A Glassy Lady: Coeur de Lyon: A Renaissance Flair 2 Page 16

  Pulling out his phone, Bard thumbed it on, unlocked the screen and fired up his Spotify. "What do you wanna sing, darling? I'll sing with you, if I know the words."

  Turning her head, Harper looked up at him. Eyebrow up. Lips pursed. Fishing out her own phone, she flipped through her playlists, then showed him the screen.

  He shook his head, "Don't know that one."

  He showed her his screen, she shook her head. "Nope, sorry."

  The Imp of Perversity tickled her, hard. Flicking to another playlist, she showed him the song.

  He winced, then sighed and nodded. "Yep, know that one by heart. How did you know?"

  Smirking, Harper said, "You have two little sisters. There's no way you couldn't know this one by heart."

  "You are an evil, wicked woman, my Harper," Bard grumbled, but he couldn't hide the amusement twitching his lips and glowing in the brilliant incandescence of his eyes.

  "Well then, time to Let it Go, darling," Harper teased, hitting play and letting the opening strains of the song echo throughout the amphitheater.

  Chapter 20

  When his mate said she couldn't carry a tune, she hadn't been kidding. Not in the slightest. If he hadn't known better, he'd have sworn she was a banshee, and yet it was still the most beautiful sound he had ever heard.

  Okay, so she really wasn't quite that bad, not when she threw her heart and soul into singing, lifting her voice with such unabashed enjoyment and confidence that it elevated her singing from horrible to merely not great. She may not be auditioning for Broadway any time soon, but he'd bet their pups would know the words to every musical ever sung before they could even talk.

  Hand-in-hand, he sang word-for-word with her, letting his wolf spirit join in their song as they drowned out the recording playing from her phone. She did more than just sing, however, as she used her entire body as an extension of her singing, throwing her head back as he did, and doing exactly as the song encouraged, just letting it all go!

  When she pulled her hand away, striding across the stage confidently, even pulling her hair free as she gave it her all, Bard figured his grin would split his face in two. Hel, he knew he had been smiling like a loon since finding his Harper, and he probably looked like a bloodthirsty maniac, but he didn't care.

  With his own voice joining hers, man and wolf howled out their pleasure to the melody of a Disney song.

  As the song trailed off, she turned to him with a smile bright enough to shame the moon in its glory. Her hair windblown, cheeks flushed with the cool night air and with exhilaration, eyes shining with happiness, she was his heart given flesh and form.

  Sweeping her up into his arms, he titled her back in that pose he used to mock relentlessly before that very moment. You know the one, where the guy tilts his lady-love back over his arm, gazing tenderly down into her face? Yep, that's the one he he used, and the one he had an all-new appreciation for.

  "Kiss me, you fool," Harper said, reaching up and wrapping her arms around the back of his neck.

  "Frankly my dear," he growled softly, getting into the moment, "You're wish is my damn command."

  Ah, there it was. The sweet press of her lips against his, parting to let his greedy tongue entrance so he could taste her, explore her.

  She tasted of chocolate and red wine, coffee and whisky, and she was sweeter than the mead of Valhalla or Idun's apples could ever be.

  He was addicted.

  Never would he have enough of her kisses.

  Fuck, in this life and the next, and the next, into eternity, he would chase after her for the promise of another kiss. She held his heart and his soul securely in her hands.

  Deepening the kiss, pulling her up against him as he stood, he growled hungrily, desperate for more. Always more.

  That's when, of course, the Fates decided to test the Beast.

  The sound of mocking applause intruded rudely, amplified by the amphitheater. Harper pulled back with a gasp before she buried her face in the crook of his neck, bursting into helpless laughter.

  Growling, knowing his fangs were showing and his eyes were glowing, Bard glared up at the source of the applause.

  "Sorry to interrupt the show, kiddos," a droll, oh-so-properly BBC British, called out as a shadowy figure emerged from the gloomy night and into the dim, flickering light of one of the emergency lights above a doorway that led into the underground areas beneath Knighthold. "But while your impromptu musical was quite entertaining, alas, despite my personal preferences otherwise, I must shoo thee away before this becomes an R18 performance."

  "Fucking Strange," Bard huffed, unable to stop glaring at the smaller man. His wolf wanted to tear the man's throat out, but that would probably be rude.

  The comment drew a deep, rolling laugh from the other man, one that caused his eyes to briefly flash bloody scarlet as they caught the light. "No, no fucking for me right now, I'm afraid. Just Knight Patrol...patrol, you know, the bloody job and all that."

  Emerging fully into the light as he spoke, Strange was only average height, but he had a lean, muscular build, emphasized by the skin-tight black turtleneck he wore. His lower body was clad a black utilikilt emblazoned with the Unseelie version of the Cœur de Lyon shield, with the lion facing the opposite side, and rendered in blues and silvers instead of the red and gold of the Seelie version. A thick leather belt secured his kilt in place, with a holstered pistol on one side and a large, utilitarian military knife on the other, while a pair of highly polished black combat boots completed the image of a modern Scottish brigand.

  Brushing his thick, black hair away from his eyes, which had paled back to their warm hazel, Strange smirked as he glanced between the two of them. "You may want to get your lady love back home, Bard, before the evil Brit..."

  "Who you calling evil Brit, you fucking British bastard," an angry feminine voice called out as another figure emerged from the basement door. Like Strange, she was dressed in a black turtleneck, but instead of the kilt, she was wearing black combat fatigues. With her long, dark hair pulled back into a braid, her skin was as fair as Strange's, but like Harper, her accent was decidedly Southern American. With a compact, powerful build, she stalked towards Strange with a determined stride and punishment glinting in her glowing crimson eyes.

  "Brittany, as I've explained before," Strange said, sidling slowly away from Brit until Bard and Harper were conveniently between them. "I am not British, I'm English. I left England before it became Great Britain, so I am not British, I am English. You, however, are named after the island of Britannia, which makes you the Brit in this relationship. I realize that as an American, particularly one born in this century, your education in proper history is woefully lacking, but really, dear..."

  Feeling Harper shaking against his chest, Bard tightened his arms protectively around her, a protective growl rumbling out of him even as he realized she was shaking with laughter and not fear from the presence of the two bickering vampires.

  With a put-upon sigh, Bard interjected, "If you two don't mind, I'm going to take my mate home. Please, carry on...without us."

  "Sure, Bard, get her out of her," Brittany said, her glowing eyes tracking the chuckling Strange. "We wouldn't want her to have to be a witness to a justifiable homicide."

  "If you need a good lawyer," Harper pulled away from Bard's chest to give Brittany a confiding grin, "Give me a holler. I may not be licensed to practice here in Colorado yet, but I'm sure I can make a few calls, especially for a fellow Rebel."

  "Finally!" Brittany exclaimed, pointing at Harper as she gave Strange a pointed look, "Someone that speaks proper English!"

  Strange tripped over his own feet at that, falling flat on his ass as he stared up at Brittany in open-mouthed disbelief. In a blink, he was on his feet and stalking towards his partner. "Woman, I am English! By definition, I am speaking proper English, you Yanks just need to stop gargling water and form your words completely before they leave your mouths!"

  "YANK!" Brittany screeched,
going toe-to-toe with Strange as she poked him in the chest, "You fucking Redcoat, I'm a Southerner! The damned Yankees were from the North, we were the Rebels!"

  "Bah," Strange dismissed angrily, waving his hands as he glared at Brittany, "You're all bloody Rebels, you're all damned Yanks! You threw away a perfectly good thing when you dumped that tea, and what did you end up doing with your precious freedom? Hunh?"

  Leaning down, Bard whispered into Harper's ear, "Let's go, darling. They'll be at this for hours yet, and I'd much rather you and I have our own Union discussion elsewhere..."

  Muffling her own laughter against his chest, Harper nodded and the two left the bickering vampires behind them. Wrapping an arm around her shoulder, Bard tucked her against his side while she wrapped an arm around his waist. It was perfect.

  As they approached their shoppes, Bard slowed his steps, reluctant to let the evening end. Leaning his head against the top of hers, he hugged her tightly against his side, though always conscious of his great strength particularly in regards to his mate's well-being.

  "Thank you, for tonight," Bard huskily murmured. "I had an incredible time."

  She looked up at him, giving him that beautiful smile he craved. "Shouldn't I be the one saying that?"

  "Nah, what's good for the witch is good for the wolf," Bard teased, brushing his lips over her forehead, once more filling his lungs with her distinctive scent. Gods and goddesses, the things she did to him.

  Reaching the door to her cottage, Harper stood in the cradle of his arm for a few moments. Hesitantly, she turned in his arm, placing her free hand on his chest as she looked up at him.

  "I know it's fast," she began, taking a deep breath and releasing it with a shy, sheepish grin. "But, would you like to come up for a night cap?"

  Closing his eyes briefly, Bard choked back a laugh, letting it emerge as a groan. When he opened his eyes, and looked down at her, he saw the reflection of his glowing eyes within her own. "Darling, if I come inside with you, I cannot promise to keep my hands to myself. Hel, I can't promise you won't end up marked, claimed, and fully mated before the sun even comes up."

  Yep, there went her eyebrow again. When she began nibbling thoughtfully on her bottom lip, Bard had to resist the urge to lean down and nibble on it for her.

  "What...what does that entail, exactly?" Her voice was whisper soft, her gaze searching.

  Reaching up, Bard lightly tugged on an errant lock of her hair before he tucked it back behind her ear. Cupping the back of her neck, he said huskily, "For the marking, it requires me biting you, pushing my wolf's power into you so that others will know you have been marked. Claiming involves me buried deep inside of you, filling you with my seed, so that you smell of me, warning others that you belong to me. And finally, the mating, requires you willingly biting me back, showing that you've accepted my mark and my claim, that you've returned it."

  As he spoke, his voice deepened with the thoughts of actually doing what he had described to her. Fuck, he thought he had been hard earlier, but the thought of going through marking, claiming, and mating with her? Yeah, right now, he swore he could use his cock as an anvil without any problem at all.

  Listening to him intently, Harper's eyes widened, her breathing growing a little quicker, sharper, while her heartbeat kicked up in pace. Bard nearly fell to his knees as the tangy scent of her desire washed through his senses.

  In a rough voice, one far more wolf than man, Bard leaned his forehead against his mate's. "So, if you invite me in, my little Southern Belle, the big, bad wolf will gobble you up and never let you go."

  She took a step back from him. Reluctantly, Bard let her go, sliding his hands down over her arms as she pulled away. Before he could drop his hands, however, she grabbed them in her own and held them against her chest.

  Meeting his gaze fully, he could see fear gleaming in her eyes, but the courage that defined her very essence burned with an intensity even he could not doubt as she spoke.

  "All my life, I've been alone. I've had to be wear masks, clad myself in armor thick enough that no one could penetrate it. I built walls of ice, thick and sturdy. Letting anyone in risked being hurt. Worse, it meant being abandoned and left alone again. I'm not that nice of a person, Bard. I'm not really close to anyone except for Sam. Even my MeeMaw is more a stranger than my grandmother. But I'm tired. Tired of being alone, of being lonely, of being so fucking cold, I'm afraid I'll never be warm. Please, don't leave me alone."

  Stunned speechless, his wolf so present in his flesh he was unable to speak, all Bard could do was jerk his head in the affirmative. Fuck, he wanted to promise her anything, everything, to tell her he would never leave her alone, never abandon her, would fucking destroy the world to stay at her side, and would make Fenris seem like a toothless puppy if anyone tried to keep her away. But he couldn't. Not when she took his hand in hers, unlocked her door, and led him inside.

  He wasn't lost. He had finally been found and he would never let her go.

  Chapter 21

  Why the hell am I so nervous? Harper thought, trying to get her shaking under some semblance of control as she led her big, bad Viking werewolf into her cottage.

  He followed her quietly, as obediently as a puppy, and the mental image almost had her giggling aloud. Except, when she turned her head to look back at him, the raw intent on his face stole her breath.

  His eyes were alive with radiance, staring at her unblinking, his mouth slightly parted as if he had lost any capability of rational speech. His wolf was present, in the sharpness of his features, the bristling of his entire body straining against the fabric of his shirt. She knew that he, like many shifters, tended to wear clothes that were a little large on them, to accommodate sudden shifts, but he was obviously straining the seams of his clothing. His hand convulsively clung to hers, flexing as his claws threatened to emerge, and yet despite the palpable, crackling aura of wild power raging around him, Harper had never felt safer.

  Indeed, that wild energy sparking off his body and into hers only made her burn hotter. It was like she fed off it. She wanted to revel in it, let him surround her with his strength, while she surrounded and protected him.

  Harper already knew she would go Wickedest Witch of the Whole Wide World if anyone even looked at him the wrong way. It was a dangerous, heady feeling, finding that one person you would sacrifice anything to protect, do anything to make them happy. It was intoxicating in all the best and worst ways. He was addictive, and they'd only just kissed.

  No sooner had Bard used his foot to close the door behind them, Harper found herself swept up in his arms like some maiden in a fairy tale. Holy shit, she was living out one of her romance novels! Cue swooning!

  Wrapping her arms around his neck, Harper opened her mouth to offer a protest, to say something about her weight, but from the intense look on his face, she quickly snapped her lips shut.

  No! Bad Harper! Don't say anything and ruin this! You're living out one of your deepest, darkest fantasies!

  "Bed?" Bard grunted, apparently having gone completely monosyllabic.

  Leaning up, she nipped at his bearded jaw, making him stumble slightly as she whispered, "Upstairs, loft."

  The man...er, wolf, werewolf, whatever... moved quicker than a greased pig struck by lightning. Harper had barely had enough time to gasp before she found herself placed with surprising gentleness on the bed, caged in beneath his massive body. His large hands were firmly placed on either side of her head, his thick thighs placed on either side of hers.

  When he ran his nose up along the column of her throat, the sensation of his beard tickling her skin had her squirming almost as much as the heat of his body pressing against hers. The rumbling groan of pleasure he gave, as his lips grazed up along her jaw, echoed through his chest. She could feel herself drowning in the sound, in the feel of him, in her need for the beast that wanted to mark her, claim her, and be her mate. Hers.

  Clawing at his shirt, Harper whimpered, straining up agains
t him, desperate to feel his flesh against hers. "Bard," she released a low whine, "Please...need to feel you."

  Leaping off of her, off the bed entirely, he landed without a sound on his large, booted feet beside the bed. His chest heaved with deep, ragged breaths, as he reached up to tear his shirt off.

  Yep, just like that. He tore his shirt off. Seams snapped apart, buttons flew, and his claws left ragged strips of flannel dangling from his wide shoulders.

  It happened in movies all the time, but Harper had never actually witnessed it in person. Seeing the expanse of his huge, muscular torso flexing smoothly as he tore the fabric with all the ease of shredding paper, Harper couldn't help but feel both awe and a staggering amount of pure lust as she drank in the sight of him.

  His chest was completely smooth, except for a faint hint of pale golden hairs leading a teasing trail from his belly button down to disappear into his pants. She had seen him bare-chested just hours ago, sweaty and flexing in the early morning sun, but seeing it now, knowing she could reach out and touch it...wait, why wasn't she touching it?

  Scrambling up on to her hands and knees, Harper hesitantly reached out, her fingertips grazing his bare, heated flesh. Instantly, he pressed his chest fully into her hand, his impressive pectorals swelling as he inhaled and tilted his head back, releasing his breath in a throaty groan.

  Encouraged by his reaction, Harper slowly explored his torso, letting her hands smooth over his taut flesh, down over his flexing pecs until her fingers could tease the tight, hard nubs of his dusky pink nipples. Yep, they were pink, not bright or shocking, but against his fair skin, they drew her attention, particularly when his entire body seemed to spasm as she grazed them with her nails.

  Interesting!

  Before she could investigate further, however, Bard quickly stepped back, out of her reach.

  Panting, his eyes blazing, he spoke, his voice gravelly and jagged with raw need. "Please, darling...take off...your clothes." Squeezing his eyes shut, his hands fisting and unfisting at his sides, he continued brokenly, "Afraid...I'll...claw you. Don't want to...ever hurt you. But wolf..."