The Wolf’s Pursuit (London Fairy Tales #3)(42)
Author: Rachel Van Dyken

"I am not sure. I mean, does love feel like you want to both kiss and strangle the object of your affection? Does it create so much unrest within your own body that you feel you are losing your mind? Is love so strong that I have a perpetual head and stomachache?"

"I had a headache for three days when I met Stefan." Rosalind smiled and looked down. "I also had several fantasies of hitting him across the head with his own pistol."

"I’ve had that one, as well." Gwen sighed happily. "I am not sure if my love trumps my desire to cause physical harm to his person. Most of the time he drives me so crazy I merely react out of frustration rather than love, but I imagine Hunter does not understand any other way to communicate than fighting and innuendo."

"He’s a man." Rosalind shrugged as if that explained everything.

The room fell silent.

Rosalind pulled Gwen into a tight hug. "Sister, it will not be easy, loving a wolf. The minute you get close, they tend to snap. Just remember it is out of defense, for a wolf fears man. Men are always a symbol of death for animals. Therefore you must tread carefully." Rosalind released her and sighed.

"Have no fear, dear sister. Wolves also love the thrill of the chase, the smell of blood and meat. I imagine my trap will be sufficient for him. And if all else fails, I’ll merely take off my dress and use his own lust against him."

"Brilliant!" Rosalind clapped her hands. "Now, we only have a few days. Let us get our trousseau together. We shall stop by Isabelle’s. Would you like me to tell her the news, or would you like to announce to your sister and the Beast that you are marrying one of their dearest friends?"

"I nominate Hunter."

"Good girl." Rosalind winked.

Chapter Twenty-four

Red—

I too dream of blood. I dream of killing, of lies, of violence and greed. But most of all, I dream of her. Of how I could not reach her in time. Dreams are a cruel thing, for this certain dream gives me hope that one day I will be on time, one day I will save her from death. Yet it always ends the same. I am holding her body in the street, and she is gone.

—Wolf

After leaving Montmouth’s residence, Hunter made his way toward Wilkins’ establishment. If he wasn’t already privy to the information surrounding Redding’s accident, then he needed to be. The last person to see Redding alive was most likely Hollins.

It took a half hour to reach the townhome.

The wind whipped Hunter’s jacket around him as he made his way toward the stairs. He knocked twice.

No answer.

He knocked again.

Still no answer.

Biting back a curse, Hunter walked back to his carriage and made his way toward Dominique’s residence. Now would be probably a better time than most to announce to the man that he was, in fact, marrying his wife’s sister.

Perhaps he should send ahead a note to make sure all weapons were hidden.

Hunter grinned just thinking upon it.

Truly he should be anything but amused at this point.

Someone had shot at him, his dead brother was very much alive, a murderer was on the loose, and Redding was dead.

Yet all his ridiculous brain could think upon was the taste of Gwen’s lips, the way her soft body felt pressed against his.

He told himself to stop grinning. That it was ridiculous and quite rude, considering a man had died today.

But it could not be helped. He looked at the dreary streets of London and for once his mood did not match what he saw. No, the blasted world could be coming to an end, and he would still be in his carriage, smiling.

The carriage pulled to a stop in front of Dominique’s townhouse. Hunter cleared his throat and tried to think upon what he needed to do. The minute he pressed his lips together another grin broke out.

It was useless.

Which was why, when Samuel the infuriating Russian butler opened the door, Hunter felt the need to finally get the man’s name right rather than irritate him beyond reason.

"My good man." He slapped the butler on the back. "Is the Beast at home?"

Samuel groaned and rolled his eyes. Perhaps it was impossible for Hunter to be normal. Perhaps it was because the man was Russian, which immediately made Hunter want to say something annoying. After all, he was conditioned to do so with all Russians. Just ask Dominique.

"In the study." Samuel pointed and wandered off.

"Thank you," Hunter yelled at the retreating butler’s back. A grunt was his only response.

Hunter sauntered over to the study and knocked on the door.

No answer.

Was no one at home today?

And then he heard it.

A blunt object was suddenly pushed against the back of his head and the all-too-familiar click of the hammer being pulled back gave him pause.

"Explain," Dominique said in Russian.

He only spoke in Russian when he was truly upset.

"Has something happened?" Hunter asked in English.

"It is about to," Dominique ground out. "You have three seconds."

"Listen—"

"One."

Hunter tried to turn around, but Dominique pushed him against the wall.

"Two."

"Fine!" Hunter held up his hands and cursed. "What is it you want? And stop pointing that thing at my head! Devil take it, you are not even giving me a chance to speak!"

"One cannot speak if one is dead." Dominique cursed in Russian, then pulled the pistol back from Hunter’s head. Though the minute the pressure was relieved, he kicked Hunter in the leg, causing a shooting pain to run from his calf all the way up his spine.

"What the devil is wrong with you?" Hunter flipped around and glared at his friend.

"I should ask you the same." The pistol was still pointed at Hunter’s body. Brilliant. Perhaps he would get shot twice in one week! One could only hope.

Hunter could not fight back the grin. Truly, it was the worst time in the history of his lack of self-control to actually be unable to restrain himself.

"If you took advantage of her, slept with her, I swear I will shoot you and never look back." Dominique sneered. Ah, so he was to negotiate with a beast.

Well, he was a wolf, after all.

With a quick movement, he knocked the pistol out of Dominique’s hand. It fell to the floor in a clatter as Hunter punched Dominique in the stomach. Was it his fault his fist slipped and nailed his best friend on the chin?

Cursing, Dominique came at him, fists flying. Within seconds they were on the floor wrestling one another.

"Heavens, what is all that noise?" came Isabelle’s soft voice, and then the woman cursed. "Unhand each other this instant."