Page 62 of Captured By the Werewolf Highwaymen

“Is that what you all wish?” she asked. “I’ve no experience in such a thing. Surely Des would make a finer leader than me.”

“We wouldn’t have defeated the Guardians without you,” Des said.

“You helped us transform into wolves,” Gideon continued.

“If it hadn’t been for your strategy against them,” Hugh noted, his arms still around her, “our losses would’ve been greater than a couple of nicks.”

“You kept your head,” Bram said. “And so, we kept ours.”

“Been missing clear-eyed leadership,” Liam added.

Bram winced at that, but he nodded.

Clara carefully disentangled herself from Hugh’s embrace. What she needed to say next, she had to do on her own, without anyone’s protective hold.

“If you want me—” she began.

“We do,” Des said at once.

“Then I want to seal our bond.” She looked at each of them in turn. Des, keenly handsome with a roguish but kind heart. Gideon, gentle and deeply protective. Hugh, wicked and lively. Even Bram and Liam, who fought so fiercely, and trusted her to lead them.

She drew in a breath, allowing herself to fully inhabit who she was and what she desired.

“I want you. All of you.”

Night had fallen. The waning moon hung big in the sky.

The dining room was a long chamber, with portraits and landscapes hanging on the wood-paneled walls. An equally long table stretched down the middle of the room. The debated silver epergne sat in the middle of the table, gleaming in the light of dozens of candles that burned in sconces and in sterling candelabras. High-backed chairs were arranged at the head of the table and on either side. During the manor house’s heyday, it hosted the local gentry, aristocratic visitors, vicars, and judges.

Tonight, however, the dining room hosted five highwaymen and one widow.

Clara’s heart pounded as she looked at the men. They had positioned themselves in a semi-circle, facing her as she had her back to the head of the table.

She had bathed and now she wore a light, loose gown, no shift beneath. The men, who had also cleaned themselves, were in shirtsleeves and breeches. No one spoke, but the air was taut with palpable anticipation.

“Tonight,” she said, gesturing to the table, “we feast. And the feast…” She inhaled. “Is me.”

There was a charged moment, and then Des broke from the ranks to stride to her. He wrapped one arm around her, his hand against the lower dip of her back, while his other hand curved around her head. His eyes were bright and sharp as he looked down at her.

“Sparrow,” he rumbled, “you will have everything you desire. This night, and all the nights after. So long as you want us.”

“I want,” she murmured.

“When the time comes,” he said huskily, “will you take our mark? Will you have us as yours?”

“Will it hurt?” she couldn’t help but ask.

“It might,” he said. “We must bite you.”

“I see.” She fought the urge to curl in on herself protectively.

“I’ve never given my mark to anyone,” he confessed lowly. Then, slightly louder, he added, “Nor, I warrant, have any of us.”

She glanced at the other four men, who shook their heads.

“Is that something you want?” she asked them. “To mark me? To be mine?”

This time, the men nodded eagerly.