Dreams Made Flesh

already angry with her? She couldn't stay here.
    Jaenelle huffed. "I'm sorry. I really have to go." Her hand brushed Marian's shoulder. "I'll be back in a day or two to see how you're doing."
    Then she was gone, and Marian was left facing a man who, even doing nothing, was a hundred times more dangerous than the five Warlords who had tried to kill her.
    "Why don't you sit down?" Lucivar said, tipping his head to indicate the nearest of four chairs that were on either side of a large pine table.
    Not knowing what else do to, Marian pulled out the chair and sat down.
    "Would you like some coffee?" he asked.
    She nodded, but kept her eyes focused on the table. She flinched when he set a white mug in front of her, but he stepped back, putting enough distance between them that she could breathe again.
    "Did my sister explain anything on the way here?"
    Startled, Marian looked up. "Sister?" Luthvian hadn't mentioned a daughter.
    "Jaenelle," Lucivar said. "She's my sister."
    That should have been comforting. It wasn't. But there was one thing she had to know. "Does anyone else live here?"
    "Tassle lives with me. He's…"
    She heard the click of nails on stone a few seconds before a wolf appeared in the archway. Yaslana kept a wild animal for a pet?
    The wolf came forward slowly, the tip of his tail waving as he sniffed her hand. She didn't move, didn't dare even twitch when he stepped closer to sniff her feet and legs, his tail waving with more enthusiasm. But she jumped when he suddenly pushed his muzzle between her legs. That's when Yaslana stepped forward, grabbed the wolf by the scruff of the neck, and pulled him away.
    "Go outside, Tassle," Lucivar said, his voice, although quiet, demanding instant obedience.
    With a whuffle-whine, the wolf left the kitchen.
    Lucivar stepped away. The move brought him to the archway rather than moving back into the kitchen. "Relax for a few minutes and finish your coffee. Then I'll show you to your room." He left, not waiting for her answer.
    Just as well. She wasn't sure she could have answered. Her hands trembled as she lifted the mug and took a large swallow of…
    She shuddered. He'd said this was coffee. She wasn't sure what it was, but she was certain it wasn't coffee. At least, she hoped it wasn't. Setting the mug down, she braced her head in her hands. She was alone with an Ebon-gray Warlord Prince and a wolf. Sweet Darkness, what was she supposed to do?
    Lucivar wound his way through the rocks, needing to put some distance between himself and the witch trembling in his kitchen. Tassle danced beside him, a furry bundle of excitement.
    *Can we keep her,Yas?* Tassle asked. *She can be the female for our pack.*
    Since he didn't think Marian wanted to be part of their "pack," he answered the question with a question. "Why all the tail wagging?"
    *Ladvarian says dogs wag their tails to let humans know they want to be friends.*
    Ladvarian was a Sceltie Warlord Jaenelle had brought to the Hall when he was a puppy. Since dogs had more experience living with and around humans, the wild kindred who were part of Jaenelle's court considered Ladvarian an expert on human behavior and looked to him to explain the bewildering things humans did.
    *So I wagged my tail,* Tassle continued happily. *I want to be friends. I like her smells.*
    Lucivar's feet rooted to the ground. This was a statement he couldn't ignore… no matter how much he wanted to. He scrubbed his hands over his face and sighed. "Tassle… Don't sniff her crotch."
    *But… Yas…*
    "I know it's acceptable among wolves, but you cannot do it with human females. It makes them snarly."
    *But…*
    "No, Tassle."
    Tassle hung his head and looked up at Lucivar with woeful eyes. *Would she snarl at you if you sniffed her crotch?*
    The picture formed in his mind before he could stop it. Marian, sitting in the chair in the kitchen. Him on his knees in front of her, his arms around her waist, his face pressed against the juncture of her thighs, breathing in the smell of her as her scent changed from warm and quiet to hot and aroused.
    He turned away from Tassle, not sure if he should curse himself, curse Marian, curse Jaenelle, or curse the wolf for asking the question.
    Because that was the question, wasn't it? One look at Marian and everything in him had sharpened with interest, had churned toward desire. If he'd met her in any other way, he would have staked a claim. That was Protocol. That was permissible.
    Warlord Princes weren't like