Bewitched by the Full Moon

CHAPTER ONE

Bewitched by the Full moon by Yavid Zilla

(Kyle and Bee )

Kylan Salvador’s loyalty to his werewolf pack is absolute—which is the only reason he agrees to an arranged marriage. But a marriage borne out of duty soon takes on a whole new spin. For Kyle discovers his bride is an utterly enticing mystery. Beatrice is half-faery, maybe a little bit vampire, and altogether delightful. As for Bee, she has this much in common with her new husband: she can’t resist the passion they share.

But a relationship that began as a political alliance is soon threatened by discord between the Unseelie court and the werewolves of Paris. And Kir’s investigation into Bee’s lineage reveals disturbing truths about what she is. Their love is strong—but so are the forces arrayed against them...

Kylan couldn’t concentrate on the words the officiant spoke because beside him stood her.

The woman soon to be named his wife. And after that they would dance and drink, and, well, he’d heard there was a honeymoon cabin erected not far from here.

Much as having sex with a woman he’d only just met didn’t appeal, Kyle couldn’t think about that, either. Something sweet, like flowers or fruit, or maybe even sugared fruit topped with flowers, tickled his nostrils. The petite woman who stood beside him, the crown of her head below his shoulders, smelled like dessert.

He did like dessert.

He didn’t want to like her. Because that would mean he was cool with this stupid agreement. One that stuck him with a woman he didn’t know or want.

For the rest of his life.

Werewolves could live three centuries or more. That was a hell of a long time to spend with one woman. Especially a woman he had not chosen.

Chapter 1

“What’s going on behind closed doors?” Kyle asked Jaques Mountford, the pack’s scion, and his best friend. The men stood outside the pack principal’s office door, and Kyle had caught Jaques with an ear tilted to listen through the door.

The dark-haired wolf, who was built like an MMA fighter, shrugged back his shoulders and lifted his chin. “An emissary from Faery is in there with my dad.”

Kylan whistled and leaned against the concrete-block wall. Etienne Mountford was principal of pack Valoir, an old and revered group of werewolves that had been a cohesive group for centuries. Kyle had been born and raised within the pack.

Both men tilted their heads toward the door. With their heightened werewolf senses, they could hear much through thick walls, but something about the conversation was muted. Faery glamour? The idea of a being from Faery visiting their pack was too interesting for either one to stop eavesdropping. And neither could deny they had a tendency to get into trouble together. They’d been raised side by side, more brothers than most siblings could claim.

“You ever meet a faery?” Jaques asked. His blue eyes twinkled with curiosity.

Kylan shrugged. “I’ve seen them in the nightclubs. They’re...colorful.”

“That’s for sure. And their wings are freaky. So, you ever...you know.”

Kyle knew Jaques ’s unspoken implication was that he wanted to know if he’d had sex with a faery. “Haven’t had the pleasure. If you can call dodging wings pleasurable.”

“I hear they’re delicate.”

Smirking, Kyle let that one go. Jaques was the one with the fiancée. And a raging curiosity for all things female that had gotten him in more trouble with the little woman than a man should have to deal with. But his bride-to-be was a werewolf, so Jaques won the King of the Perfect Score award in the men’s minds. It wasn’t often werewolves mated with their own kind, because of the rarity of the female. Even those wolves in packs often had to look elsewhere for a mate because most of the female pack members were spoken for upon birth.

Jaques was a lucky wolf.

Kylan, on the other hand, had gone without a date for months. The idea of a delicate faery didn’t appeal to him. A match with a fellow wolf would feed his sexual desires perfectly. Beyond his species, the only other option was mortal women. Some proved open to his aggressive needs. He could also withstand the occasional witch, but they tended to be unpredictable and sometimes just plain creepy.

Ah, hell, wasn’t as if he was looking for love anyway. He didn’t believe in love.

Hookups were fine for now. Besides, there was a certain danger involved when pursuing a wolf from another pack. Packs tended to protect their females fiercely.

On the other hand, life wasn’t worth the ride without risk.

“Twenty bucks says he’s trying to negotiate the hunting grounds again,” Jaques said.

Etienne’s goal was to appeal to Faery so the pack could be allowed to hunt in their realm. The more the mortal realm evolved and the cities pushed out into the country, the less safe it became for a werewolf to hunt without risking discovery by humans. Their breed required vast acreage unhampered by hunters with guns and curious human eyes. Faery offered that. And, if a portal to Faery were opened right here in Paris, the trip to the hunt could be quick and easy.

“Let’s hope, for the sake of the pack, you won that bet,” Kyle said, “and that he’s successful.”

* * *

A harpie in human guise sat across the office desk from Etienne. Arriving without notice, she’d waited ten minutes in the office while he’d been summoned on this bright weekday morning that had seen him lingering in bed beside his wife’s warm body.

The visitor was tall, slender, wore her hair in a short black bob, with eyes equally as dark. Her skin was dark brown, smooth and utterly flawless, and yet Etienne avoided staring at her overlong. Look at one of the sidhe the wrong way or too long? A man could sprout horns.

“I’ll get right to the point,” the harpie said. She spoke French with ease. Etienne knew that the sidhe had the ability to pick up languages foreign to them almost as if by magic.

“First, if I might have your name?” Etienne asked carefully. Faeries did not give their full names freely, but he could hardly refer to her as Mademoiselle Harpie.

“You may call me Brit. And you are Etienne Mountford, principal of pack Valour, oui?”

He nodded. He’d been principal since the 1940s and had witnessed remarkable changes in the mortal realm. But he’d rarely had experience with faeries until lately. Apparently, someone had taken note of his campaign to gain access to hunting grounds.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”

“I have been sent as an emissary representing the Unseelie king, Maverick.”

Etienne sat up straighter. This sounded promising.

The harpie splayed her long, graceful fingers before her over the wood desktop. “You are aware there are portals to Faery here in your mortal realm?”