A Wolf of Her Own by Susanna Shore Page B

calf, the show-off. Kieran knew he had bit him hard, but the man’s leather trousers had prevented his teeth from piercing the skin.
    Only Circle warriors would wear such ridiculous uniforms, a leather jerkin from the Tudor era combined with long-sleeved T-shirts, modern leather jeans and combat boots. They looked like extras in a b-movie, but apparently the leathers had practical uses too.
    Gemma stood her ground, but Kieran sensed her fear. "If you behave like mangy dogs, you’ll be treated like mangy dogs."
    That smarted. "I am not a dog."
    Her gaze swept down the length of him, taking in the six feet of naked man. His hands twitched to cover his privates, but he was a shifter. His kind wasn’t ashamed of their naked bodies, even if he wasn’t at his most impressive, having been doused with cold water.
    Her brow arched. "A reasonable man doesn’t attack vampire warriors."
    "He does if he’s accused of being a killer without proof," he retorted angrily. "It’s bad enough when humans do it. From our kind it’s inexcusable."
    The scarred warrior nodded. "It wasn’t fair of us. I apologise." He offered Kieran his hand. He wanted to refuse it, the accusations too familiar to overlook. But he was a bigger man than that so he shook the hand briefly.
    "A man of your age should know better," he couldn’t help saying. The handshake hadn’t caused a similar reaction as when he touched Gemma, but he did get a clear notion he was dealing with someone very old.
    The red-headed vampire grinned. "Papa Bear hasn’t been to a decent fight in days. He was hoping the killer wolves would provide him one." The other vampire grunted in affirmative.
    Kieran growled. "Not if I get to them first."
    "You’re not going anywhere until you’ve put your clothes on," Gemma stated reasonably.
    Kieran took a deep breath and forced his wolf to calm down. For the first time in their long life, his companion didn’t do it gracefully. The wolf found the vampires still a threat—to her.
    She was afraid of the warriors. He didn’t need to know why to protect her from them. But he couldn’t do that naked either. Or he could, but he would hurt himself.
    His clothes were in tatters, scattered in the mud. It was perfectly possible to shift without tearing one’s clothes, but not when it was done in a violent hurry. "Don’t suppose you have some clothes I can borrow?"
    Her porcelain skin turned slightly pink and she averted her gaze. "I guess you can borrow something from Tom." Amused that his nakedness embarrassed her all of a sudden, Kieran gathered the remains of his clothes and followed her indoors, the warriors staying behind, to all appearances prepared to wait for them no matter how long it took.
    The house was similar to those its age, divided to everyday and Sunday halves by a narrow staircase leading up, and a hallway leading to the back of the house where the dining room and kitchen would be, behind it the garden surrounded by a stone fence. On the left, a morning room with comfortable, well-worn furniture from various ages, and a modern TV. On the right, a parlour furnished with an original Chippendale suite, a Persian rug, and other furniture that had become antique since their purchase as new around the late eighteenth century. It didn’t look like the room was used for anything. As an architect, he could appreciate the décor, but he preferred the comfortable morning room.
    Gemma noticed his curiosity. "My parents decorated that room when the house was built. I doubt anything has changed there since Tom was born."
    She led him upstairs through narrow and steep stairs that had to be original. Impractical, those were usually the first to go when an old house was modernised. Four doors opened from the landing, three to bedrooms and one to a bath, a clever later addition. He had seen less successful modernisations too. She entered the room on the left to the bath.
    "This is Tom’s room. Always has been. But he’ll likely move to the