I could barely breathe as she crossed the space to the table I’d set up with all the tea things I’d stress-baked earlier, plus a few extras I’d ordered up from Chef Pascal—who’d only had half a day’s notice that he, his housekeeper wife, and the gardener (who made up their three-way marriage) would all need to return to the High Palace to actually do the jobs the kingdom paid them for year-round without ever asking much of them.
I could tell Sadie was stunned by the sheer amount of food Chef Pascal and Marnie, the housekeeper, had managed to put out.
But not nearly as stunned as me by whatSadiehad on display.
The plain blue dress had hung off her like a tent. This one did not. All that gorgeous dark skin was wrapped in a pretty pinkdress covered in strawberries, with a bodice that strained to contain a set of large, bountiful breasts.
And her hair… I’d had no idea what to expect when she arrived in that shapeless frock and black bonnet. But now I knew.
Her hair fanned out over her shoulders and down her back in a mesmerizing cloud of kinky spiral curls. I’d thought I had a thing for brunettes before this, but in an instant, my new favorite color became whatever matte shade of black her hair would be called.
I wanted to sink my hands into it. See if it was as soft as it looked. Unwrap her like a package and let myself feast.
I silently cursed my sister. What had Brigid been thinking? I’d asked her to help Sadie acclimate—not send her out looking like something out of a wet dream.
My cock, which I’d always been able to control in my day-to-day work life, thrummed dangerously as images that would definitely get me sanctioned by HR flashed through my head.
“You’re not staying?” she asked the Shadow King, pulling me out of my stare-fest.
I tore my eyes away to find Cian holding up a sign:Hope to see you later.
He dipped his head to her with a contrite look, then shot me a squint that growled:Do not feck this up.
“You don’t want…” she started to ask, but trailed off when the Shadow King simply loped off toward the tree line without another word.
“Sorry, Strawberry,” I said, apologizing on his behalf as we watched him disappear into the mini woods between Declan’s palace and the lake.
“Shadow King’s not fond of brunch. Or chat. Or sunlight,” I noted when the sun was covered by a patch of remote-controlled clouds that Cian had most definitely ordered up, and the sky darkened.
“Do you think it’ll rain?” she asked, fretting her bottom lip between her teeth.
Aw, feck, Strawberry, don’t do that.
Inside my head, Van Morrison’s “Brown Eyed Girl” was being remixed over the Boom-Chicka-Wow-Wow of a vintage adult film.
“No, don’t worry about that. We’re good until the daily burst at three on the dot.”
Thank the gods I’d put in over a decade of pretending in the human world. As I led her the rest of the way to the table, I managed not to walk like a lad who’d be needing a cold shower and a quiet moment with his left hand straight after this meal.
“Figured you’d prefer privacy to staff service, so we’ll need to make our plates,” I explained.
But when she reached for a plate, I stopped her with a gentlemanly smile that didn’t match the state of things in my down below. “No, Strawberry—allow me.”
I took the plate from her hand and piled it high as I spoke. “We couldn’t get any solid intel on what you liked to eat, so I just had the High King’s cook prepare every breakfast food he could think of.”
I set the plate in front of her. “If there’s something specific you’d like, I can ask Chef Pascal to?—”
“No, this is way more than enough,” she said, gaping at the size of the plate. “I can’t believe you gave me so much food.”
I threw her a curious glance as I started stacking my own plate. “You’re not feeling the effects of the incoming hibernation season, then?”
“No, I am. I am,” she said quickly. “I’m just not used to being offered enough food to fully satisfy it. At least not without being accused of outrageous gluttony.”
My bear grumbled low inside of me, and my fingers tingled, wanting to claw out. Once again, I was glad the bears and wolves lived separately. Otherwise, those Wölfennites the Irish Wolf Kings kidnapped might’ve gotten a glimpse of the not-so-nice side of me. Between them and her mother, I could tell they’d done a number on her head.
If they’d treated her like some kind of irredeemable sinner just for wanting more to eat in winter before hibernation set in, how had she managed in the spring, when bears naturally felt higher than average sexual urges?
The thought of her needing to seek relief from a wolf deepened the growl rumbling low in my chest—and doubled the violence I wanted to unleash on everyone who’d hurt her—and any male werewolf who’d dared to touch her before her Bear Kings. The dark temper I’d inherited from my father threatened to overtake me.
