Moments later he was supporting his weight on his elbows as he bowed his head to hers, his thick hair damp with sweat. "I love you, wife." He would never get tired of saying those words. He would never get tired of seeing her all pink and flushed with his lovemaking, her eyes glazed over with spent passion.
Rolling over, he pulled Clair to him, her tawny hair cascading over his chest. He kissed the top of her head. "I have two wedding gifts for you that you haven't yet received."
Clair's sleepy eyes lit up. "I love surprises," she said.
He grinned. "I know. You'll get one now and one later on tonight."
She sighed. "You know I want them both now. I'd argue about it, but I'm just too tired. So… how about that second surprise?" she coaxed seductively, running her fingers through the curly hair of his chest. Oh, how she loved the feel of her husband. Oh, how she loved this man. He was her miracle.
"Later," he promised. He hugged her tightly, savoring the feel of her naked body so close to him. "I know that bloody vampire Asher is always spouting poetry, so I decided on something special. On expressing myself in words the way you like but I haven't been able to do."
Clair propped herself on his chest, her eyes wide with surprise. "This is a gift indeed. I know poetry is not your forte."
"Hush, Clair, and let me get this said before I lose my blasted nerve." He pushed her head back onto his chest and began the poem, which eloquently told the feelings of his souclass="underline"
Clair's tears wet his chest, and Ian thought it a fitting end for that man who had once kept his heart encased in iron. "I will always love you, Harold Ian Huntsley," she said.
Then she was asleep, before he could scold her about using his first name. She looked so adorable in slumber, and he couldn't really blame her—after all, this was the third time they had made love in less than two hours. He always had such tremendous energy on nights of the full moon.
As Ian watched his wife sleeping in his bed, in his home in Wales, he felt his cup run over with love. Clair was his mate. She was in his territory. The two things gave him such a primitive sense of possession he wanted to howl with joy.
Tenderly, he lifted one of her long burnished golden curls that came nearly to her waist, and he inhaled the wintry scent of Clair. She was so beautiful, inside and out. She had awakened a hunger in him that only her companionship could sate.
In sleep, her remarkable curiosity and indomitable determination didn't show. Still, her smile held a hint of the minx. Yes, Ian knew, Clair Frankenstein Huntsley would always lead him a merry, merry chase.
Restless, he rose and prowled the room, then gave up and stepped out onto the balcony. He was so happy, he ached. Clair had broken the tower walls of his heart with her wit, compassion, energy, and humor. He loved her so much, and he wanted to make her happy. He knew she was forlorn about giving up her supernatural studies, but he had a big surprise for her. Though she wouldn't be able to publish these findings, she would be able to study deeply in private. And the deeper the investigation, the better. She wouldn't even have to leave home for her research. She could eye him here all she wanted.
Oh yes, he could hardly wait to see the look on Clair's face when she discovered his second surprise. He realized that she would be mad at first for his sin of omission. But he also knew her scientific curiosity would get the better of her bad temper—if she didn't kill him first.
He looked up into the night sky. The full moon had risen. Ian's body thrummed with energy and white-hot heat—the call of the wild. Ian laughed, the sound husky and deep as fur rippled out along his skin.
The transformation began. He threw back his head and howled.
Jerked awake from her sated slumber in the bedroom, Clair could swear that she'd just heard a wolf howl. On her wedding night, no less. Another spine-tingling howl convinced her that she wasn't having a delightful nightmare of werewolves and vampires. There was a wolf howling and, from the sounds, it was at the foot of her bed.
Peeking from under the covers, Clair gasped. Out on the balcony, her husband of less than a full day was transforming into a wolf before her very eyes. He was down on all fours, with fur covering every part of his body, with the exception of one part, which grew even longer and more rigid—if that was possible. Now that she'd expected on her wedding night. But not with all the fur.
Her eyes round, her fists clenched, Clair gasped, "I'm married to the Werewolf of London and he never told me!"
She turned to deal with him.
The Trouble with Hairy
Clair would never forget last night as long as she lived. The trouble with Harold Ian Huntsley was that he was a werewolf as well as her husband of one night. He was her lying, big-fanged, hairy husband. Call her an odd duck, but the werewolf part hardly threw Clair for a loop; it was the lying part she couldn't tolerate. Her husband had said he had a big surprise for her on her wedding night. He wasn't kidding. From mortal to wolf in less than five minutes. It would have been awe-inspiring if she hadn't been so mad about being deceived.
Clair had, of course, tried to talk to Ian about her anger. But how could you have an intelligent conversation when the person you're arguing with was howling at the moon? So Clair made the grown-up decision, packed her bags, and left her bridegroom of less than two days to go home to her family.
Now that Clair was almost home, she faced several dilemmas. How could she break the news to her family? Should she break the news to them? How could she tell them that the perfect nobleman she had just married was furry and fanged once a month. She, the brilliant and eccentric scientist who was never going to get married, had fallen in love hard, fast, and forever with a four-footed liar.
Remembering how thrilled her family had been at the ceremony, Clair dreaded telling them the bad news. She hadn't married beneath her; she had married into a whole new species!
"I've left my husband on our wedding night because, you see, the trouble with Harry Ian is that he's hairy Ian," Clair mumbled to herself, testing it out. "Well, you didn't actually see, but I did." Shaking her head intently, she decided that wouldn't work. Uncle Victor would just want to watch the transformation and take notes. She would get no sympathy from him.
"Ian is the Wolfman of London," Clair tried. No, Frederick would just pat him on the back and welcome another monster into the family, she surmised. Desperate, she glanced outside the carriage window. They were pulling up to the Frankenstein family townhouse.
Irritated, she pulled on the red cloak her devious husband had given her for a wedding gift. He had kissed her soundly, then begun calling her his Little Red Riding Hood. A red cloak! How appropriate, since he was the big, bad, lying wolf.
To think, he had kept his werewolfism a secret when she was in the midst of the biggest supernatural investigation of her career. It was unforgivable. She would never see him again. Well, it was mostly unforgivable. Damn his big furry head!
Knocking on the front door to the townhouse, Clair stamped her foot. Ian was going to pay for his deceit. She just hadn't figured out how. But being the Frankenstein she was, she would figure a way. The Frankenstein family butler interrupted her thoughts of revenge.