Beauty and the Wolf by Marina Myles Page A

feet and stumbled to her horse. “I must clean this off.”
    “Wait!” he ordered.
    The fierceness of his voice stopped her. Her legs quaked.
    “I’m sorry, Isabella, but I warned you not to come back.”
    Giving him no answer, she hurried onto Dante’s saddle and galloped away in a blaze of terror.

Chapter Twelve
    T emper flaring, Draven handed Lucifer’s reins to Viktor. He saw Isabella disappear into the house as he approached it. Good thing. If she hadn’t run away when she did, he may have ravaged every inch of her.
    What the hell is happening to me? The Gypsy spell was getting the better of him without the appearance of a full moon.
    Guilt gripped him as he marched toward the steps that led to the shingle beach. The feel of Isabella’s freed locks against his freshly shaved skin and the confectionery taste of her lips had spawned his wildness in the light of day. Worse yet, he had sliced her mouth open, spilling blood that smelled salty and bittersweet—different than the blood of the animals he’d conquered. And much more enticing.
    He cringed to think he’d allowed Isabella even the slightest glimpse at his inner demon.
    She must think me deranged.
    His lack of power against his other half churned his stomach, as did the shame that accompanied it.
    Straining to order himself, Draven shoved his gloves into the pocket of his frock coat and breathed in the moist, billowing wind. A group of waterfowl squawked overhead as he reached the beach.
    The breeze that swept over the small bay calmed him momentarily. He crossed the pebbled beach and watched the cold seawater rise into whitecaps. The warm colors of sunset that glimmered above the bay reminded him that a full moon would rise tonight. He scowled. For Isabella’s sake, he hoped that she had safely locked herself away in her suites.
     
    Isabella put a hand to the windowpane and watched Draven storm to the beach below the manor house.
    Had she made a mistake in trying to seduce him? He’d become violent, cruel. Was he capable of anything but aggression? Will he ever make love to me gently?
    If she was so determined to have a baby with Draven, she needed to find out all she could about his so-called “affliction . ” Considering the possibility that this condition may affect their child, she must know what lay ahead of her. After all, what kind of person smells someone’s blood?
    She was a wreck. As she managed to force her jittering nerves aside, a plan formed in her mind. Maybe she should look for clues in Draven’s suites that would explain his bizarre actions.
    Touching her bleeding lips, she made her way to the south turret. The essence of Mrs. Tidwell’s words replayed in her head as she arrived at the doors that marked her husband’s chambers. Draven is capable of much more than spying. He spent three years in an asylum following his father’s death.
    The possibility that Draven was mad alarmed Isabella. Although it didn’t negate the rumors of him being a murderer, it would explain his violent demeanor.
    Letting out a shudder, she entered his suite and bolted the lock behind her. She struggled to breathe as she pressed her back to the door. Her encounter with Draven on the knoll seemed like a nightmare, an unsettling blur. When he brought her blood-smeared hand to his nostrils, he had convulsed without control and a shadow of evil had passed over his face.
    What will he do if he catches me going through his personal things?
    Suppressing the fear churning inside her, Isabella rushed to the dressing room. The space smelled of sandalwood and tobacco, just as she remembered. She ran her hand over a mahogany-topped bureau displaying Draven’s personal effects. A shaving brush stood within a matching mug and an ebony-coated razor lay beside it in its wrapper. Behind a Truefitt and Hill toiletry jar rested a herringbone comb.
    She closed her eyes and inhaled her husband’s lingering scent. Sliding the tip of her tongue over her lips, she wondered