1. Fiona #2
“Ms. Clarence, you do understand that by marrying me you will become a viscountess. I expect certain things from my future wife.” I nod. “First, she must not be afraid of me.”
“I am not afraid of you,” I say boldly, making him raise a dark eyebrow in disbelief. “You merely took my by surprise, that’s all. I…did not realize that you were…a…ummm….”
“A snake shifter,” he says. “Well, not that I can completely shift. The tail never goes away. You will have to live with that, Ms. Clarence.”
I want to ask him how we’re going to make love if he only has a tail, but I am a virgin, so what do I know? Lord Penridge is charming and well-spoken, his dry humor making me smile.
“I…do not mind, my lord.”
He studies me for a long moment. Those golden slit eyes move over my face, my throat, the rapid pulse I can feel hammering beneath my skin. His tail shifts again, a slow, deliberate coil that brings him another foot closer, and I have to tilt my chin up even higher to meet his gaze.
“You are not running,” he says. The words are quiet, almost wondering. “Most women would have fled by now.”
“I am not most women, my lord.”
“No.” A ghost of something crosses his sharp features. Not quite a smile. Something rawer. “Perhaps you’re a desperate one.”
I meet his eye and a spark flashes between us. “Does that matter?”
“No. You would have to be desperate to consider wedding a monster like me.”
He turns from me, and his tail sweeps in a wide arc across the study floor, scales whispering against wood.
He moves to the window, where the last grey light of evening catches the emerald iridescence of his scales.
From this angle I can see the full length of him, the impossible span of muscle and power contained in that serpentine body, and my breath catches all over again.
“Let me be plain with you, Ms. Clarence,” he says, his back still to me.
“I require a wife for a practical purpose. This estate is large and old and lonely, and I have lived in it alone for longer than you can imagine. You would have no social duties. No calls to pay, no balls to attend. The village would not welcome you, and I would not subject you to their stares. Penridge Manor will be your fortress if you marry me.” He turns, and those golden eyes find mine again.
“But I would ask for your companionship, from time to time. Conversation. A shared meal. Someone to sit beside the fire with on winter nights.”
I nod, touched by the emotions his voice is not expressing. It must be lonely to be a monster the villagers are scared of, to be a man of power whom everyone fears but no one understands.
“But the primary purpose of this marriage would be the begetting of heirs.” When he says that, I feel a quiver deep in my belly.
“My bloodline is dying, Ms. Clarence. There is a curse on this house, on my lineage. Generations of Drakes have dwindled to one. Me. If I do not produce an heir, the estate reverts to the crown, and everything my ancestors built crumbles into nothing.” His tail coils tighter, scales clicking softly.
“I require children. Descendants to carry the Penridge name forward. Not to mention, my serpent blood too. That is why I placed the request. That is why I am willing to marry a stranger who walks through my door.”
Children. The word makes something flutter low in my belly, hot and tight and terrified all at once.
I think of his body, that impossible tail, those golden eyes, and I imagine what it would mean to lie with him.
To feel those scales against my bare skin.
To let him inside me. My face burns, and I press my thighs together beneath my skirts, my heart hammering so hard I’m certain he can hear it.
I am frightened. Of course, I am frightened.
I am a virgin who has never been touched, never been kissed, never known a man’s hands on my body, and the man before me is not entirely human.
He is something ancient and powerful and otherworldly, and I don’t know what my first time with him is going to be like.
I can feel the attraction for him, something I’ve felt for no other man.
Despite his fearsome exterior, Lord Penridge is polished, and something about him makes me feel safe.
“I will try my best to give you heirs, my lord,” I say, keeping my voice from trembling.
He looks at me, studying me under the candlelight. The scenery outside is pitch dark now, the lights burning brighter. The manor feels cozy, like a sanctuary from the cold, and I meet his eyes, telling myself I would be able to make this place my home.
“Very well, then. Since nobody else has applied, I think I will choose you, Ms. Clarence. I have the priest in the south wing. My butler will summon him to perform the wedding ceremony and register our matrimony.”
“Now?” I ask, in shock.
“Would you prefer to wait?”
“No.” I need this security. I need a home. “Now will be fine.”
He nods, ringing the bell as his butler appears.
Moments later, I’m standing in the manor’s chapel next to my serpentine husband, the priest reading vows. He’s aged too, coughing between lines, as I stare at my future husband’s tail. It intrigues me.
The priest’s voice drones on, Latin and English blurring together, and I barely hear any of it.
My attention is fixed on Severin’s tail, on the way it coils and shifts restlessly behind him, scales catching the candlelight like dark jewels.
He stands so still above the waist, his pale hands clasped before him, his obsidian hair falling around those sharp cheekbones.
But the tail betrays him. It moves constantly, a slow, sinuous dance that tells me he is not as composed as he appears.
“By the power vested in me,” the priest rasps, “I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride.”
The words land like a stone dropped into still water.
Severin turns to me. Those golden slit eyes find mine, and something in them shifts. The coldness melts. The distance collapses. He moves toward me, and I feel the heat of his body before he even touches me, a warmth that radiates from his pale skin and the thick muscle of his serpentine form.
His hands find my waist.
I gasp. His palms are enormous, his fingers long and cool against the fabric of my dress, and they span my waist completely, fingertips nearly meeting at my spine.
He lifts me. Not much, just an inch, just enough that my toes leave the chapel floor, and I am suspended in his grip, my body pressed flush against the hard planes of his chest. His skin is cold to touch, but when it meets mine, it warms.
“You are mine now,” he whispers against my lips, the possessiveness in his voice making my core clench. “Viscountess Fiona Drake.”
Then he kisses me.
I am not prepared for the moment his lips meet mine, so cool, so soft, so distant.
Until he opens his mouth. I gasp as his forked snake tongue slides between my lips, his mouth sealing mine in a hot kiss that melts me from the inside.
His serpent tongue is thick and split in two, and when it tangles with mine, I feel the dampness between my legs grow.
My entire body buzzes with heat, with dizzying need that I have never felt before, a painful desire to mate with him.
My fingers cling to his arms, as he explores my mouth slowly, his lips brushing mine, his tongue tasting me, seducing me, arousing me.
I can feel my womb clench, aching with the need to be filled by him, to bear his seed.
Is this magic or is it just the intense attraction I feel for my husband?
I close my eyes and surrender, my body buzzing with need, my nipples hard, my mind turned inside out.
When he pulls out his tongue, his mouth leaving mine, I let out a disappointed moan. The priest looks at me, clearing his throat, and then he’s gone, leaving us both alone.
A maid appears from the side as Severin gazes at me, something dark behind his golden eyes. “Prepare my wife for tonight,” he says to the maid.
“Yes, my lord.” She bows, moving to my side.
“Take some time to compose yourself, Fiona. I will come to your room tonight.”
And then, he’s gone, slithering away on this thick, long tail that has me looking forward to the one night every girl anticipates yet fears—her wedding night.