbehindanddestroyedit.

There’s nothing for me here. And instead of sweet nostalgia, every memory is bringing nothing but

pain.

Feraldogsornot,it’stimetogo.
Blindedbytears,IturnbackthewayIcame—andfeelafaintslidingtouchatthebackofmyneck.

Immediately I shudder and flinch, thinking of those cobwebs, trying to bat away whatever just crawled
acrossmyskin.

Butit’sonlymynecklace.Thependantmusthavegottenturnedaround.Except…
Ican’ttwistitbackintoplace.Thefinechainissnugaroundthefrontofmythroat—andsnugaround

thebackofmyneck—butmyfingerscan’tlocatethediamondpendantattheendofthechain.

Forget the pendant, though. I can’t locate the end of the chain. Instead I turn and stare in stunned

incomprehensionattheglitteringlineofgoldthattrailsbehindme—startingatmynapeandcontinuingthe

lengthofthecorridor,whereitdisappearsfromsight.

Whatthe…?
Shakingmyheadinconfusionanddisbelief,Islidemyfingertipsoverthefinelinksaroundmyneck,

searchingfortheclasp.

There’snoclasp.Insteadtheseamlesschaincirclesmythroatlikeacollar,withagoldenleashthat

leadsbacktowardthegrandhall.

I follow it, uneasily aware that there’s no slack forming in the chain as I go. It should be trailing

behind me in an ever-increasing loop, but instead all of the loose length is simply…disappearing. Or
shrinking.It’snotbeingtakenupfromtheotherend,becausethechainaheadofmeisn’tbeingpulledin
thatdirection.Asifthechainisonlyaslongasitneedstobe,andthatlengthisthedistancebetweenmy
neckandwhereverthechainends.

Which isn’t in the great hall. The chain leads across the domed chamber, past the long gallery still

decoratedwithmarblestatuaryandgreatpaintings,andintothecorridorconnectingtothesoutheastwing.

Thefamilywing.
Heartthundering,Ipassthroughthemainparlor—andhere,finallyhere,thereisnotjustabandonment

andneglect.Thoughthewingclearlyhasbeenneglected.Butthedusthasnotlainundisturbed.Insteadit’s
as if someone has lived here and cleaned the rooms haphazardly, though not with the dedication of a
householdstaff.

Cleaned the rooms…and destroyed some of them. Stuffing spills out of slashed upholstery. Silk

wallpaperhangsinraggedstrips.Shatteredmirrorsreflectshardsofmyface—thebrokenglasscleaned
fromthefloorbuttheframesstillhangingonthewalls.

Andthere’sblood.Noneofitfresh,butinfainthandprintsalongthewalls,andfadedsplotchesinthe

rugs.Idon’timmediatelyrecognizewhatthoserustedstainsare,butassoonasIdo,itseemsthatIcan’t
stopseeingit.There’sbloodeverywhere.

Yetit’sallsmudged,indistinct.Asifsomeonetriedtocleanit.
The level of destruction increases the deeper into the wing I go. And unless the chain is anchored

outside somewhere, there’s not much farther to go. The only rooms remaining in this direction are the
solarium…andGideon’sbedchamber.

Hisroomistheleastravaged,butonlybecausenothingremainsexceptforhisbigfour-posterbed—

asifeveryotherpieceoffurnitureandtherugshadbeenutterlydestroyedordiscarded.

Thisiswherethechainends,wrappedaroundthelegattheheadofGideon’sbed.Whitelinensheets

cover the mattress—and they’re clean, though rumpled and unmade, but I can’t mistake the faint, rusted
stainsforanythingelseexceptmorebloodthathadn’tcomeoutinthewash.

Handsshaking,Ifalltomykneesandattempttopullthechainfree.Butit’snotwrappedaroundthe

thick wooden leg, I realize. Instead the fine links seems to pierce through the solid oak, the diamond
teardrophangingfromtheoppositesideasifithadbeenpinnedthere.DesperatelyIpull,thinkingthatifI
pullhardenoughthediamondwillpopoffandthechainwillslidefree,yetthere’snogiveatall,andthe
pressureofthethingoldlinksagainstmypalmandfingersthreatenstocutintomyskin.

Ineedaglove—orsomethingelsetoprotectmyhand.
With frantic purpose, I strip off my jacket and wrap the fabric around my palm before gripping the

chain again and hauling back with all of my strength, bracing my feet against the wall and throwing my
weightintoit.

Nothing happens…though the chain should have snapped. It’s a fine piece of jewelry but a gold

necklaceisn’tthatstrong.

Italsousuallydoesn’tstretchthelengthofamanorhouse,thenshrinktolessthanthreefeetlong.Right

nowitextendsfromthebedframetomyneckwithnoslackinbetween.

Thisisn’treal.Thiscan’tbereal.

Therealizationisareassuringone,easingmypanicandcalmingtheracingbeatofmyheart.
Thiscan’tbereal.
SoI’mdreaming.ImusthavefallenasleepinthecarandnowI’mdreaming.
Okay.Myraggedbreathingslows.Okay.
I’mokay.Justhavingadreamfilledwithsomereallydisturbingsymbolism.
But it’ll end when I wake up. Letting go of the chain, I rise to my feet and look around the room.

Gideon’sbedchamberhasitsownaccesstothesolarium—which,whenwewereyoung,washisfavorite
room in the entire house. The door leading to that glass-walled chamber has been torn away; nothing
remainsbutthetwisted,brokenhinges.Graydaylightspillsthroughthedoorway.

AndIknowthisisonlyadream—anightmare—yetstillmyheartfreezeswhenIhearthesoftgrowl

coming from that room. Still my body begins trembling when I see the hulking shadow of…something
prowlingtowardGideon’sbedchamber.

Something.Orsomeone.
Pulsethuddinginmythroat,Idropintoacrouchbesidethebigbed,caughtinanagonyofindecision.

IfIrunforit,surelythenoiseofmypoundingfeetandtheslitheringchainwouldalertthem.IfIstayright
here,remainveryquiet,maybewhateverisinthesolariumwon’trealizeI’mhiding.Silenceseemslike
mybestoption.

ButohmygodIwanttorun.
Abruptlythegrowlingstops,replacedbythesoundof…aninhalation?Asifsomeoneistakingalong,

deepbreath.

Asifsomethingisscentingtheair.
Andtheyareinthisroom.Inthisbedchamber.Andcomingcloser.
Coldsweatdripsdownmyspine.Everymuscleinmybodytenses,preparingtoflee.ThenIheara

footstep,thenanother,comingevercloser,andIcan’tbearthisanymore.I’vegottogetoutofhere,Ineed
torun.

MentallyImeasurethedistancetothedoor.Ijusthavetogetthatfar,slamtheheavyoakshutbehind

me, give myself a few extra seconds head start—and hope that slamming the door doesn’t prevent the
chain from magically stretching again. Because if it pulls tight while I’m sprinting away, I’m going to
breakmyneck.

Onasoftprayer,Idartforthedoor.
AheavybodycrashesintominebeforeItakethreesteps,knockingtheairfrommylungs,spinningme

around—

Anddumpingmebackontosoftcushionofthebed.
I shriek in terror, ready to fight. Pinning my flailing hands, the giant figure looms over me, his dark

hairawildtangle,mostofhisfaceinshadow…

Hisface.
Abruptlymystrugglesstop,myheartsqueezingtightinmychest.“Gideon?”
Eyesasgreenasspringmeetmine,narrowingastheysearchmyfeatures.“WhenIdreamofyou,Cora

Walker,youdonotusuallyrunfromme.”

Ihardlyrecognizethevoicethatseemstoreverberatefromdeepwithinhischestbeforeemergingona

rumblinggrowl.

Ihardlyrecognizehim—orthewayhe’sgazingdownatme.Hiseyeswerealwaysfilledwithwarmth

whenhelookedatme,butnowthey’reglowingwithheat,likeglassdrawnfromafurnace.

More aware of the hard, muscular body leaning over mine than I’ve ever been aware of anything

before,Iaskbreathlessly,“WhatdoIusuallydo?”

Hisheaddipstowardmine,thatthicktangleofhairsmellingcoldandcrisp,likeanightspentinthe

woods.Igaspasheburieshisfaceagainstmyneck,inhalingdeeply.Hismouthskimsaburninglinefrom

thehollowofmythroattomyjaw.

“Usuallyyou’rewaitingformeinmybed,yoursoftthighsopenandyourbodyyearningformytouch.”

Thatroughenedvoicethickens.“Thebeastwithinmeenjoyeditwhenyouran,Cora.”

Ohgod.Thebeastinmeisenjoyingthewayhe’sholdingmedown,breathinginthescentofmyskin.

“Doeshe?”

Againstmyear,Gideonmakesarumblingsoundofassent.“Butyousmellfarsweeterthistime.Asif

youarenotadreamatall.”

Mindswimminginahazeofdesire,Itellhim,“IthinkI’mtheonewhoisdreaming.”
“ThenIshallmakeyouscreamsoloudthatyouwillawaken.”Thegravellypromiseinhisvoiceis

followedbytheshockofhisbighandpushingbeneathmyskirt.Astunnedbreathcatchesinmythroat,my
body tensing—then arching toward his on a ragged gasp when his long fingers dip into my panties,
delvingthroughslipperywetnessandheat.

Atorturedgroanripsfromhischest.“YouarewetterthaneverIhavedreamed.ShallItasteyou,then,

mysweetCora?ShallIlickandteaseyour…yourlittle…”

Hisbodygoesutterlystill.Hishandwithdrawsfrommypanties,andwhenhepullsback,hisfingers

glistenwiththewetnessofmyarousal—andhe’sholdingtheglitteringthreadofthegoldchain,whichhad
beentrappedbeneathmybodywhenhe’dtossedmeontothebed.I’mstilllyinguponit,butnowIfeelthe
tugatthebackofmyneckandstrangesensationofthelinebeingpulledupbetweenmylegsasGideon
raisesithigher,hisgazefollowingthetrailinglengthtothebedpost.

Abruptlyhedropsthechainandbacksaway,staringatmewithanexpressionneartohorror.“Youare

here.Youhavecome.”Tormentdarkensthegreenofhiseyesandheripshishandsthroughthelongtangle
of his hair, his voice hardening, taut anger whitening his lips. “Bloody fucking hell, Cora! You should
neverhavecome!”

Ican’trespondtothat.Onlysitupandscootbacktothecenterofthebed,mybodystillachingwith

needandmyheartnowtremblingwithfear.

Driedbloodcovershishands.Andhisjawandthroatandchest.He’snaked,andalmosteveryinchof

histall,powerfulformisfilthy—histannedskinnotjustcoveredinbloodbutindirt.

Andhispenisiserect.
Hugelyerect.
Icanhardlytakemyeyesoffthatlong,thickcock.There’sbloodalloverhim,andI’mimmobilized

by uncertainty and terror, yet lust still has me its merciless grip. My pussy clenches with desperate
yearningasIstareattheblatantevidenceofGideon’sdesireforme.

Asardonicsmiletwistshisfirmlips.“Andnowthereisthescentofyourfear.Itisalsosweettothe

beast.”Acold,steelyedgescrapesawaytheroughgrowlinhisvoice.“Butnottome.Whydidyoucome,
Cora?”

“Mr.Singh.Yourparents’solicitor.”Istruggletopullcoherentanswersfromtheriotofemotionsand

thoughtscrowdingmymind.“Hecontactedmeontheirbehalf.”

“Myparentswerekillednineyearsago.”Overmygaspofdisbeliefanddismay,heasks,“Whereis

yourfather?Hewassupposedtoprotectyouandkeepyouawayfromthisplace.”

“He died this past fall.” Raw grief aches in my throat. My father. His parents. “He had a stroke

severalyearsagothatlefthimbedridden.Then…heslowlyfaded.”

Amuscleworkinginhisjaw,Gideonavertshisfacebeforesayinggruffly,“Iamsorry.Hewasagood

man.”

He was. But also a man who practically locked me away for years, away from everything and

everyoneIloved.

“I am sorry to hear about your parents, as well,” I tell him softly. “They were always very kind to

me.”

“Kindtoyou?”Ahard,shortlaughbarksfromhim.“Notattheend,iftheygaveSinghdirectionsto

bringyouhere.Theymusthaveleftinstructionstodoitafteryourfatherpassed.”

“I don’t know anything about that. Singh said there was a debt owed. I wasn’t sure what it was—

perhapsunpaidwages?ButIcamebecauseIwantedtoseeBlackwoodManoragain.”

AndtoseeGideonagain.ButthemanstandingbeforemeisnotthesameboyIknew.Notjustbecause

he’sbigger,taller,stronger.Gideonhadoncebeensokindandeventempered.Neverhadheshownthe
cold,crueledgethatGideonhasnow,andneverhadheseemedso…feral.

Orsoravenous.
Nervouslymygazedropstohisthickerectionagain—thenrisestohisbroadchest,wherebloodhas

driedinsmearsanddrips.Drips,asifhewereamessyeater.Andthatdeerhadbeentornapart.Yethow
couldamandothat?

Idon’tknowhowit’spossible.ButIalsodon’tthinkI’mdreaminganymore.
“You came to see the estate?” A mocking smile appears on his lips. “And what do you think of

BlackwoodManortoday?”

Mygazesnapstohis.“Ithinkyoushouldbeashamedofyourself.”
Somethingpainedflickersinthedepthsofthosegreeneyes.“SoIshouldbe.”Yetitisnotcontrition

butarrogancethatdrawshisangularfeaturesintohard,imposinglines.“Thedebtowedwasnotto your
father.Itwasadebtyourfatherowedtome.”

Gideon had only been seventeen when we’d left. What could my father owe a boy? “What are you

talkingabout?”

“Hetooksomethingofmine.”
“You’resayingmyfatherstolesomething?”FirmlyIshakemyhead.“Hewouldneverdothat.”
“Ididnotsayhestole.Isaidhetookwhatwasmine.”Withapredator’sfluidstride,hestalkssilently

totheedgeofthebed,whereheleansoverandbraceshishandsonthemattress,hiseyesonlevelwith
mine.Eachwordsuccinct,Gideonsays,“He…took…my…bride.”

Hisbride.
Hardlydaringtobreathe,Iwhisper,“Me?”
“Didyounotagreetobemine?”Gazeholdingmine,hewindsthegoldchainaroundhisfist.“DidI

notgiveyouthisnecklaceasIvowedtomakeyoumywife?Didyounotacceptit?”

“I… I…” Of course I did. But bewilderment and fear prevent that admission. Because I don’t

understandanyofthis.“Whydidhetakeme?”

“Sothatthiswouldnothappen.Itoldhimtohideyouaway.”Hetugsgentlyonthechain,drawingme

nearer,untilmyfaceisabreathawayfromhis.Softlyhesays,“ButIhavethekeytoreleaseyou,Cora.”

“Thenreleaseme.”
“PerhapsIwill.”Tormentedgazelockedwithmine,heskimsthebacksofhisknucklesdowntheside

ofmyface.Thegrowldeepenshisvoiceasheadds,“Butnotyet.”

Droppingthechain,hebacksawayagain,abandoningmeinthecenterofthebed,myheartwracked

byhurtandconfusion,mybodyalightwithyearningandneed.

Eyes hard, his gaze sweeps my length. “You are fortunate you did not arrive last night. You’d have

receivedamuchdifferentreception.”

Howdifferent?“Doesthatmeanitwouldbebetterorworse?”
“Betterforyouorforme?”Hiseyesgleamwithahotandferallight.“HadIcomeuponyoulastnight,

I would have fucked you and made you mine—and I would have not cared whether you wanted me in
return.”

Notcared.Icringeawayfromthosewords.AwayfromthisGideon,whowouldnothavecaredfor

myfeelings.

His cold laugh in response to my flinch is a hateful sound. “So you can not bear the thought of this

touch?”Helooksdownathisbloodstainedhands.“Nomatter.Ihavealmostamonthtopersuadeyouto
becomemineinanotherway.”

“Whatway?”Icryinfrustration.“Whatareyoutalkingabout?”
Hemovessofast.Abruptlyhisfingersaretwistedinmyhair,andhe’skneelinginfrontofmeonthe

bed,drawingmyupperbodyagainsthischest,hismouthsoclosetomine.

“CoraWalker.”Mynamefromhislipsisalow,thickrumble.“Willyougetdownonyourhandsand

knees—andwithloveinyourheart,offertheuseofyourcuntformypleasure?”

Mybreathcatches,andIstareathimindisbelief—andgrowinganger.“Whyareyoubeingsocruel?”
Hiscoldgreengazesearchesmine.“IwonderifIammorecrueltoyouortomyself,tobegforyour

heartwhenIknowyouwilldenyme?AndyetIcannotstopit.SoIwillaskthis,aswell,andwewillsee
whoismosthurtbyit.”Wrappingthegoldchainaroundhisbloodstainedfingers,hegentlytiltsmychin
higher,asiftoreadymylipsforhiskiss.“CoraWalker…willyoumarryme?”

T

2

GIDE O N

henexteveningasIsitadjacenttoCoraatthediningtableinthefamilywing,Iaskheragain.

“Willyoumarryme?”

Her answer is the same as it was when I asked her in my bed. Yet this time, her tears do not spill

downhercheekstolandonmychest,eachonelikemoltenleadthatblisteredthesurfaceofmyheart.

Insteadshecalmlysipsmushroomsoupfromherspoonbeforereplying,“Releasemefromthischain,

andwewillsee.”

We will see. What I can see is Cora searching for escape. Even now, her beautiful blue eyes never

meetmine,alwayslookingelsewhereasifimaginingherselfawayfromme.

I could release her from the chain. Then she would run away from me, beyond the borders of this

estate.

AndIwoulddiethemomentshepassedthroughthegate.
The curse that afflicts me and the magic that forms her chain make no logical, scientific sense—yet

theyarestillgovernedbyrules.Myparentssparednoexpense,seekinganswers…andacure.

Answerstheyfound.Ruleswerepartofthoseanswers.Thatthereisnocurewasanotheranswer.
Thebeastiswithinme.Always,itwillbewithinme.
Yetalthoughthereisnocure,thereiscontrol,fortheheartandthesoulofmanandbeastareoneand

thesame.Soifaman’sheartisstrongenough,ifhiswillisgreatenough,hecancontrolthebeast…almost
always.NomatterhowIfight,nomatterhowgreatmywill,Icannotpreventthebeastfromemergingon
thefullmoon.

Butthereisanotherwaytotamethebeast.Forwhenitcomestolove,thebeastknowsnoreserve.A

manmightprotecthisheart;thebeastdoesnot.Andaman’scontroloverhisheartisnothingcomparedto
thepowerofawomanwhoownsit.

JustasCoraWalkerownsmine.Asshe’sowneditforthelongesttime.
Thebeasthasalwaysknownofher,asifsensingherpresenceintheheartweshare.Hehasalways

searchedforher.Yetwe’dkeptheraway,fearingthebeastwouldfindher.

Becausethatisanotherpartofthecurse—ifapromiseofloveandmarriagehasbeenmade,thenthe

womanonlyhastodrawnearandshewillbeboundbythatpromise.Ididn’tknowwhatformthatbinding
would take, but it is the necklace I gave to her. Trapped by an innocent gift, given with the purest
intentions.

Nowmyvowtomarryherwilldestroyeitherherorme.Becausethebeasthasscentedhernow.He’s

tastedherskin.Shefillshisheartasfullyasshedoesmine.

Nowhewillfighttopossessher.Yetifshegivesherselftousinlove,ifsheconsentstobeours,then

hewillbecontent,andlietamebeneathherhand,onlyemergingifsheisindangerorneedsprotection.

Butifsheleavesandshatterstheheartweshare,thebeastwilldie.
AndIwilldiewithhim.
IfCoraranfromme,Iwouldwelcomedeath.Betterthanlivingwiththescentofheralwaysfillingmy

lungs,betterthanlivingwiththetasteofherskinalwaysuponmytongue,betterthanlivingwithouther.
ButIamnotreadytodieyet—andshewillbesafehereuntilthenextfullmoon,whenthebeastwithinme
willnotgiveheranychoice.

Andifhetakesherthroughforce,foreverwillIremainthebeast,becausehewillalwaysstruggleto

possess her and will never relinquish control to me again. For now, I can keep him leashed. Yet if I
shouldchangeforever,abeastdrivenbydesperationtopossessher…

BetterforherthatIwillbedead.
I can feel that death approaching, bitter and cold. For years, living here alone, I thought I’d known

bitterness,coldness.Buttheywerenothingcomparedtohavingherhere,knowingshewillneverbemine.
Knowingtheendiscoming.

“Sowillyousayyestotheother,then?”Iaskofher.“Willyougiveyourselftomewithloveinyour

heart?”

Herbalefulgazemeetsmine.Flatlyshesays,“Sothatyoumayusemycuntforyourpleasure?”
Her fragrant, juicy cunt. So wet and hot to the touch. Wetter and hotter than even in my fevered

dreams.AndthehoneyedflavorofherjuicesthatIlickedfrommybloodstainedfingerswasthesweetest
heaven.

Iwouldripapartmountainssimplytohaveonemoretaste.Iwoulddragastarfromtheskyjustforthe

chancetosipdirectlyfromthewellofhercunt,toteaseherclitwithmytongue.

Cockachingwithneed,ravenousforanothertaste,Isoftlygrowl,“Yes.”
Herresponseissilence,onceagainturningherbeautifulfaceawayfromme.
Ibattletheurgetoreachforher,tomakeherlookatme.ButIdonotknowhowmuchcontrolIhave—

andcouldnotbearifsheflinchedawayfrommytouch.SoIusemyvoicetoreachher,instead.

“Areyoucertainyouwishtorefuse?”Whenshestilldoesnotlookatmebutonlytakesanothersip

from her spoon, I tell her, “Your pussy wishes to be used for my pleasure. The moment I spoke of you
givingyourselftome,thescentofyourarousalbloomedlikeaflower.Evennow,youaredrowningin
yourownnectar.”

Herwide,stunnedgazeswingsbacktomineandshestaresatme,pinkembarrassmentdarkeningher

cheeks.“Whydoyousaysuchthings?”

“Because they are true.” Satisfied for the moment, now that her gaze is upon me, I lean back in my

chairandreachformywine.Itsflavorisapoor,soursubstituteforthesweetjuicesI’drathertasteupon
mytongue.“Iwouldeasethatneedforyou.Youdonothavetogetonyourhandsandkneestonighttotake
mycock.Insteadsituponthistableandletmesuckonyourclitandfeastfromyourcunt.”

Between her full, parted lips, her breath comes in hot shallow pants. She stares at me, then looks

away,thenstaresatmeagain.Allthewhileherarousalfillstheairwithitsrich,headyfragrance.

Allthewhilethebeastfightstoemerge,wildtohaveher.
But the beast has not wanted Cora as long or as violently as I have, and his lust for her burns not

nearlyashotasmine.Thefirsttimemyfisteverwrappedaroundmycock,itwasshewhoIpictured—at
anagewhenIwasstilltooyoungtotrulyunderstandwhatIwantedfromher.BythetimeIwasseventeen,
Iknewfullwell,andmydesireforCorawasstrongerthanIeverletherknow.Becauseshewasstilltoo
young.

Nowsheisnot.Andalloftheseyears,picturinghowshewouldlook—nolongeragirlbutawoman

—myimaginingswerebutpaleimitationsofthebeautyshehadbecome.Ihadthoughtshewouldbeall
softness and curves, from the thick waves in her ash blond hair to the gentle swell of her belly to the
sweep of her calves into ankles. Yet although the curves are there in the softness of her breasts and

fullnessofherlips,she’stautandlean,withanedgethatsharpensherbeautytoapainfuldegree.

Withashudderingbreath,shetearshergazefrommine.Herfingersshakeassheliftsanotherspoonful

toherlusciousmouth,thensheasksquietly,“Whathappenedtothisplace?Whyisnooneelsehere?”

“BecauseIsentthestaffaway.”Thosewhohadnotalreadyfled.
Alittlefrownformsbetweenherbrowsasshelooksdownathersoup.“Thenwhocookedthis?And

whobroughtthebreadandcheeseIateforlunch?”

“Twiceaweek,Mrs.Collinsleavesabasketformeoutsidethegate.”BecauseIdonotliketoventure

far outside the manor’s grounds. The beast is territorial—and so I am now, too. Everything within the
wallssurroundingtheestateismine.

Everythingoutsidethosewallsisnoneofmyconcern.
“Mrs.Collins?”Hergazeliftstomine.“OurMrs.Collins?”
The pleasure of hearing that word from her lips—our—is like a fierce, hot embrace around the

hollowacheofmyheart.“Thesame.Sheisstillinmyemploy.”

“Butwhatoftheothers?Lettingthemgomusthavebeenablowtothevillageeconomy.”
So she will look at me while speaks of the manor and the people here. It is only when I speak of

marryingheroroftouchingherthatsheturnsherface.

ThenIwillalwaysspeakofthemanoranditsformerstaff.“Iamnotasavage,”Itellher.“Theyall

receivedseverancepackageslargeenoughthattheymightretire,eveniftheywerenotofretiringage.”

Shelaughsatthat.“So?Peopledon’twanttodonothing.Theywanttobebusyanduseful.Well,most

peopledo,anyway.”

Inarrowmyeyes,tryingtointerprethertone.“Doyourefertome?”
“Imust.Whatdoyoudoallday,Gideon?Becauseyouareclearlynotspendingyourtimetendingto

yourestate.”

No,Idonot.“Ispendmydaysinthesoutheasttower.Youarealwayswelcometocomeandseewhat

Idothere.”

“Idon’tcarewhatyoudothere,”sheabruptlysnarlsatme.“Ionlywantyoutoreleaseme.”
Instantlythebeastisrightbeneathmyskin,urgingmetotakeher,tomakesureshecanneverleave.

Strugglingforcontrol,Igritthroughclenchedteeth,“Thenagreetomarryme.”

Sheshovesherchairback.Thechaintrailingacrossthefloorsoftlyjinglesagainstthemarbletileand

shefreezesforthebarestmoment,despairtighteningherlips—asifshehadforgottenthechainwasthere
untilthesoundremindedher.

Agonylurchesthroughmychest.Inonelungingstride,Iamatherside,cuppingherfaceinmyhands,

thebeastroaringformetoeaseherpain.

Butwecannotlethergo.Notyet.
Bendingmyhead,Icapturehermouth.Shestiffensagainstme,thensoftensonatremblingsigh.Her

lipspartandIclaimherwithapossessivestrokeofmytongue,theearthyflavorofthesoupcombining
withherownluscioustasteandexplodingthroughmysenses.RavenouslyIfeedfromherlips,untilshe’s
clingingweaklytomyarmsandthescentofherarousalfillstheairlikethesweetestperfume.

HerblueeyesaresoftandunfocusedwhenIliftmymouthfromhers,herlipsredandswollenfrom

ourkiss,hernipplesstandingstiffbeneaththethinfabricofherblouse.Andalthougheverythingwithin
me—manandbeast—clamorstotakehernow,thatisnotwhatweneedfromher.

“Tomorrow,”Igrowlagainstherlips,“youranswerwillbeyes.”

eransweristhesame,tossedcarelesslyatmeoveramealofroastguineahen.“Releasemefirst.”

Notyet.ButIsaynothing,coldbitternessdiggingintomythroatwitharid,icyclaws—hotirritation

H

I

pricklingmyskin.Thebeastdoesnotlikeclothes,butIhavetakentowearingthemagainnowthatCorais

here.ThoughIdonotwearmuch.Thebeastwouldnottolerateshoesorunderpants.Butevenasoft
cottonshirtandmyancientjeansseemtochafeandconstricteverymovement.

AsifheadingmeoffbeforeIcanaskhertogetdownonherhandsandknees,sheasks,“Myluggage

isoutbytheeastaccessgate.Canyougetitformetomorrow?”

“Ialreadycollectedyoursuitcase.”DrawntherebyherscentasI’drunacoursethroughthegrounds,

becausetheopenairpleasesbothmeandthebeast.“Itookittoyourbedchamberthisafternoon.”

Achamberinthenorthwestwing—asfarfrommineasshecouldget.
“Thankyou,”shesaysabsently,pokingathermeal.“Whatelsedidyoudotoday?”
“Iwatchedyou.”
Herheadjerksupandherwidenedgazemeetsmine.“Fromwhere?”
Fromadistance,becauseIwasn’tcertainofmycontrol.Thebeasthasbecomemoreinsistentsince

shearrived.“Thenortheasttower.”

“Yousaidyoustayedalldayinthesoutheasttower.”
“Thatwasbeforeyouriskedchokingyourselftodeath.”
Because today she tested the length of the chain, walking across the great lawn. A few paces away

fromthemaingates,thechainhadgonetaut,stoppinghershort.Yetstillshe’dpulledagainstit,futilely
tryingtobreakthelinksormakethemstretchfarther,untilshecrumpledtothegroundinasobbingheap.

The beast’s claws dug gouges into the stone sill as we’d watched, knowing we could cross the

distance quickly if she hurt herself, terrified she would. And it was I who had held us back, because I
didn’t know whether I would be the one in control as we rushed to her side. If the beast emerged…he
wouldnotstopateasingthechain’spulluponherneck.Hewouldnotstopuntilhemadeherhis.

Listlessly she pushes a carrot around her plate with a fork. “The chain won’t let me leave the

grounds.”

“No.Itwon’t.”NotuntilIrescindmyvowtomarryher.
Sheraisesaccusingeyestomine.“Youwon’tletmeleave.Youcouldfreeme.”
“Yes,”Iagreesoftly.“ButIwon’t.”
Her jaw clenches and her lips tremble as she stares at me with hatred shining from the blue of her

eyes.Abruptlyshepushesawayfromthetable,collectingherdishestocarryintothekitchen.

“Iwillletyouleavetheroom,”Itellher.“Doesthatpleaseyou?”
Shehurlsherplateatmyhead.

havealwayslovedthatCoraisafighter.I’vealwayslovedthatshenevergivesup.

ButIcannotbearanotherdayofwatchingthis.

ThebeasturgesmetorunasIcrossthegreatlawn,andIgiveintothaturge,myfocustightonCora’s

figureahead,neverallowinghimtobreakthroughmyskin.

Eachofhersobbing,gaspingbreathsripsagapingholeintomyheart.Thelonggoldenchainistense

asawire,stretchingfromhernapetothehallinthedistance,yetshe’sstillstrainingagainstit.Fighting.

Letherfightme,instead.
RoughlyIsnagmyarmaroundherwaistandswingherupagainstmychest.“That’senough!”
“Letmego!”ShescreamsasIbegincarryingherbacktowardthemanorhouse.Instantlythetension

onthechaineases.“Damnyou,Gideon.Goback!”

Hervoiceishoarse,fromchokingorsobbingorboth.Bruisesringherneck,andherskinisrawand

reddened.There’snotachanceinhellthatI’lllethergoandIamnotturningback.

Her fists land solid blows against my shoulders. Wild kicks send sharp pains shooting through my

F

shins.

Thebeastlovesit.Mycockisathickironbarthatgrowshotterandharderwitheveryblowshelands.
Idon’tloveit.Notwhenherraggedsobsaccompanyeveryhit,notwhenherstrugglesrapidlyweaken

untilshe’slyinglimpagainstmychest,weepinghelplesslyagainstmyshoulder.

“Youwillneverdothisagain.”Forcedthroughtherawacheofmythroat,thecommandisharshand

thick.“Ifyoudo,Iwilllockthedoorssothatyoucannotevenleavethehouse.”

“ThenIwilljumpfromawindow!”
Coldfearpiercesmyskin,thebeasttryingtoclawthroughtheholesherwordsrippedinme.“Donot

evensaysuchathing!”Iroarandwhensheflinchesagainstme,buryingherfaceagainstmythroat,Ihave
tofightforthecalmbeforeIspeakagain.“Wouldyou?”

Inaquietvoice,shesays,“No.”
Yetitmusthavecrossedhermind.HoarselyIask,“Doyouwanttoescapemesobadly?”
“I want to be free!” Despair fills her cry and she pounds her fist against my chest. “Do you not

understandthedifference?”

Ido.ButIcan’tlethergoyet.
Andatleastsheisfightingagain.“Willyoumarryme,Cora?”
“Fuckoff,”shesays.

ordays,Coratakeshermealstoherchambersinsteadofjoiningmeatthetable.Asthemoonwanes
and March becomes April, my time with her grows shorter—but she is not completely absent. I

watch her from the tower as she spends each day working in the south garden, and although she rarely
straysfromthenorthwestwing,theentirehouseisfilledwithherscent.EachbreathItakecarriesherinto
me,hersweetfragrance—tingedwiththecoldbitternessIknowtoowellafteryearsspentalone.

Witheverystep,thatlonelinesshangsaroundherlikeashroud.
Perhapsthatiswhyshefinallyjoinsmeagain.ThistimeIdonotimmediatelyaskhertomarryme,but

allowthetensiontoeaseoutofthesilencebetweenus—andallowherthefirstword.

Itcomesneartheendofthemeal,whenshequietlyasks,“Whathappenedtoyourdadandmum?”
“Theywerekilled.”
She looks up, her eyes meeting mine. The soft reluctance in those blue depths grips my heart, her

regretthatshehasaskedandcausedmepain.Yetdeterminationshinesthere,too.“How?”

Ileanbackinmychair,unflinchinglyreturnherstare.“DoyouthinkIdidit?”
Hergazeshiftsawayfrommine—notinanadmissionofguilt,butasshepensivelystudiesthewalls,

the faint bloodstains left on the rug, the shattered mirror, and the divan with its upholstery slashed in
parallel stripes. “No,” she finally says. “I don’t know what to think of many things, beginning with the
slaughtereddeerIranacrossinthegrove,orthebloodthatwasalloveryourfaceandhands.Butnever
once has it occurred to me that you were the one who killed your parents. Though now I wonder if I
should?YetIstilldon’t.Idon’tthinkyoucouldhaveeverhurtthem.”

The shield I had slapped over my heart, preparing for the stabbing wounds of her accusation and

doubt,crumblesintonothingasthoseknivesneverappear.Yetmycheststillfeelspiercedthrough.She
hasnoreasontostillhavefaithinme,tobelieveinme.Yetshedoes,andit’severythingIcandonotto
reachforher,todrawherclose.

“I did not,” I tell her through a throat that feels hot and swollen. “They were attacked by the same

monstrousbastardwhochasedusonyourbirthday.”

Amurderousfiendwho’dclaimedBlackwoodManoraspartofhisterritorywhilemyparentsandI

searched for answers regarding the curse. When we returned, he came to kill me. He ran across my

parentsfirst.

Her lips part. “There was really someone out there that night? I told myself afterward that it only

seemedsoterrifying.Andthatit’dreallybeenawildboarorsomeferaldog.”

That is what I needed her to believe—and could hardly believe the truth myself. But I had seen the

howling nightmare that lunged at me as I’d forced my way through the gap in the gate. I’d seen the
gleamingfangs,andtheclawsthatrippedintomyleg.Ithadbeenpastmidnight,butthemoonhadbeen
fullandhighandbright,andI’drecognizedwhathadcomeafterus.

Amyth.Alegend.Somethingoutofahorrorfilm,notsomethingreal.
Yetithadbeen.
And I’d known what it was, but I could not bear her terror. So I’d laughed with her, teased her as

we’d made our way back to the manor house, all the while feeling the beast’s curse winding its way
throughmyblood.

Myparentsbelievedmyclaimthatawerewolfhadattackedus,butIdidn’thavetoconvincethem—

orCora’sfather.Thesecuritycamerasmountedatoptheestatewallhadcapturedeverything.

“Sohecameback?”shewhispersnow.
“Hecameback.”
“Andkilledthem?”Hereyesswimwithtears.
“Yes.”
“Wereyouhere?”
SlowlyInod.Thoughithadbeenduringthefullmoon,soitwasnotonlyme.Mybeasthadbeenout

huntingontheestategroundsandheardtheirscreams.

“Whathappened?”
“ThistimeIwasstrongerthanhewas,”Isaysimply.
Hertremblinglipspresstogetherasshelookstearfullyaroundtheroomagain.“Isthatwhenallofthis

damagehappened?Andintheparlor…andtheotherrooms…andyourbedchamber…”

Shetrailsoff,asifrecognizingevenasshespokehowlittlesensethatmade.
“Theywereoutside,”Itellher.“This…wassomethingelse.”
Thebeast,returningfromhishuntsbloodiedandsatedwithrawmeat,yetstillsearchingforwhathe

knewwasmissing.Becausehehadmemoriesofher,too,mymemoriesofherineveryroom.Andhehad
torneachchamberapartinhisfrustrationwhenhecouldneverfindher.

But what the beast had done in this wing was nothing compared to the damage he’d done to the

gatehouse.He’dtornaparttheveryfloorboardsinhissearchforthemissinghalfofhissoul.

Istillawakeninhergardenaftereveryfullmoon,nakedandhalf-buriedinthedirt,asifhe’dtriedto

coverhimselfinthesamesoilheknewshe’doncetouched—orasifprayingshemightcomeandtendto
himassheoncehadtendedtoeverythingthathadeverbeenplantedthere.

Andeachtime,hedugholesthatdestroyedmoreandmoreofwhatshe’dleftbehind.Hatinghimself

forit,asIhatedhimforit.

Yetstillunabletohelphimself.
ButIwillnotawakeninhergardenonthemorningafterthisnextfullmoon.Ifshecannotacceptus,I

willnotawakenatall.Andthebeastwillneverdestroyanythingofhersagain.

Thoseicy,bitterfingerswraparoundmyheart.Itrytowarmitwithaswallowofburgundy,butwine

isstillnotwhatIwantonmytongue.“You’vemadeprogressinyourgarden.”

“You watched that from your tower, too?” The same cold bitterness clutching at my heart fills her

reply.“Youshouldhavecomedownandhelpedme.”

Aftershehadavoidedmefordays?“Doyoutrulywantmesoneartoyou?”
“Whywouldn’tI?”shechallenges.“Willyouhurtme?”
“Itisnothurtyouhavetofear.”Notwithme.ThoughthebeastwantsexactlywhatIwant,anddreams

W

ofwhatIdo.

OfCoraonherknees.Ofmountingher,buryingourthickcockintheburningdepthsofhercunt,and

listeningtohercriesechothrougheverychamberinthehouseaswefuckherrelentlessly.Withme,those
crieswouldbeofneedandpleasure.

Withhim,shewouldlikelybescreaminginpainandfear.
Hermouthsetinastubbornline,shereachesforherwine.“ThenwhyshouldIworryifyouarenear

tome?”

“BecauseeverytimeIcomeneartoyou,yourbodyreadiestotakeme,”Itellherharshly.“Because

thesweetpetalsofyourpussyopenandperfumetheveryairwithyournectar.Becausethetightbudsof
yournipplesseekmytouchasaflowerseeksthetouchofthesun.Andyouhavesaidagainandagainthat
youhavenowishtogiveyourselftomewithloveinyourheart,ortoallowmetheuseofyourcuntformy
pleasure.ButifIwassoneartoyouthroughouttheday,Cora,howlongwoulditbebeforeyouwereon
yourhandsandkneesinthedirtofthatgarden,beggingmetoplowmycockdeep?”

Cheeksflushed,shedrawsatremblingbreath.“Iwouldnot.”
No,shewouldprobablynot.NotmystubbornCora.Nomatterhowmuchshewants,notmatterhow

wetsheis,notmatterhowdeeptheache.

ItwouldbeI—andthebeast—whowouldendupbegging…ortaking.Evennowhetriestotearhis

waythrough,myfingernailslengthening,myeyeteethsharpening.Butthepainfulhardnessofmycockis
allmine,myhungerandneedforherendless.

Yetstillhefightstothesurface,andmyvoiceisalow,growlingrumbleasIcommand,“Marryme.”
Hersteadybluegazelockswithmineandshemakesademandofherown.“Freeme.”
Notyet,Iwouldhavesaid,butinsteadthebeastroars,“NEVER!”
Corarearsbackinherchair,eyesflyingwide.Afraid.
I grip the edge of the heavy oak table, claws gouging the surface, fighting for control. She’s afraid.

Thatisallthebeastsees,andheripsatmyskin,tryingtoemergeandprotecther.

Hedoesn’tunderstandsheneedsprotectingfromthis.
Withallofmywill,Ibattletheoverwhelmingurgetolethimtakeover,tolethimshieldher,myhands

tighteningonthetable’sedgeasIsilentlywagewaragainstthebeastwithin.

Then the silence is broken with a great, splintering crack. Cora gasps as the table splits down the

center.Herhandsflytohermouthtomuffleadisbelievingcry.

Disbeliefandsurprise.Notfear.
Thebeastbeginstorecede.
Corastaresatmeoverherfingers.“Well,”shewhispersshakily,“nowIknowwhathappenedtoall

ofthefurniture.”

Perhapsbecauseiftherewasanythingleft,Iwouldbendheroveritanddrivethefulllengthofmy

cockintohersweetsilkyheat,makingherscreaminpleasureasIeasethisagonizingneed—asIfillher
wombwithmyhotseed.

ThebeastandIarenotalwayssodifferent.
AndthistimeIamthefirsttogetupandleave.

iththebeast’sacutesensesattunedtoCora’severymovement,I’malwaysawareofwheresheis
andwhatsheisdoing,evenifshe’sinanotherwingofthehouseorattheedgeoftheestate.

Thismorningitrained,soinsteadofworkinginthegarden,shehadretreatedtothelibraryandspent

severalquiethours.Iwasawareofhersofttreadleavingthatchamberandheadingtowardthesoutheast
wing,butIexpectedthatshewouldveertowardthefamilykitchen.Insteadshepausedatthebottomofthe

towerstairsandbegantoclimb,herstepssteadilyrisingandtheslitheringjingleofthechainfollowing.

Cora has almost reached the tower chamber before I accept that she truly is coming to see me. Not

hesitating,notretreating.HurriedlyIdragonmyjeans,andthebeastissoexcitedbyherapproachthathe
doesnotevenprotesttheconfiningcloth.

Theheavywoodendoortothetowerchamberisalwaysopen,soIseeherthemomentsheascendsto

thetopofthespiralingstaircase.She’sdressedinherownbeauty,herpaleblondhairinaloosebraid
overhershoulder,herfulllipspink,hernarrowfeetbare.Theskirtsheworethedayshearrivedconceals
thelong,tautmusclesofherthighs,thehemkissingherkneeswitheverystep.Asleevelessshirthugsher
ribsandfullbreasts.

Idonotbotherwithmyownshirt.Ibarelybotherwiththezipofmyjeans.InsteadIquicklycombmy

fingers through my hair, and greet her with a smile that cannot hope to tell her how much pleasure this
unexpectedvisithasgivenme.

Theskyblueofhergazedoesnotlifttomyface,however.Withwarmcolorstaininghercheeks,she

glancesatmyabdomenbeforequicklyturningaway,indicatingthestairswithasweepofherhand.“I’d
forgottenhowmanystepstherewere!Doyourememberwhenweusedtoraceuptothischamber?”

Iremembereverythingabouther.“Yes.”
Hergazeisunfocusedandhersmileissweet,losttothosememories—thenabruptlyitsharpens.
“Didyouletmewin?”
“Sometimes.”Andsometimesjostlingagainstherinthenarrowconfinesofthestairwellarousedmy

teenagedbodysomuchthatrunninghadseemedanagony.

Myteenagedbodyknewnothingofagony.FornothingIfeltthencouldcomparetonow.
“UntilthedayItrippedandtwistedmyankle.”
“AndIcarriedyoudowntothesolarium.”Feelinglikeahero…andhatingmyselfforlettingherbe

hurtinthefirstplace.

“Thenrefusedtoracemeagain,”shesayswithhereyesnarrowingonme—thensheabruptlystopsat

theentrancetothechamber,wonderfillingherexpression.

For an endless time she does nothing but look, her bare feet carrying her farther into the chamber,

slowlyturningsothatshecanseethecanvaseshangingfromeverywall.

“Gideon,”shebreathesinawe.“Didyoupaintthese?”
“Idid.”
Indisbeliefsheshakesherhead.“Youwereneverthisgoodbefore.”
“I’vehadmoreopportunitytopractice.”
Shepausesinfrontofalandscape—thegatehouse,asithadlookedwhensheandherfatherhadlived

there.Beforethegateswereclosedandchained.“Sothisiswhereyouspendmostofyourtime?”

“Yes.”Thischambersoothesme…andsoothesthebeast.Forheisoftencontenttobesurroundedby

remindersoftheloveI’dknowninsteadofsearchingforwhatisnolongerhere.

Not content today, though. Not with Cora here. Instead our need for her rages hotter than ever, the

scentofherfillingthischamber,thesoundofhersoftbreathsinourears,thetasteofherskinonlyastep
andalickaway.

Shesmilesoveraportraitofherself,lookingfierceanddetermined,acricketbatatreadyinhergrip.

AndanotherofherbulgingcheeksfullofMrs.Collins’sstolenscones,wide-eyedandtight-lippedfrom
theeffortoftryingnottolaugh,andwithcrumbsclingingtohershirt.

“Was that the day we received The Great Lecture?” she says it in the same manner the lecture had

beendelivered,asifstatesecretswerehiddeninthesconeswe’dstolen.

“Itwas.”
“Oh,”sheexclaimsquietly,standinginfrontofanotherpainting.“Yourdadandmum.”
AsIrememberthembest—walkinghand-in-handthroughCora’sgarden,withthesunupontheirfaces.

Sheglancesbackatme,atmyfaceandlower,thenquicklyaway—andabruptlystillswithhergaze

arrestedbythelargepaintingontheeastwall.Asifinatrance,shemovescloser,whispering,“Whatis
this?”

“Adream,”Itellher.
Unlikealloftheothers,notsomethingfrommypast.SimplyCora,lyinguponabedinaroomfilled

withsunshine,herbodysoftandsupple…andwaitingforme.

“Thisisinyourbedchamber—asitusedtobe?”
“Yes.”
Puzzlement creases her brow and she glances back. “Why was your bed not destroyed? Everything

elsewas.”

Becausethebedwastheonlythinginmybedchamberthatshe’dneverbeenin.Everythingelse,she’d

touched—thedesk,thechairs,eventhewardrobe,onthosedayswhenouradventureswouldleaveherin
desperateneedofacleanshirttoborrow.

Shedoesnotwaitformyanswerbutstudiesthepaintingagain.“Haveyouwatchedmesleep?”
Ihave.But—“Thiswaspaintedbeforeyoucame.”
Abittersmilecurvesherlips.“Sothatiswhyyoudonotshowmechainedtothatbed.”
Agrowlrisesfrommychest.“Andbecausethewomaninthatpaintinghasalreadygivenherselftome

withloveinherheart.SoIwouldhavealreadyreleasedher.”

“Thenhowcanyoubecertainitwasloveandnotdesperationthatdrovehertoacceptyou?”
“Becauseshestayed,”Itellher.“Wouldyou?”
“You’llhavetoreleasemefirsttofindout.Willyou?”
“No.”
Eyes glittering, she turns away from me—away from the painting. She pauses over a portrait of

herself,standinginthemoonlight,herlipsfreshlykissed.Anewdiamondpendantshinesfromthehollow
ofherthroat.Herblueeyesglitteredwithtearsthen,too.Buttheywerejoyous,hopeful.

Cora’sbreathshuddersandshemovesquicklyon.Thesilencebetweenusdeepensasshecontinues

studyingeachpainting,yetherattentiononthemseemsmoreandmoreunfocusedasshegoes—hergaze
strayingtomeoften,theflushneverleavinghercheeks.

BecauseI’vebeenarousedsincehearingherfirststepatthebottomofthetowerstairs,andIhardly

botheredtozip.

“Ifyouwanttolookatmycock,thenonlysayso,”Itellher.“AndIwillgiveyouabetterviewthan

this.”

Herblushdeepening,shefreezesinplace—hereyesclosing.
Thatwon’tdo.
I stalk closer. Her eyes fly open again at the short rasp that sounds as I unzip the few inches I’d

fastenedinhaste.Shetakesaquickstepback.Notfar.Hershoulderspressupagainstapaintingofher
garden,acanvasburstingwithlightandcolor.

ShegoesutterlystillasItaketheachinglengthofmycockinmyrighthand,hergazefixedonmyfist.

Bracingmyleftpalmagainstthewallbesidehershoulder,Iwatchherfaceandslowlystrokemystraining
shaft,arumblinggroanreverberatinginmychest.

“Gideon,”shebreathes.Icannottellifitissupposedtobeaprotestorshockorencouragement,but

thesoundofmynameuponhertongueislikefireovermyskin.

Inavoiceroughenedbyneed,Itellher,“DidyouthinkIwouldreactinanyotherwaywhenyouare

soclose?JustasyourcuntblossomsformewhenIamnear.”Andshehasbeennearmesolong,thescent
ofherarousalisinfullbloom.“Nowwatchmecomeforyou.”

Breastsliftingasshedragsinaraggedbreath,shewatchesme,hertonguedartingouttomoistenher

partedlips,herownhandsfisted.

“DoyouimaginewhatIdo?”Grittingmyteeth,Istrokeharder.“Thatthisisnotmyhand,butinstead

your wet pussy rides my length. That my cock fills your hot cunt and we are racing together, trying to
come.”

Softlyshemoans,herbackarchingagainstthecanvas,herhipscantingtowardme.Herfingersflex.
“Comewithme,Cora.Rubyoursweetclit,asIknowyoudoinyourbed.”
Hergazefliesuptomine,butinsteadoftheoutrageIexpect,there’sonlyhottemptationintheblue

flameofhereyes.

Armrigidlybracedbesidehershoulder,Ibendmyheadclosertohers,mychestheavingwithdeep

breathsthatmatchthelongstrokeofmyhand.“ThefirsttimeIeverdidthis,Ithoughtofyou.Thelasttime
Ididthis,Ithoughtofyou.Ihaveonlythoughtofyou,Cora.Neveranotherwoman.”

Herbreathcatches.“Never?”
It shouldn’t even be a question. “I vowed to marry you. What kind of man would ever look at

another?”

Eventhebeastwithinmewouldnot.
Hergazefallstomycockagain.“Nooneelsehasevertouchedyou?”
“Never.”
Shebitesherlip.“MayI?”
Ahfuck.Atthatshylyspokenrequest,mycockpulseshardinmygrip.Quicklylettinggo,Igritmy

teeth and fight the need to come before she even touches me. “You need not ask permission,” I growl
softly.“Iamyourstouseforyourpleasure.”

Hesitantly she reaches for me. A tortured groan rips from my throat at the first soft touch—her

fingertipsglidinguptheundersideofmystrainingshaft.

Myheadbows,exquisiteagonydrawingeverymuscletightasshetakesafirmergrip,steppingcloser

towrapbothhandsaroundthebaseofmythrobbinglength.

“Likethis?”sheasksbreathlessly,strokingfromroottotip.
Myresponseisahissofbreaththroughclenchedteeth.“Yes.”
“Good.”Hersoftpantspunctuatetheriseandfallofherhands.Thefragranceofherarousaldeepens,

thickens,untilIcanalmosttasteherpussyjuiceswitheverybreath.“BecauseIhaven’tdonethisbefore,
either.”

Headjerkingup,Istareatherflushedface.She’swatchingherhandsworkingtheruddylengthofmy

erectionasifmesmerizedbythesight.“Youhaven’twhat?Wankedaman’scock?”

Ican’tstopthedeepeningrumbleofmyvoiceatthethoughtofherwithsomeoneelse.Butthatwasthe

priceofprotectingher,sendingheraway—knowingIwouldnotbeherfirst.KnowingIwouldnotbeher
only.

AndIsurvivedtheseyearsbyneverimaginingherwithanotherman.
“Touchedanyoneelse,”shewhispers.“Onlyyou.”
Onlyme.The knowledge burns through my brain like a lightning strike, the beast rising so hard, so

fast,histriumphantroarfillingmychestandmycockspasminginhergrip.Theorgasmblazesthroughme,
myteethgrittedaseverymuscleinmybodystiffens,hergaspofsurprisejoiningthehotsplashofcum
againstmyrigidabdomen.

“Oh,”Corawhispers,staring.“Ohmy—”
ShebreaksoffwithastrangledcryasIdroptomykneesandshoveherskirthigh.Myclawsshredher

panties,herlusciousscentfillingmynostrils.Maddenedbylustforthiscunt,thiscuntthatwillonly be
mine,Itakemyfirsttaste,spreadingherlabiawithmythumbsandlickingthoseglisteningpinklipswitha
roughenedtongue.

Bodygoing rigid, Coramakes a thick,guttural noise low inher throat asher sultry flavor explodes

throughmysenses.Herfingersfistinmyhair.

Groaningasherdeliciousjuicesfillmymouth,Ilickdeeper,partingthosesweetpetals,seekingthe

sourceofhernectar,thrustingmystiffenedtonguepasthervirginentrance.

Legstrembling,shewhimperssoftly,rockingherpussyagainstmymouth.“Myclit.Ohgod,myclit.”
Iwouldteaseherlonger.Iwouldsavorthisfirsttaste.Butthebeastisdesperateforherrelease,to

giveheranythingsheneeds,everythingsheasksfor.

RavenouslyIlatchontoherslickbud,suckingandlicking,herwildmoansofpleasureechoinginmy

ears. With one broad finger I tease at her entrance, until she cries out “Please!” and I breach that
untouchedchannel,herinnermusclesclutchingtightlyasIpushdeep.

Raggedly moaning my name, she stiffens and rises onto her toes. I follow her up, feasting upon her

clit,gentlyfuckinghervirgincuntwithlong,slowthrustsofmyfinger.

Shecomessilentlybutherbodyisariotofpleasure,hermusclesshakingandherpussyconvulsively

grasping my finger, her clit throbbing against my tongue and her nectar flooding my mouth. Growling
againsthersweetflesh,Idevourthejuicesfromthewellofhercuntbeforehungrilyreturningtoherclit.

Anddemandingmore.
Her breath shudders in sobbing gasps when she comes again. Her body sags back against the wall,

andsheweaklypushesatmyheadafterIlapherupandreturntoherclit.“Nomore.Ican’t.”

Icould,forever.Butnowthere’smorethatIwant.
Grippinghertightbottom,Irisetomyfeetandliftheragainstme.Automaticallyherlonglegswrap

aroundmywaist,andIdeliberatelyrubtheseedfrommystomachagainstthewetheatofhercunt,until
ourscentsaremeldedintoone.

Markingherasmine.Markingmeashers.
Twistingmyfingersinherhair,Ibringherpassion-spentgazetomine.“Marryme,Cora.”
Onasoftsigh,shewreathesherarmsaroundmyneck,buryingherfingersinmyhair—asiftomake

certainIcannotlookaway.Herblueeyesslowlyclearasshesearchesmyface.“Doyoumean,marry
youandstayhereforeverinanemptyhouse,withahusbandwhohidesawayallday?”

Herwordsarelikefangstearingopenmythroat.“Idonothide.Withthesepaintings,Icanholdonto

everythingthathasgone.Icankeepaliveeveryonethathasgone.”

“And in the meantime, everything they left behind—and everything they built—falls to ruins,

destroyedbyyourneglect.”Shereleaseshergriponmyhairandgentlytracesthelineofmyjaw.“Isthis
whatyouofferme,then?Ahusbandwhoremainsmiredinthepastinsteadoflookingtowardthefuture?”

Ihavenotmuchofafuturetolooktoward.Butperhapsitisnotmyfuturethatmatters.Withaburning

lumplodgedinmythroat,Iask,“Soifthisestatewereasitwasbefore,wouldyoumarrymethen?”

“Releasemeandperhapsyouwillfindout.”
Never. The beast’s response remains trapped in my aching chest, but it is no different from mine.

BecauseIneverwanttolethergo.

ButIhaveto.
Softlysheasks,“Willyougivemethekey,Gideon?”
“No,”Itellherhoarsely,thoughitisalie.
Becausetheonlyotherchoiceistoseeherhurt.Betterthatsherunsfromme.BetterthatIdie.
Ifthepriceofherfreedomistogivemyownlife,Iwillpayit.
Butnotyet.
“Well, then.” With tears pooling in her blue eyes, she lets her legs drop from around my waist and

gently pushes away from me. “We have nothing else to say. And you have given me no reason to ever
marryyou.”

ExceptthatIloveher.AndthatIhavealwayslovedher.
Idon’tthinkshewouldbelieveit,though.NotwhenIkeepherhere,chainedtome.Thatisnotlove,

shewouldsay.

Andthecostofprovingmyloveistodie.Butperhapsthereisanotherwaytoshowher.
IndespairIwatchherleavethetower,thenlistentoherretreatingsteps,totheslitheringofthatcursed

chain.Thebeastragesatmetofollow,butheisathisweakestnow.Thenewmoonrisestonight.

ShehasbeenatBlackwoodManorfortwoweeks.Twoweeksremainuntilthemoonisfull.
So I have two weeks to give her reason to marry me. Two weeks to hope that everything I do will

makeherlovemeinreturn.

OrtwoweeksuntilIlethergo…andwatchherrunaway,takingmyheart—andmylife—withher.

I

3

CO RA

wake up the morning of my twenty-fifth birthday with sun streaming through my bedchamber’s
sparkling windows and warming the gleaming floor. No more dust. No more cobwebs. Two weeks

ago,Gideonthrewopenthemanor’sgates—thenhirednearlyeveryhandymanandhousecleaningservice
within fifty miles to come and polish the interior of the house into a shining jewel. Gardeners and
landscapershavetransformedthegrounds.Thosehavenotbeenrestoredtotheirformerglory—onlytime
willdothat—buttheairofneglectisgone.Flowersprovideburstsofcolorandperfumeandnewsodhas
beenlain,thespringgrassasgreenasGideon’seyes.

Onlythesouthgardenwasleftuntouchedbecause,asGideontoldme,thatgardenismine.
Alldonetopersuademetomarryhim.
Everynight,heasksme.Everynight,Ilongtosayyes.
Butthechainstillcirclesmyneck,andifIaccepthisproposaljusttobuymyrelease,thenIwillbe

saying yes for the wrong reasons. A woman should be free to choose to marry. Not choosing to marry
becausethat’stheonlywaytobefree.

SoIgiveGideonthesameanswer—thatIwilltellhimafterhereleasesme.AndeachtimeIgivethat

answer,thebrilliantlightinhiseyesseemstofade.Asifwitheverynightthatpasses,heloseshopethat
I’lleveraccepthim.

Buthehasalsonottouchedmesincethedayinhistower,soperhapsitisnotonlyhishopethatfades.

Perhapshisdesireformeiswaning,too.

A thought that claws at my heart, digging into my chest until it hurts to breathe. Miserably I curl up

beneath the blankets, picturing the version of Cora in his painting who is already free and awaiting
Gideoninhisbedchamber,eagertolovehimwithherbodyandsoul.

TheCorawhostayed.
Iwouldstay.Butstaying means nothing if I don’t have the choice to go, and although the gates are

open,thechainstillwouldnotallowmetopassthroughthem.Sohehastoreleasemefirst.

ButI’mbeginningtothinkheneverwill.
Agentletugatthebackofmyneckbringsmeoutofmymiserablecocoon.Ipokemyheadoutfrom

beneaththeblankets.

WearingjeansandablackT-shirt,Gideonstandsattheentrancetomybedchamber,hisbroodinggaze

fixedonthechainwrappedaroundhisfist.“Youwerenotatbreakfast,soIfollowedthistofindyou.”His
eyeslifttomeetmine,andconcernwarmshisgazeashestudiesmyface.“Areyouwell,Cora?”

Hedoesn’tneedtofollowthatchaintofindme.SomehowhealwaysknowswhereIam.It’sanother

partofthemysteryofthisnewGideon,whoisatoncetheboyIlovedandastrangerI’vefallenforall
over again. This new Gideon who can rip apart solid oak, and who somehow possesses the key to a

magicalgoldencollarwithnolock.

“I’mwell,”Itellhimandit’snotacompletelie.Mybodyisfine.
It’smyheartthat’ssick.
“Yet you still lie abed.” Silently he prowls closer, and sudden tension prickles my skin. Because

there’ssomethingdifferentabouthimthismorning.Somethingtautandwild,sharperthantheferaledge
he’sgainedasthisnewGideon.Somethingmorelikehewasthatfirstday,whenhewascoveredindirt
andblood.

That is not the only the only difference in him, though I can’t immediately pin the other down. But

whateverI’msensinginhim,itknotsinmybelly,heavywithdespairanddread.

Isitup.“Areyouallright?”
Hedoesn’tanswerashereachesthesideofthebed.Insteadhecupsmycheekinagentlehand,his

thumbsweepingovermylips.“Doyoulingerinbedinhopesofabreakfasttrayappearing?Afterall,itis
yourbirthday.”

Joyfillsmyheart,unknottingthedread.“Youremembered?”
“Icouldhardlyforget.”Somethingdarkpassesthroughhisexpressionbeforehefocusesonmeagain,

hisgazesearchingmine.“SoshallIpamperyoutoday,Cora?”

Igrin.“Yes,please.”
“Then you shall be pampered. And on this day, I will not ask anything of you.” Abruptly his mouth

lowerstomine,andhesaysgrufflyagainstmylips,“Iwillonlygive.”

Starting with the sweetest kiss. Then giving pleasure, as the kiss deepens and heats, until I’m

whimpering and clinging to him in desperate need. And giving more, slowly making his way down,
worshipping my breasts and teasing my nipples into fiery points of arousal. Tasting the taut skin of my
belly,untilI’mquiveringwithanticipation,andfinallymovinglower,pushingmylegswidetomakeroom
forhisshouldersashesettlesbetweenmytremblingthighs.

Thenhegivesmeanotherkiss,onethatdoesn’tend,evenasIwritheandscreamandconvulseagainst

his tongue. After I collapse back against the pillows, shaking, he gives a few seconds’ respite—then
claimsmewithhismouthagain,fingersthrustingdeepashelashesmyclitwithmercilessteasinglicks.

Thesecondorgasmhegivesbuildsslowlybeforecrashingovermeinadevastatingwavethatleaves

mebonelessandsated—unabletodoanythingbutsimplylieinmybed,threadingmyfingersthroughhis
thickhairwhenhepillowshisheadagainstthesoftnessofmystomach,holdingmetight.

ThinkingIknowtheneedthatholdshiminsucharigidgrip,Itrytourgehimupovermeagain.“Let

metasteyouthistime,Gideon.”

Onaroughgroan,hisbodygoesutterlyrigid—thenheabruptlypullsaway.Pushinghishandsthrough

hishair,hestaresatmewithblatanthunger,hiscockathickbulgebehinddenim.

“Nottoday,”hesayshoarselyandthebleakdespairthatflattenshisgazetwiststhatknottightinside

mychestagain.“Todayisonlyforyou.”

Ireachforhim.“Thatwouldbeforme—”
“Nottoday.”Hecloseshiseyesasiftoshutoutthesightofme,nakedandyearningforhim.“Ibarely

haveanybloodycontrolasitis.”

“Good.Thepointwouldbetomakeyouloseitcompletely.”Justashismouthcompletelydestroysmy

control.

Hebarksoutashortlaugh.“Youdon’tknowwhatyouaskfor.”Thenshakinghishead,heturnsaway.

“Stayrightthereinbed,birthdaygirl.I’llbringyourbreakfasttray.”

“I’dratheryoufeedmesomethingelse!”Icallafterhim.
His long strides never falter. He vanishes into the corridor, and I’m left staring after him, feeling

utterlylost.

Thenutterlybewildered,whenIglancedown—andspottheparallelslashestearingthroughthewhite

T

linenbedsheetoneithersideofmyhips.

hechainfeelsheaviertoday.OftentimesIbarelyevennoticeit.Thelinksnevercatchonanyobjects
andpullmeupshort.IfIhavetothreaditdownthebackofmyshirt,suchaswhenI’mwearingaT-

shirtthatIpullovermyheadinsteadofabutton-upblouse,thechainseemscontenttolieagainstmyskin.
Even when the house was busy with people cleaning, it never seemed to get in anyone’s way despite
trailingacrossthefloorfromonewingtotheother.

Not today. Today it seems to deliberately lie in my path to trip me. Today it catches on practically

everylegoffurnitureIpass.Todayitgetstrappedintheshowerdrain,andasIdressittanglesinmyhair,
yankingpainfullyatmyscalp.Asiftryingtoslowmedown,tohaltmyeverystep.Asiftokeepmefrom
goinganywhere.

Asifithadn’talreadybeendoingthatforalmostamonth.
So after Gideon brings my breakfast, I’m slow to get started. Then we have lunch together in the

solarium, where my dessert is another long, languid orgasm, with Gideon feasting from my lips as his
thumb strums my clit and his fingers sink deep into my virgin sheath. And just as before, when I try to
touchhim,heabruptlyleavesmealone,hungrilylickingmypussyjuicesfromhisfingersashegoes.

It’s long into the afternoon when I finally make my way down to the garden—where the chain

promptlysnagsonarosebush,andIspendafrustratingfifteenminutestryingtogetfree.

AndIknowit’snotnaturalbehavior.Notthatthechainisnaturalinanysense—justassomuchhere

at Blackwood Manor is no longer natural in any sense—but before today, the chain only passively
preventedmefrompassingbeyondtheestate’spropertyline.Nowitseemstobeactivelypreventingme
from going anywhere. And it can’t be a coincidence that the chain begins behaving in this way on my
birthday,theanniversaryofthedayheoriginallygavemethenecklaceasagift.

OnthesamedayGideonclaimstohavenocontrolandleavesclawmarksinmybed.Thesameday

the knot of dread in my gut won’t untwist. It all adds up to something, but I don’t know what that
somethingis.

ButthereissomethingIdoknow.Becauseasirritatingasthegoldenbindingis,asmuchasIhateit…

ifwearingthischainwasthepriceIhadtopaytostaywithGideonforever,Iwouldpayit.

Yethecanreleaseme.SoIdon’tunderstandwhyhedoesn’t.Iwouldstayeitherway.
Thoughperhapsthetowerwherehespentsomuchtimepartiallyanswersthatquestion.Becausethe

onlythingclearaboutthiswholeinsanesituationisthatGideonhaslostfartoomuch,andhe’sspentyears
desperatelytryingtoholdontomemoriesofahappiertime.

Nowhe’sholdingontomeinsteadofsettingmefree—asifhe’safraidoflosingmeagain.
DoeshetrulynotknowthatIwouldn’tgo?Thatthisismyhome,hasalwaysbeenmyhome,andmy

placehasalwaysbeenathisside?

Ijustwanttobefree.Notfreeofhim.
And that is what I’ll tell him when he finds me again. Because he promised pampering today, but

there’s nothing more luxurious than spending time with my hands in the soil—and only the pleasure
Gideon gives to me surpasses the joy of bringing this garden back to perfumed, colorful life. When I’d
firstarrivedhereatthemanor,I’dseenthisgardenandbelievedtherewasnoplaceformehereanymore.
Butwitheverynewbudandbloom,I’mmorecertainthaneverthatthiswillalwaysbemyhome.Itwas
justwaitingformetoreturn.

The sun is low in the sky when movement near the house catches my eye. Gideon, approaching the

garden with his face drawn into harsh lines and his eyes burning a fiery green, as if witnessing the
tormentsinthepitsofHell.

Hisdemandisarumblingcrackofthunder.“Wherehaveyoubeen?”
Inconfusion,Ilookaroundme.“WhereelsewouldIbe?”
“Ihavesearchedforyoufortwohours.”Gideoncrossesthegardentostandbeforeme.“Icouldn’t

hearwhereyouwere,couldn’tfindyourscent.Andthisbloodything”—hegripsthechaindanglingfrom
myneck—“ledmethrougheveryfuckingroominthehouse!”

Itellhim,“It’sbeingweirdtoday.”Andsoishe.“OfcourseI’mouthere.WhereelsewouldIbe?”
“You shouldn’t be here.” His voice is hoarse as he cups my face in his hands, his gaze wildly

searchingmine.“Ihavemoretogiveyou.AndIhadn’twantedtorushbutwe’reoutoftime.”

“Okay,”Isayslowly,tryingtocalmthepanicthat’srisingwithinme,witnessinghisurgency.“Doyou

havethegiftswithyouordoweneedtogoinside?”

“It’sinside.It’soutside.”Turning,hesweepshisarminahalfcircle,asifindicatingthegarden—or

beyond.“It’sallofthis.BlackwoodManor.”

“What?Howcanitbemine?”
“Ihadthepaperworkdrawnupthisweek.Itwillallbeyours.”
Isthisanotherproposal?“Whatdoyoumean,exactly?”
“I don’t have any family to leave it to. And in my heart, you have always been my wife.” His

tormentedgazeburnsintomine.“Soifsomethinghappenstome…it’syours.”

“Nothingisgoingtohappentoyou.”Eventhejoyofhearinghimcallmehiswifecan’tovercomethe

painofwhathefolloweditwith.Mychestachesattheverythoughtofhimbeinghurt…orworse.“AndI
don’twantthatgift.NotifIgetitlikethat.”

“You’ll take it,” he growls the command fiercely, “because I wouldn’t trust the property to anyone

else.AndIhavesomethingmoretogiveyou.”

I’mnotsureIwantanymoreofhisgifts.“Whatdoyou—”
ButI’lltakethis.Hismouthclaimsmine,hishandscapturingmyfaceanddrawingmecloseagainst

hishardchest.Tenderandsweet,filledwithalongingthatbringstearsfrommyeyes,hiskissfeelslikea
declarationofloveandhomeandforever.

Mythroat’scloggedwithemotionashedrawsaway,windingthegoldenchainaroundhisfist.
“CoraWalker,”hesaysinavoicesohollowthateachwordseemstoechofromanemptyspaceinhis

chest,“thepromiseImadewhenIgaveyouthisnecklace…thatvowmeansnothing.Ihavenointentionof
marryingyounow.”

Breathlesswithpain,Istaremutelyathim.
“My final gift is your freedom,” he continues harshly. “Now get the hell away from Blackwood

Manor.”

Freedom…?
I lift shaking fingers to my neck. The chain is gone. Instead it dangles from his fist…but it’s just a

necklaceandadiamondpendantagain.Justapieceofjewelry.

Apieceofjewelrythatmeansnothing.Feelingasifmyentireworldistearingapart,Iraiseblurry

eyestohis.“Gideon?”

“Go, Cora.” Face tormented, he backs away from me. “Damn my selfish heart. I said that today I

wouldonlygive,butintruthIwastakingeverymomentformyself.Onelastday.ButIshouldhavesent
youawaythesamehouryouarrived.”

“Butwhy?”Myvoicecracks.“Why?”
“Justgetoutofhere.”
Tearsspillingdownmycheeks,wildlyIshakemyhead.
“Getout!”heroars.
Asobbreaksfromme.“ButIhavenowheretogo.Thisismyonlyhome.”
Painslashesacrosshisface.“Thenruntothevillage,”hetellsmehoarsely.“Idon’tcare,aslongas

you’re anywhere but here. Because I never want you to step foot on this estate again—not as long as I
live.”

Eachwordshattersmyheart.Withmyhandsflyingtomymouthtomufflemyagonizedcry,Ifleefrom

him, blinded by tears. But this is my home, and every step so familiar that I make my way to my
bedchamberinthenorthwestwingwithoutanymemoryofgettingthere.Withsobsrippingfrommychest,
I begin throwing clothes into my suitcase, but don’t even get it half full before I crumple to the floor,
bawlinghelplessly.

Gideongavememyfreedom…thenthrewmeawaybeforeIcouldmakemychoice.ButIwouldhave

stayed.Iwouldhavestayed.

Andhenevergavemeachancetotellhim.
I cry until I’m spent, then lie there shuddering on the floor, all of my strength gone and my body as

limpasaragdoll’s.

Idon’tknowwhereIfindthewilltogetupagain.ButitmustbefromthesameplacewhereIfindthe

resolvetounpackalloftheclothesinmysuitcaseandputthemawayinmywardrobeagain.Anditmust
bewhereIfindthesteelthatstiffensmyspineandliftsmychin,andsendsmeinsearchofGideon.

BecauseIamstaying.
Andifhedoesn’tbelieveittoday,thenhewillfiftyyearsfromnow,whenI’mstillrighthere.
Inbarefeet,Icrossthegrandhallandclimbthestairstothesoutheasttower.He’snotthere.WishingI

hadagoldenchaintofollow,Iheadbackdownstairsandslipthroughthecorridortothefamilywing.In
theparlor,everythingisquiet.

Except for the low groan that faintly sounds from farther within the wing—from the direction of

Gideon’sbedchamber.

Heart pounding, I make my way to that room. The lamps are off and the curtains pulled, but orange

lightspillsthroughthebrokendoorwaytothesolarium.Beyondthoseglasswalls,thesettingsunisbuta
sliveroflightleavingbehindablood-redsky.

“Cora?God,no.Cora.”Sogutturalandthick,Gideon’svoiceisalmostunrecognizable.“Run.”
I did that last time. This time I go to him, to where he’s crouched beside his bed, his shoulders

hunchedandhisbareskinbathedinthesunset’sflaminglight.

“Gideon?Whatareyou—”Istopdead,shockrootingmetothespot.He’sbeenchainedtothebed,

butnotwithathingoldenchain.Insteaditappearsasiftheheavyrustedchainfromthemanor’smaingate
hasbeenpadlockedaroundhiswaist.“Ohmygod.Letmegetyouout!Whodidthis?”

“Ididthis.”Awarninggrowlrumblesfromhim,andhecatchesmyfrantichands,stoppingmefrom

pullingatthechainwoundaroundthesolidoakframe.Hisintensegreeneyesdemandmyfullattention.“I
knew you must still be here, because I was not… You have to run, Cora. Through the solarium and
outside,asfastasyoucan.Youhavetomakeitpastthegatesbeforethesunsets,becausethat’swhenthe
fullmoonwillrise.”

DeterminedlyIshakemyhead.Ihavenoideawhat’shappeninghere,butIamnotabandoninghimto

this, whatever it is. Because suddenly I remember his terrible gift, the one where he left Blackwood
Manortome…becausesomethingmighthappentohim.“I’mnotleavingyoubehind.Sotellmewherethe
padlockkeyis.”

“Cora.MybeautifulCora.”Starkagonydrawshisfeaturesintoableakwasteland.“Thischainwill

notholdme.Itmightslowmebutaminute.”

“But—”
His gaze darts toward the solarium. Anguish whitens his lips, rasps through his voice. “It’s setting.

Sweartomeyou’llrunandyouwon’tlookback.Sweartome.”

“Iwon’tswear.”Despairtremblesthroughmyvoice.Whateverisabouttohappen,Ican’tleavehim

herealone.He’sbeenalonefortoolong.“Where’sthekeytothepadlock?Pleasecomewithme.Please.”

Abruptlyhecurlsforward,everymuscleinhisbodystraining.“Run,”hegrowlsagain.“RUN!”
That…wasnothisvoice.Thatwasnotanyman’svoice.
Fearsuddenlypushesmebackastep.Iwhisperuncertainly,“Gideon?”
“GO.”Itseemsrippedfromhim,tornfromhischestwithjaggedclaws.“DON’T…WATCH…”
ButIdo.Godhelpme,Ido.
Stumblingback,Itripovermyownfeetandcrashtothefloor,butdon’ttakemyhorrifiedgazefrom

the battle that seems to be taking place within Gideon’s powerful body, muscles bulging outward as if
caughtinanexplosionbarelycontainedbyhisskin.Iscreamashisbonescrack,reachingforhim—then
scramblingbackwhenhisheadjerksup,hisattentiondrawnbythesoundofmycry.Sharpteethgleam
fromadistendingjaw,thickfursproutingoversmoothtannedskin.

Ohmygod,ohmygod.Iknowwhatthisis.Anditcan’tbereal.Can’tbe.
Butthefullmoonisrising.Andsomehowthisisreallyhappening.
SoIbetterdowhathesaysandrunasifmylifedependsonit.
Lurchingtomyfeet,Iraceforthesolarium—andstop,turningbackforalastlook.Butit’snotGideon

inthatbedchamberanymore.Insteadthewerewolfisslowlyrisingontohishindfeet…risingandrising,
tallerthanGideon,atleastafootandahalftallerthananyoneI’veeverseen,grayfurstretchedtautovera
bodythickwithmuscle.Toostrongtobestoppedbythatchain.

Mygazedropstohiswaistbutit’snotthechainorpadlockIsee.Onlyanenormouscock,fullyerect,

tooutterlyhugetobereal.

Butallofthisisreal.
Thebeastturns.Eyesasgreenasspringgrasslockonmyface.Withahungrygrowl,hetakesalong

steptowardme—andisbroughtupshortbytherustedchain.

Onhisnextstep,woodshrieksoverstoneasthebeastdragstheheavyoakbedwithhim.
Iturnandflee.
Histhunderousroarfollowsme.
Outsidetheskyisstillareddishorangeonthewesternhorizon,withjustenoughlighttoseebyasI

racedowntheslopeoutsidethesolarium—headingfortheeastaccessgatewiththegapjustwideenough
toslipthrough.It’scloserthanthemaingatesandthegrovemightoffersomeprotectionandaplaceto
hideifthebeastescapesmorequicklythanIcanruntotheestate’sborder.

The distant shattering of glass warns me that he’s made it through the solarium. Hopefully still

draggingthatbed,slowinghimdown.

IrunlikeI’veneverrunbefore,flyingalongsidethegravelwalk,mysprintingfeetflingingmudand

sod,gazefixedahead—mymindracingasfastasmylegs.

Awerewolf.Forhowlong?
ButIknow.Iknow.BecauseI’verantowardthisgatebefore—butGideonwasbesidemethen.And

hemadecertainthatIwentthroughfirst,thatIwassafe.Buthislegwasbleeding.Ithoughthe’dcutit
whilestrugglinghiswaythroughthegate,butitmusthavebeenabiteorascratch.

Howdoesitspread?Acurse?Adisease?ItseemslikeI’veseenmoviesandreadhorrornovelswith

both.

Ahowlpiercesthenight—notfarbehindme.Iburstoutofthegroveoftreesandontothesprawling

lawn.Themoonrisesfullintheeasternsky,justabovethehorizon.Lungsburning,Idrawuponallofmy
strength, all of my speed. A thousand yards directly ahead is the wall and the access gate that leads to
safety.

Safetyfromacursedbeast.
Ithadtobeacurse.Somekindofmagic.Becauseadisease,that’slogical,that’sscience—andthere

was nothing logical about the golden chain that bound me. That was magic, too. And it shouldn’t have
beenreal,either.Butthatchainundeniablywas.

Anditwasmagicthatcouldbebroken.BecauseGideonremovedthechainfrommyneck,knowing

thedangerthatwascomingwiththefullmoon.Andhetriedtosendmeaway.Tosavemylife.

Then why the hell did he keep asking me to marry him? To allow him the use of my cunt for his

pleasure?BecauseifI’dmarriedhim,ifI’dtakenhimintomybed,Iwouldhavebeenhere.Iwouldhave
beenindangeronthisnight.

Except…cursescanbebroken,too.
Almostoftheirownvolition,myfeetslow.Butit’sonlymyracingmindthatisslowtocatchupwith

whatmypoundinghearthasalreadydecided.

Becausethatbeastlookedatmewitheyesasgreenasspringgrass.ThatwasGideon,trappedinside

thatmonster.AndifI’mright,thenIhavethepowertofreehim.He’stoldmehow,almosteverysingle
night.

ButIdon’tthinkthisbeastwillaskmetomarryhim.
Ialsosuddenlyhopethathereallydoesdragthatbedallthewayoutherewithhim.
Hehasn’t
I’m facing him, my back to the rising moon when he silently emerges from the grove, moving so

swiftlythatevenifIhadn’tstopped,Idon’tknowifIwouldhavemadeittothegate.

Butheslowsnow,too—perhapsconfusedthatI’vestopped.OrGideonisfightinghim.
Ihearmynamecarryacrossthedistanceonatorturedgrowl.“CO…RA…”
GrippingthebottomedgeofmyT-shirt,Ipullitovermyhead.
Immediately the tortured growl deepens hungrily. He’s so close now, so utterly huge, thick furred

shoulderslikeamountainapproaching,greeneyesglowingwithferallight.

Hismassivecockpointsstraightatme.Andmagicornot,thereisjustnodamnwaythat’lleverwork.

Icouldn’tevenfitmymoutharounditwithoutunhingingmyjaw,andunlessaweresnakeiscomingalong
soon,that’snotlikelytohappen,either.SoIprayhecanfindhispleasureanotherway.

Fingersshaking,Iunbuttonmyjeans.Idon’teventrytoattemptasexytease,becausehe’salmostupon

meandI’veneverfeltlesssexy.SoIshovethedenimandmypantiesdownmylegsandturnmybackto
thebeast,sinkingontomykneesinthesoftgrass,bendingovertobracemyweightonmyhands.

Inarush,Isay,“Iofferyoutheuseofmycuntforyourpleasure,”andclosemyeyes,waiting.
Waiting.Mynippleshardwithfearandcold,myskinatight,pricklyache.Waiting.Asthewhisperof

stepsoverthegrassandtheheatradiatingagainstthebackofmylegstellmehe’ssoclose.Waiting.As
hishotbreathskimsthecurveofmyassandhissoftgrowlfillsthespringnight.

WonderingifI’vemisjudgedeverythingandamabouttoberippedapart.
Istruggletocontainmywhimperasclawedhandsgripmyhips,therazoredtipsgentlyprickingmy

skin.ButIcan’tcontainmycryofsurpriseasalong,hottonguelicksstraightupmycenter.

Shocklurchesmeforwardbuthebringsmerightbackwithawarninggrowlthatdeepensonanother

lick.HeatbloomsthroughmypussyandI’mshakinguncontrollably,everythingwithinmeatwar.Another
long,longlickhasmedroppingforwardontomyelbows,thenhisrumblinggroansoundsfrombehindme,
andIknowthatsound,recognizeGideon’sravenouspleasure,thesameashemadethenightinhistower
andinmybedtoday,ashelappedthejuicesfrommycunt.

NowImoanhisnameasIpressbackagainsthim.“Gideon.”
Relentlesslyhecontinues,takinghispleasureinthetasteofmypussyandforcingmypleasurefrom

me,hisroughtongueflickingatmyclituntilI’mfistingmyhandsinthegrassandcryingoutindelirious
ecstasy, then rhythmically thrusting his tongue past my entrance as if to gather all of the honey from my
convulsing inner walls. And with Gideon, I could push away him when it became too much, when the
pleasurewastooacute,butnowtheclawedhandsholdmetighteranddraworgasmafterorgasmfrommy
body,pullingmetautacrossarackofpleasure,untilIsimplygiveoutandcollapseontomystomachin
thegrass,tooutterlywreckedtosupportmyownweightonmyknees.

Buthehasnotfinished.Thegriponmyhipstightensandliftsmeupagain,higher,andIfeelthehot,

thickpressofhismassivecockagainstmyvirginentrance.

Andthatisjustnotgoingtowork.
Thoughhetries,steadilyincreasingthepressure,tryingtopushhiswayin—thenwebothgroanwhen

hisenormouslengthslipsforwardthroughmydrenchedfolds,ridingacrossoversensitivebudofmyclit.

Despite my body’s exhaustion, my pussy clenches greedily, aching for more, aching to be filled.

Panting into the fragrant grass beneath my cheek, I rock my hips back against him, and realize that I’d
forgottentheotherpartofthis.Becauseitwasn’tsimplyallowinghimtheuseofmycunt—Iwastodoit
withlove.

Soashefitsthethickheadofhiscocktomyentranceagain,growlingindeepeningfrustration,Isoftly

breathethewordsthathavealwayslivedinmyheart.

“Iloveyou,Gideon.”

I

4

GIDE O N

loveyou,Gideon.

Allatonce,Isenseeverything.TheraggedpassofCora’sbreathbetweenhertremblinglips.The

scalding pleasure of her cunt against the tip of my cock. The flex of her hips beneath my hands, the
softnessofherskindimplingagainstmyclaws.Thesweetscentofherarousalfillingmylungsandher
deliciousflavorlingeringuponmytongue.

Hercheekispillowedagainstthegrass,herhandsfistedasshesoftlypants.Herhairisapaletangle,

herspinealong,elegantlineleadingtothebeautifulswellofherass.Againstthesoftpinkfleshofher
pussy,mypainfullythrobbingcockisslickwithherhoneyandmypre-cum,andlookslikethesizeofa
batteringram.

I’mwearingthewrongskin.Thehunter’sskin.Theprotector’sskin.
IshedmybeastformaseasilyasIwouldashirt.Nocrackingofboneandagonizingshearofflesh.I

don’tknowwhythedifference.ButIknowit’sright.

AsrightasthewayCorafeelsagainstme.
Herpussyglistenswithneed,thepinkfleshstillswollenwitharousalaftermyendlessfeast.Fisting

mycock,Iglidethethickcrownthelengthofherslit,yearningtobreachhervirginentranceandfinally
claimher.Butnotyet.

Bendingoverher,Ipressakisstothenapeofherneck.“MybeautifulCora.”
Hereyesflyopenandenergysurgesthroughherlanguidform.Pushinguponherelbows,shelooks

backoverhershoulder,atremblingsmileonherlips.“Gideon?”

In answer I sit back on my heels and draw her up against my chest until she’s straddling my thighs.

Angling my head, I capture her mouth with mine. Eagerly she returns my kiss, her eyes swimming with
tears,herjoysosweetthatIcantasteit,smellit.

Herlovesodeepthatit’sgivenmeeverything.YetifItakehernow,shewillgivemeevenmore.
Releasing her lips, I press a kiss to the side of her neck. “The perfume of your arousal is ripe and

fertile, Cora. If I come inside you tonight, the bond between us will be stronger than any golden chain,
becauseyouwillcarrymychild.”

Herbreathshudders,andsherollsherhipsbackagainstmystiffenedcock,asifalreadyseekingmy

seed.“Yes.Doit.”

Asshedemands.Bendingherforward,Ibracemylefthandonthegroundasmyrightlocksheragainst

me, my forearm angling up between her breasts and my fingers lightly clasping her throat, my thumb
nestledinthehollowofherjaw.

Mounting her now. An hour ago, I would have blamed the beast within me. But there is only me.

There’sonlyeverbeenme.ThebeastandIwereneveranydifferent.

AndIamfinallyclaimingmybride.
Shegaspswhenmyburningerectionlodgesagainstherslickentrance,thenmoans,bitingherlipas

heruntriedfleshstretchestoacceptthebroadheadofmycock,hervelvetinnerwallsgivingwaybeneath
the unyielding pressure. Groaning with pleasure, I thrust deeper, the faint copper scent of her virginity
mixingwiththeheadyfragranceofhernectar.SweetlyshecriesoutasIburymyfulllengthdeepinside
thevoluptuousclaspofhersheath,herbackarching,herhipsrisingasiftoescape.

Thenslidingbackdown,takingallofmeagain,herslipperyjuiceseasingtheway.
Thepulseinherthroatracesagainstmypalm.Reachingback,shegraspsafistfulofmyhair.“Harder

now,”shemoans.“Iwantallofyou,Gideon.”

Shewillhaveme.
With a thick growl, I surge my hips forward. She cries out again in helpless ecstasy, her pussy

grippingeverythickinchofmycock.Ifillheragainandagain,andhercriesbecomefranticpleasasI
ruthlessly use her cunt for my pleasure…and hers. Her wetness drips between her thighs, my shaft
glistening with her honey, and when she comes on a scream, her inner walls clamping down on the
thicknessofmyerection,Ican’tholdbackanymore.Withagutturalroar,Iburymycockdeep,myhotcum
spurtingintoherclenchingsheath,fillingherwithamoltenfloodofseed.

Mine.Alwaysmine.Foreverboundtome.
Chestheaving,Ipullherupandshesagsbackagainstme.“Ican’t,”shepantsbreathlessly.“Ican’t

comeagain.”

Iwon’tforceherto,then.Notforanotherhour,atleast.
MycumspillsdownherinnerthighsasIslowlywithdraw,butbeforeshecanreachforherclothingto

wipeitaway,Iswingherupagainstmychest.Cradlingheragainstme,Istartofftowardthemanorhouse.

Towardhome.
In the moonlight, her pale hair is silver. Her blue eyes shine with love as she gazes up at me, her

swollenlipsformingasoft,shysmile.

Thencurvingdownward,herbrowcreasing.
Iwillallownothingtomarherhappiness.“What?”
“Yourteeth,”shesaysquietly,herlipsquivering.“Youstillhavefangs.”
SoIdo.Buttheyarealreadygone.“Iwillkeepthemsmall,iftheydispleaseyou.”
“Displease…?” Confusion forms a furrow between her eyebrows. “No. But I thought we broke the

curse.”

“Thereisnobreakingit,”Isaygruffly.“Thereisnocure.”
AndIwouldnotwantitiftherewas.UnlessCoraaskeditofme.Becauseacurenowwouldbelike

rippingawayhalfofmysoul.

ButIwouldsacrificethatforher.
“Then…whathappened?Howdidyoufightfreeofthebeastandgaincontrol?”
“Becausethere’snothingtofightnow.Iamthatbeast.”IstruggletoexplainwhatIdon’tunderstand

myself. But it is what I know. “We shared a heart and soul. And it was as if we were two halves of a
wholewithariftbetweenus.Butyouhealedthatrift.Nowwearenottwohalves.Justawhole.”

Shegazessilentlyatmeforalongtime.“That’salittleweird.”
Inod.
“But so are magical necklaces.” Linking her arms around my shoulders, she smiles up at me. “The

fangswerekindofsexy.”

Igrin.
“Maybenotthatlong,”shesays,thenlaughsindelightwhenIshrinkthemagain.“Nowaskme.”
Myvoicethickwithemotion,Idoasshesays.“Willyoumarryme,Cora?”
Herblueeyesaresolemn.“IfIsayyes,willyoueverletmego?”

“No,”Ivow.
“Thenyes,”shesays,smilinghappily.
“Iloveyou,mybeautifulCora,”Igrowlsoftly,thencapturethatsmileinaheatedkiss.
Andfarlessthanahourpassesbeforeshecomesagain.

F

E P ILO G U E

CO RA

ourteenmonthslater,thefirstday(ornight)ofsummer…

SilverlightfromthefullmoonshinesthroughourbedchamberwindowsasIliehalf-asleepin

bed, awaiting Gideon’s return—until sleep deserts me completely when plaintive cries sound from the
nursery.

Sincethedateofhisbirth—whichcameamonthearly,onthenightofthewintersolstice—oursonhas

neverhadagoodsenseoftiming.

Smiling,Iwrapasilkrobearoundmynudebodyandslipthroughthedoortotheadjoiningchamber.

The glow of a nightlight offers gentle illumination—and a view of the eight-foot-tall werewolf bending
overthecrib,withasix-month-oldbabyprotectivelycradledinonegiantclawedhand.

“Justbecauseoursoniscryingdoesn’tmeanhe’shurt,”Itellthebeast.“Soyoucanstanddown.It’s

probablyawetnappy.Orhe’shungry.”

Thosevividgreeneyesnarrowonmybreasts.Hiswolfishgrinexposesrazor-sharpteeth.
“Badbeast,”Iteasehim,andgentlyliftLucasoutofhisarms,turningtowardthechangingtable.“He

needsanewdiaper.Butyouprobablyalreadysmelledthat.”

Hisrumblinggrowlholdsthesoundofalaugh,andheedgesinclosebehindmeasItendtothebaby.

Hisenormousformradiatesheatlikeafurnaceagainstmyback,hisbreathhotovermyskinashebendsto
lickmyneck.

“Behave,”Iwhisper,evenasshiversofpleasureracethroughme.
He behaves until I lay the sleeping baby down in the crib, then his big hands roughly grip my hips

frombehindandpullmebackagainsthisthicklyfurredchest.Throughthethinsilkbetweenus,hissteely
arousalisamassiveburninglengthagainstmyback,toomassive,yetthebeaststilltakeswhathewants,
tearing aside the robe and sliding his hand into wetness and heat, the rough pads of his fingers rubbing
overmysensitiveclit.

Clingingtohisforearm,Igaspouthisname.“Gideon.”
Hisanswerisaravenousgrowl,andheswingsmeupagainsthisbroadchest.
Mybreathcominginraggedpants,Itellhim,“Putmedown.”
Hissnarldrawshislipsbackovergleamingteeth.
“Putmedown,”Isayagain.“Thenyoucanchaseme.”
Becausehisbeastlovesthat.AndIlovewhathappenswhenGideoncatchesme.
Thoughtheyarethesameman.ThisIknowwithacertaintythroughtomybones.Theyhavethesame

heart,thesamesoul.Whateverthebeastis,he’snotsomethingthatcamefromoutsideofGideon.Instead
itwasapartofGideonthatwasunleashed.

Still, the beast that he is never relinquishes me easily. This time he sets me on my feet for only a

momentbeforehegripsmywaistandeasilyliftsmestraightupintotheair,thickmusclesbulginginhis
shoulders and arms, my body dangling in front of him. Through a haze of arousal, I look down at those
shininggreeneyes—andatthatwolfishgrinashenuzzlestheglisteningcurlsbetweenmythighs.

Andhelicks.Andlicks.Andlicks,hisroughtongueslippingthroughmydrenchedfoldsandovermy

swollen clit, over and over, until I’m muffling my screams of ecstasy against my hands and writhing
helplesslyagainsthim.OnlyafterIcomedoesheslowlylowermetomyfeetagain,mylegstrembling
andaftershocksquakingthroughmybody.

Thenhegrowlsagainstmyear,“Run,wife.”
Ido,racingforourbedchamber—andIknowhegivesmeaheadstart.Justasheoftenusedtowhen

weracedaschildren.Buthedoesn’tletmewin.

InsteadhecatchesmeasIleapontothebed,thebeastinmidairbutit’sGideonwhocomesdownover

me. I land on the mattress breathless and laughing…then moaning in sheer ecstasy when he spreads my
thighsandhisrigidcockpushesdeepinsideme,histhicknessstretchingthetautinnerwallsofmysheath.

“Gideon,”Ibreathe,andwhenhekissesmeItastemypussyonhistongue,tastethecoldnightandthe

moonlightandtheferalfirethatburnswithinhiswildheart.Myhusband,mybeast.

AndinhisarmsistheplaceI’llalwayscallhome.

InspiredbythestoryofBeautyandtheBeast,fourauthorsoffertheirsexyinterpretationsofthe

classicfairytale…

Don’tmisstheentireBeautyseries!

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Turnthepageforanexcerptfrom

FakingItAll

,thenewestreleaseintheHellfireRidersMCromance

series…

Everythingaboutmeisfake…

I’m a small-town nobody named Olivia Burke, but I look exactly like a Hollywood somebody—that
somebodybeingKeriBishop,oneofthemostfamousmoviestarsintheworld.Nowathreatagainsther
life is going to change mine, freeing me and my little sister from my stepfather’s abusive control. All I
havetodoispretendtobetheactressuntilthedangeriseliminated.Iwon’tevenbeinthepubliceye;I’ll
behiddenawayinaremotelocationownedbytheHellfireRiders—amotorcycleclubhiredbyKeri’s
husbandtoguardme—andunderthepersonalprotectionofasexy,lethalbikernamedDuke.

…excepthowfastI’mfallingforhim.

I can’t tell anyone who I really am—not even the man protecting me. His stormy gaze threatens to

piercetheglamorousmaskI’mwearing,butifDukediscoversthetruth,I’lldestroymychancetoescape
thehellI’vebeenlivingin.YetIdon’tknowhowlongIcankeepthissecret.BecauseDuke’sgotdemons
ofhisown,andI’mdesperatetosoothehistormentedsoulwithmysofttouch,withalingeringkiss.But
I’mimpersonatingamarriedwoman.AndifIslipupevenonce,IrisklosingeveryoneIlove…

StartingwithDuke,whenhefindsouthowbadlyI’vedeceivedhim.

FakingItAllisacompletelystandaloneromancewithintheHellfireRidersseries.Youdon'tneedto

havereadthepreviousbooksintheseriestoenjoythisstory.

AvailableonKindleandFREEtoborrowwithaKindleUnlimitedsubscription!

E X C E RP T F RO M FA K IN G IT A LL

O LIV IA

Myteetharesowhite.

WheneverIcatchaglimpseinamirror,Ihavetostopmyselffromstaringathowdazzlinglybright

theyare.Twodaysago,Iconsideredmyteethfairlywhite.Oratleastivory.Butnowtheycouldlightupa
room—orabikergang’sclubhouse,liketheoneI’minnow.I’msittingatthebarfacingamirrorandthe
flashofmyteethinthereflectionkeepssurprisingme.

Ithoughtmyneweyecolorwouldbethehardesttogetusedto.Contactlenseshavetransformedmy

irisesfromhazeltoKeriBishop’sfamousskyblue,butalthoughthedifferencewasstartlingatfirst,I’ve
alreadybecomeaccustomedtothatchange.

But I can’t get over my teeth. Maybe it’s not because of how white they are, though. Maybe it’s

becauseIcan’tstopsmiling.

MaybebecauseI’veneverhadsomuchtosmileabout.
Ishouldn’tbesmiling.ThethreattoKeriBishop’slifemustbeserious.Herhusband,IvanTataurov,

isspendingafortunetokeephersafe—andthatincludesthesmallfortunehe’spayingmetoimpersonate
her.

NotthatI’llseeacentofthatmilliondollars.ButIdon’tcare.
Idon’tcareaboutthemoneyorthesuitcasesfullofdesignerclothesandshoesthatI’llkeepwhenthis

isdone.Idon’tcareaboutthejewelry—includingtheweddingandengagementringsadorningmyfinger
—thatI’llbeabletosellforanothersmallfortune.

I care about the custody agreement that Ivan’s lawyers are drawing up—and I care about my

stepfather’spromisetosignitassoonasIhandoverthemilliondollars.

Andfinally,finally,IwilltakeErinandgetasfarawayfromhimaswecan.
Justthethoughtofescapingmystepfatherfillsmewithsomuchemotion,somuchreliefandjoy,that

I’lleitherlaughorcry.Butcryingwouldruinthecarefullyappliedmakeupthatsubtlycontoursmynose
andreshapesmyeyestomoreperfectlymatchKeriBishop’s.Soinsteadofcrying,I’vebeensmilingmore
thanIshould.

MorethanKerishould,consideringthecircumstances.AndofcourseIvannoticesthatI’mnotplaying

myrole.

Hisgrimlookimmediatelywipesawaymysmile.SoftlyIbitemybottomlip,tryingtoappearasa

womanlikeKeriwouldappearatthismoment,whenapsychostalkerisbentonkillingher.Idon’treally
knowthedetails.ButIknowshelovesIvan,andhe’ssupposedlyleavingherintheprotectionofthese
bikersso that heand his securityteam can hunt downthe threat. SoI should appear apprehensive—not
particularly worried for my own life, because I’ve been assured the psycho won’t find me here—but

terrified for Ivan. I should be clinging to him, milking every drop of emotion from these final moments
togetherbecauseIlovehimsodesperately.

Thetruthis,though…I’mnotaverygoodactor.Idon’tthinkIvanis,either.
Idon’treallyknowwhatheis,asidefromruthlesslydriventoprotecthiswife.Whichisadmirable.

Beyondthat,however,there’snotmuchinformationoutthereabouthim.

Notthathedoesn’tshowuponaGooglesearch.Hedoes.ButeveryarticleandphotorelatestoKeri,

notIvan.Beforetheystarteddating—andbeforetheirmarriage—hemightaswellnothaveexisted.He
owns a hotel and casino in Las Vegas, but an online search doesn’t reveal much else. Just that he’s a
wealthybusinessman.

AbusinessmanIrecognizedwhenheshowedupatmystepfather’sdoorfivedaysago.NothingKeri

Bishopdoespassesmeby,thoughnotbymychoice.Ifshehitsthegossipblogsorreleasesanewmovie,
half my customers at the diner will mention it at some point during my day. So when she got married,
picturesofIvanandthehappybridewereconstantlyshovedintomyface.

I used to amuse myself thinking that Ivan was kind of a lookalike, too, because in all of his photos

there’s a strong resemblance to Alexander Skarsgård. That resemblance fades away in person. Not that
I’veseentheactorinperson.ButIdon’treallythinkIvanlookslikeSkarsgårdanymore.

InsteadIvanhasstartedtoremindmeofmystepfather.Notviolent,necessarily—Ivan’snot,asfaras

I’veseen.ButjustthatIfeelsaferwhenhisattentionissomewhereelse.AndIdon’teverwanttofindout
whathisreactionmightbeifImessthisuporifIcrosshim,becauseIhaveafeelingitwon’tturnoutso
wellforme.

ButIwon’tmessthisup.Ican’t.Mystepsisteriscountingonmetoprotecther.AndIwill,justasI

alwayshave.Nomatterthecost.

Ifeverythinggoesasitshould,thatcostwillonlybeamilliondollars.
AndIreallyneedtostopsmilingwheneverIthinkaboutthatcustodyagreement.
AquickglanceatIvantellsmehedidn’tnoticethistime.Hisfocusisdirectedacrosstheclubhouse,

whereitsoundsasifaherdofbuffaloistrompingdownthestairs.

I look over my shoulder—carelessly, as a glamorous movie star would, though the small-town

waitressIreallyamburnswithcuriosity.

Notaherdofbuffalo.Justadozenbikers.Theywerehavingameetingupstairsbutapparentlythat’s

over.EarlierIwasbrieflyintroducedtoabunchofthem,butthereareacoupleIhaven’tmetyetheading
this way now. One’s a bearded giant who appears mightily amused as he looks me over, which is
preferabletothehungry,measuringglancesafewoftheothersgavemebefore.Thesecondguyistall,
too,thoughnotasmassiveashiscompanion.Norisheashairy.Hisangularjawisclean-shaven,andhis
darkblondhairiscutshort.Andhe’snotlookingatmehungrily,either.

Insteadhelooksasifhewantsasinkholetoopenbeneathmyfeet.Hispalegreeneyesrakethelength

ofmybody,hisexpressionsetlikestone,hismouththinnedintoagrimline.

Ashiverracesovermyskin.InstinctivelyIshiftclosertoIvan,whichiscrazy,becauseIdon’texactly

feelsafewithhim.ButnomatterhowmuchdisdainIvansometimesaimstowardme,thebarefactisthat
heneedsmetodothisjob.HemightnotlikemebutI’mnecessary.SoIvandoesn’tlookatmeasifhe
wishesIdidn’texist—orasifhe’llhelpmealongtoastateofnot-existing.

The biker’s jaw clenches as my bare arm brushes Ivan’s sleeve. Razor sharp, his green gaze slices

overtomeetmyfakehusband’s.

“You’re Tataurov?” His voice is like a glacier, all slow-moving ice and gravel, and another shiver

raises goosebumps across my skin. His big hand shoots out to shake Ivan’s. “Duke. I’ll be in charge of
lookingafteryourwife.”

Hesaysthelastwordlikehe’schewingabiteofsomethingthathe’dratherspitout.
Ivandoesn’tnoticeorhedoesn’tcare.Insteadhefrowns.“Yourclub’spresidentisnotinchargeof

hersecurity?”

“He’sinchargeofdecidingwhowewatch.I’minchargeofhowwewatchthem.”Dukewithdraws

hishand,notlookingatallbotheredthatIvandidn’ttakeit.“Andtheprezisabusyman.Whereasme,this
isallIdo.Butifyouwantsomeonewithathousandotherdemandsonhistimetolookafteryourwoman,
justsaythewordandI’llgoseehowhefeelsaboutspendingthenextfewdaysbabysitting.”

I’vemettheHellfireRiders’president,whoseemedsteelycoldandunimpressedbyIvan—whichisa

farcryfromtheregimenteddeferenceIvan’sownsecurityshowshim,andafarfarcryfromthefawning
obeisanceshownbythebevyofstylistsandaestheticianswho’vespentthepastthreedaystransforming
meintoKeriBishop.Indeed,allofthesebikershaveseemedunimpressedbyIvan,asiftheydon’tgivea
singledamnabouthimorhiswealth.Withme—withKeri—someoftheirbadassattitudeshavecrackeda
little,butstilltheirresponsesarenothingliketheoverwhelmingreactionsI’vegottenfromstrangerswho
mistookmeforherbefore.

Yetthisbiker,Duke—hisattitudegoesbeyondunimpressedandstraightintowouldn’tspitonyouif

youwereonfire.BecauseDukebasicallyjusttoldIvanthatifhisbeinginchargeisaproblem,thenIvan
cantakehistwenty-thousand-a-dayandgoscrewhimselfwithit.

I’mnotsureifthebestpersontoprotectmeissomeonewhodoesn’tgiveaflyingflipaboutme.But

apparentlythisguy’sresponsesatisfiesIvan.

“Nodistractions,yes?”hesays.
Dukenods.“None.”
“That is very good.” Ivan’s fingers lace through mine and gently squeeze, which probably appears

affectionate, but his voice is stiff and his faint Russian accent deepens as he adds, “My beautiful Keri
mustbekeptsafe.”

AnoncommittalgruntisDuke’sresponsetothat.Hisattentionshiftstothebeardedgiant—Bull.
Ireallyappreciatehowalloftheseguysweartheirnamesontheirvests.
“Willyouseehersettledin?”Dukeaskshim.“I’llroundupthebrothersI’mbringinginonthis.”
Thegiantnodseasily.“I’lldothat.”
Duke’sgazeskipsovermeandlandsonIvanagain.“Bullwilltakecareofher.AnythingelseIought

toknowbeforeyouhandheroffandheadout?”

“OnlythatIdonottoleratefailure.”Althoughitsoundslikealinefromavillaininanactionmovie,I

don’tthinkIvan’sacting.

Ialsodon’tthinkhismessageisonlyforDuke.
A sardonic smile twists the biker’s mouth. But he doesn’t respond to the implied threat. Instead he

simply gives a short nod before turning away, his long strides carrying him past Ivan’s hulking security
guardsasifhedoesn’tnotice—orcare—thatthey’rethere.

As soon as he goes, the tension tightening my skin eases, but I still can’t tear my gaze from his

retreating back. Over the years, I’ve developed a sense about some men. Guys like my stepfather, like
Ivan—mygutwarnsmetotreadwarilyaroundthem.NowmyinstinctsarescreamingthatDuke’sadanger
to me, too…but it’s not the same kind of danger. I don’t know how to categorize it because I certainly
haven’t felt it before. Because with my stepfather, with Ivan, I feel a lot safer when their attention is
elsewhere.AndDuke…

Iwanthimtolookatme.
But he doesn’t glance back. Instead he stalks through the clubhouse’s front door and the night

swallowshimup.FaintlyI’mawarethatBull’ssayingsomethingtoIvan—thatmaybeIvanwouldlikea
fewminutesalonewithhiswifebeforeleaving.

Hiswife.That’sme.AndI’msupposedtobeinlovewithhim,notstaringafteranotherman.
SoIgazeadoringlyupatIvan’shandsomeprofile.“Afewminutesalonewouldbelovely,Bull.Thank

you.”

AndIscrewedthatup.BecauseIvan’sfingerstightenonmineandfaintdisapprovalfirmshismouth.

“Wewilltakeamomentoutbythevehicles.Walkwithmeoutside,love.”

Hedoesn’tfinishtalkingbeforetuggingmeforward,andIhavetorace-walktokeepupwithhim—

not easy to do in these shoes. The Jimmy Choo sandals are more comfortable than any heels I’ve worn
before,butI’mstilladjustingtotheheightofthem.KeriisaboutaninchtallerthanIam,soeverybitof
footwearIvanboughtformeincreasesmyheightbythatdifference,plustwoorthreemoreinches.And
although I’m used to spending all day on my feet, it’s usually in sneakers, not peep toe sandals with
needle-thinheels.

Outside, the chill night air immediately sinks through my thin silk dress. I don’t remember which

designerlabelwassewnintotheinsideseam,butwhoevermadethiswhitesilksheathobviouslypictured
summer days in Los Angeles, not September evenings in central Oregon. When we arrived at the
clubhouselatethisafternoontheairwasmuchwarmer,butnowit’salittletoobriskformyLouisianan
blood.

EvenbeforeIvanstops,though,IrealizemyLouisiananbloodistheproblem,becauseitspillsoutin

my accent. Try as I might, I can’t speak in those flat tones that the California-born Keri does. We’ve
alreadyconcoctedastoryascover—thatKeriispracticingherSouthernaccentforanupcomingfilm—
butifIvanhadhisway,I’dspendtheentiretimeherewithmylipssewntogether.

“Give us space,” he orders the security following at our heels, and they immediately back off. Ivan

keepsgoing,pasttheSUVsthatbroughtushere,almosttotheendoftheclubhousebuilding,wherethe
angle of the vehicles and a pool of shadows conceal us from the men standing back near the entrance.
Probablyeveryonethinksthathe’sgivingmeapassionategood-byeinprivate,butIknowhewon’tkiss
me.TheonegoodthingIcansayabouthim:he’sdevotedtohiswife.Inallthistime,he’sonlytouched
myhand,andonlydoesthatforshow.

Now he pivots to face me, his voice low and dangerous. “There’s only one thing you need to

rememberwhileyou’rehere,andthat’stokeepyourstupidmouthshut.Canyoudothat?”

AngerspitsfirethroughmyveinsbutnomatterwhatIvanbelievesaboutmybrainpower,mymama

didn’tbirthastupidbaby.Ikeepmymouthshutandsimplynod.Becausehe’snotjusttalkingaboutmy
accent—he’stalkingaboutthewarninghedrilledintomeoverandoverthepastfewdays:No one can
knowyouaren’tKeri.Ifyoutellasinglepersonordosomethingtorevealyourself,thedealisoff.No
money,nocustodyagreement.Nothing.

Ican’taffordtoruinthisdeal.Erincan’taffordformetoruinit.
And he’s not done. “You are Keri Bishop,” he reminds me. “You are a goddess who walks red

carpets.Mencrawlatyourfeet.Womendreamofbeingyou.Youhavenothingtosaytothisbikertrash
andnothingincommonwiththem.Canyourememberthat?”

AgainInod.Thistimeit’snotenough.
Hiseyesnarrow.“Letmehearit,then.”
Ican’tkeeptheacidoffmytongue.“I’vegotnothingincommonwiththistrash,”Isayinmyaccent

thatgiveslietoeveryword.

Because I’ve got nothing in common with Keri, except a face. And even though I’m more than two

thousand miles from Winnfield, Louisiana, these bikers are a lot closer to home than my new Jimmy
Choosare.

“So you don’t cozy up to them and you don’t run your mouth, and everything will work out as it

should.Understood?”

“Understood,”Iechowoodenly.
His cold gaze searches my face. Finally he nods and calls out to his security team that he’s ready.

“Youhadbestheadbackin,”hetellsmeandlookstowardtheclubhouseentrance,whereBulliswaiting
formetoreturn.

“I will in a minute,” I say sweetly. “As your loving wife, I ought to see you off.” And say good

riddancewhenyourtaillightsvanishdowntheroad.

I don’t add the last, but the warning in his final look tells me that my tone said it clearly enough.

Huggingmybarearmstomychest,Ipasteonasmileandwaitintheshadowswhileheandhissecurity
teamloadintotheSUVs.Assoonastheenginesstart,Iletoutahuge,relievedbreath.

Thensuckitinagainwhentheraspandflareofalightercomesfrombehindme.
Duke.He’sstandinginthedarknessjustaroundthecornerofthebuilding,shouldercasuallybraced

againstthesideofthelodge,hishandcuppedaroundtheendofacigarette.Theflamehighlightsthestrong
planesofhisfaceandreflectslikeademon’sglowintheseagreenofhiseyes.

Suddenlyallthetension’sback,myspinesostiffthatmyneckmusclesbeginaching.Howmuchdidhe

hear?DidIvanorIsayanythingthatexposedmeasafraud?

Idon’tknow.He’slookingstraightatmeashelightsthecigarettebutIcan’treadhisexpression.
ThenheflickstheZippolighterclosedandallbutdisappearsintotheshadowsagain,invisibleexcept

fortheglowingtipofhiscigarette.Icanstillfeelhimwatchingme,though.

AndbecauseIdon’tknowwhatelsetodo,Ismileathim.There’snowayhecanmissit.Notwith

theseteeth,asbrightasthesun.

A chuckle rumbles out of the dark, but it’s not a nice sound. Neither is what accompanies it. “No

matterhowprettyyourfeetare,Mrs.Tataurov,Ihavenointentionofcrawlingatthem.Soyoupackaway
thatsweetsmile.It’swastedontrashlikeme,anyway.”

Oh, dear Lord. So focused on wondering if my identity was discovered, I forgot Duke might have

heardthatpart,too.Dismayed,Ishakemyhead.“Ididn’treally—”

“Saveitforsomeonewhogivesashit.”Hiscigarettedropstothegroundandamomentlatereventhat

softglowisextinguished.“Andgetyourassbackinside.Whenyourhusbandreturns,Isureashelldon’t
wanttotellhimthatyoufrozetodeaththefirstfuckingnight.”

I don’t think Ivan would care, because when he comes back, it means the danger to Keri has been

eliminated.Andit’snotthatcoldoutthere.Justchilly.

Butthere’snothingelsetosay—andeveniftherewas,Dukeobviouslydoesn’twanttohearmesayit.

SoIliftmychin,squaremyshoulders,andletmyJimmyChooscarrymebacktotheclubhouse.Andas
farasimpersonatingKeriBishopgoes,atleastnowI’mdoingonethingright.

BecauseI’mnotsmilinganymore.

AvailableonKindleandFREEtoborrowwithaKindleUnlimitedsubscription!

FakingItAllisacompletelystandaloneromancewithintheHellfireRidersseries.Youdon'tneedto

havereadthepreviousbooksintheseriestoenjoythisstory.

P RE - O RD E R : G O IN G N O W H E RE FA S T

AVA ILA BLE A P RIL18 TH, 2 0 17

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Onepromise.
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A LS O BY K A T I W ILD E

CO N TE MPO RA RYRO MA N CE

S

EC RET

S

ANTA

(aholidaynovella)

THE HE LLFIRE RIDE RSMO TO RCYCLE CLU B

T

HE

H

ELLFIRE

R

IDERS

,V

O LUMES

1-3:S

AXO N

&J

ENNY

(includes:WantingItAll,TakingItAll,HavingItAll)

T

HE

H

ELLFIRE

R

IDERS

,V

O LUMES

4-6:J

AC K

&L

ILY

(includes:BettingItAll,RiskingItAll,BurningItAll)

B

REAKING

I

T

A

LL

(Gunner&Anna)

G

IVING

I

T

A

LL

(Saxon&Jenny)

C

RAVING

I

T

A

LL

(Bull&Sara)

F

AKING

I

T

A

LL

(Duke&Olivia)

CO MIN GSO O N

B

EAUTY

I

N

S

PRING

(ashortBeauty&theBeastromance)

G

O ING

N

O W HERE

F

AS T

(anewadultromance)

L

O S ING

I

T

A

LL

(Stone’sbook)

Thisbookisaworkoffiction.Thenames,characters,places,andincidentsareproductsofthewriter’simaginationorhavebeenused
fictitiouslyandarenottobeconstruedasreal.Anyresemblancetopersons,livingordead,actualevents,localesororganizationsisentirely
coincidental.

Nopartofthisbookmaybereproduced,scanned,ordistributedinanymannerwhatsoeverwithoutwrittenpermissionfromtheauthorexcept
inthecaseofbriefquotationembodiedincriticalarticlesandreviews.

BEAUTYINSPRING

Copyright©2017KatiWilde

Allrightsreserved.

FirstDigitalEdition,March2017

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