by R. Lee Smith
Vru began to pace again.
Kruin frowned, his ears lowering only a little. “I see the meat of your hand, wolf of High Pack,” he said slowly. “But have you enough to feed two mates? Can you feed two cubs? This morning, you said you could not. So. Who will hunt for my daughter, wolf? Who will see her and her cubs fed?”
Burgash did not back down, but he didn’t answer either.
Ararro’s ears went flat to her skull. She rose to her full, impressive height and came to stand beside him. “I will,” she said, tipping back her chin to bare the length of her throat at the audacity of addressing Kruin himself. “I will give my co-mate my cub to suckle and when her milk comes, I shall rejoin the hunt. We will feed our mate together. We will feed our cubs. It is a good match, my chief.”
It really was, but Heather did not react to the offer. Not with relief, not with resignation, not at all. It was as if she hadn’t heard.
“Come on, you can do this,” Nona whispered, trying to be gentle while watching Vru from the corner of her eye. “It’s Burgash. You know him. You know he’ll take care of you. He’s one of the good guys. You know that, right?”
Heather’s fists, knotted in Nona’s bedraggled sweater, trembled and slowly unclenched.
Kruin lowered himself to one knee and rested one hand on the crown of Heather’s head. “Daughter…Burgash of High Pack, born of Green Bank, has claimed you. Will you have him?”
After a long, heavy moment, Heather nodded, although she kept her face pressed to Nona’s chest and her eyes squeezed shut. She could have him…but she couldn’t look at him.
“Then I accept your claim,” Kruin said, turning a troubled frown on Burgash, “and give you Heather for your mate.”
Vru spat something vile-sounding in lycan, but it was one of the Fringe-wolves who attacked.
Nona shoved Heather away and went for her knife, forgetting that the broken blade she had grown accustomed to carrying in her pocket was now hanging on the wall in Nakaroth’s den. While she fumbled to get her new knife out of its stiff sheath, Burgash leapt to meet the other lycan in mid-air. They met with curiously quiet violence—no snarling, no howling—before Burgash threw the other wolf to the ground. It all happened so fast that Nona didn’t think anyone had actually been hit. She even had a split-second’s confused recall of some nature program or another informing her that no matter how ferociously wolves might fight over mates, real injuries were rare. Animals were so much more civilized than humans.
And then the blood appeared, splashing out over the stony ground.
The wolf rolled, grabbing at his face, blood gushing through his fingers. Belatedly, he yelped, then pulled his hand away and stared in disbelief at the blood pouring into his palm, overspilling it, spattering like red rain over the stony ground. He still had two eyes to see how close he’d come to losing one of them, but his muzzle had been torn open to the bone and his upper lip hung in tatters. They flapped when he sucked in a wet breath and let it out in a shrill “yi-yi-yi!” that brought Sangar running.
Burgash looked at Kruin, who restrained his mate with an upraised hand, then he caught the other lycan by the throat and slowly, deliberately, forced his head back and back and back until he fell over and lay thrashing, his belly and groin fully exposed. Burgash put one foot on his rival’s stomach and dug his toe-claws in. One kick—not even a hard kick, but just a bullish scrape along the ground, like he was wiping dog-shit off on the grass—and this lycan’s guts were coming out.
The Fringe-wolf, still panting and whining, nevertheless went very still.
“I say I have claimed her,” Burgash said very quietly. “I say she is mine. And I say I will kill the wolf who pursues my mate.”
Nona did not want to see this, could not look away, but in the end, all Burgash did was lean on him a little and then step back. Kruin signaled Sangar and crouched down to watch her tend his wounds; she began by licking them clean. The other Fringe-wolves, their window of opportunity to win a mate now closed, retreated to their place at the edge of the clearing to trade commiserative growls. Some, not yet defeated, cast ambitious glances up the slope at Mika and the other bitches, but most seemed to accept the disappointing outcome without too much resentment.
Burgash stared them down until they’d settled, then turned his gaze on his unhappy prize. At some point during the brief battle, Ararro had taken Heather under the arm not presently cradling her cub, and was now soothing both with licks and nuzzles. It was obvious she shared her mate’s reservations, but she embraced Heather with every appearance of genuine warmth.
Kruin made a sound deep in his throat, not a growl exactly, but a sound of warning nonetheless.
Burgash tipped his chin up, accepting whatever secret order he had just been given, but did not immediately move. He watched his mate—his mates, taking several deep breaths and flexing his claws lightly. Nerving himself up, Nona thought. It took a lot of nerving. At last, with badly disguised reluctance, he stirred himself to speak: “Come, Heather. It is time.”
Heather hugged Ararro tighter, her hands clutching at Ararro’s golden fur in the same death-grip she’d just had on Nona’s sweater. “For what?” she asked, too shrilly for her to really not know.
Burgash and Ararro exchanged a cautiously confused glance. Slowly, not without a certain sympathy, Ararro said, “Go to him, my co-mate. Be for him.”
“What does that mean?” Heather insisted.
“Come on,” said Nona as Burgash and Ararro traded stares again. “You were here yesterday. You know what happens next.”
“I think she has not been opened,” Ararro murmured in lycan-speak and Burgash pushed a hand over his eyes in an imperfect effort to hide his good-God-could-this-get-any-worse expression.
“Do we have to?”
Burgash actually seemed to think about it. He glanced at the few lycan remaining in the clearing, then up at Kruin.
Kruin’s hard stare never wavered.
“Yes,” said Burgash heavily.
“But not here!” said Heather, her words twisted by panic into a high, almost loon-like cry. “I can’t! Please don’t make me!” And the rest was tears.
“My claim must be witnessed,” Burgash told her, flinching at her sobs. He looked plaintively at Ararro, then at Kruin, and hesitated a hand onto Heather’s shaking shoulder. “We will go to my den. Your packmate will come with us.”
Not until Kruin’s gaze shifted to her did Nona realize what that meant.
Her instinctive response was a vehement ‘Oh Hell, no!’ but she took a moment to think of something more tactful, and in that moment, Nakaroth put his soft mouth against her ear and murmured, “Go. The claim must be witnessed or it will be challenged.”
And that challenge might not stop with Burgash.
“Heather?” she said through tight jaws. “Do you mind?”
“Oh God.” Heather covered her face with both hands for a long, strained while, then splayed her fingers and said, “Are you going to watch?” through them.
“No,” said Nona, and even as Kruin and Burgash tensed, added, “I’m going to witness.”
Heather peeked at Burgash.
Nakaroth uttered a low wolfish cough and, when he had Burgash’s attention, raised one arm slightly and turned his palm up.
Burgash mimicked the gesture doubtfully, but his ears came up when Heather took his hand.
They looked at each other while the entire pack watched them.
At length, Heather took a deep breath and turned to Ararro. “Are you coming too?” she asked through a strained smile that did nothing to disguise the dread in her eyes.
Ararro seemed genuinely surprised by the suggestion, as did Sangar and several of the other lycan. “If…you wish,” she said carefully, ignoring the disapproving grumbles from their audience. “But it is our way, when a wolf claims a new mate, that his others should remove themselves for a time. I am first, you see,” she explained with a slightly apologetic tip of her ears. “He should not
mount you until he has mounted me, if I am present. Tonight, he should be for you alone.”
“Oh.”
“But if it would comfort you to see how it is done…?”
“No no no, oh God no! I mean,” Heather stammered, scrambling to recapture her smile, “that’s very considerate, but no. If this is your way, then…then it’s my way.”
Ararro smiled and reached out to stroke the back of her fingers down Heather’s neck. “Go and be for him, my sister. I could wish no bitch better for her opening than him.”
Across the clearing, Alorak sneezed. His cohorts laughed at first, but shut up fast when Kruin looked their way. Although Alorak pretended not to see his father’s stare, he also rubbed stiffly at his muzzle, silently asserting that it was just an itchy nose and not an insult. His mate just put her ears down and shut her eyes, taking all the embarrassment for herself.
“I’m ready,” said Heather, lifting her chin.
Burgash indicated his den and Heather started walking. Nona followed, sourly wondering which of the three of them wanted to be here the least.
26. A Good Match
Burgash’s den was almost identical to Nakaroth’s, albeit with less trophies on the wall and more toys for a young cub scattered around the floor. The bed was wide and deep with furs, still rumpled around the depression Ararro had left in it when she’d awakened that morning. It looked warm and nicely lived-in, small but still welcoming.
Heather looked only at the bed.
So did Burgash and with very nearly the same apprehensive expression.
“I’m sorry,” Heather said, guilty tears welling in her eyes. “I know you d-don’t wa-want me.”
He did not deny it.
“I’m sorry,” she said again, sobbing openly into her hands now. “I’m trying! I know you don’t believe me, but I’m really trying!”
“I believe you.” Burgash reached for her, glanced uncomfortably at Nona, and let his arm drop. “I know you did not truly choose me. I know you would not have had me claim you. But I…I could not bear to see you so afraid. Heather, look at me. Won’t you look at me?”
She did, after a long inward struggle.
“I will make you as free as I can, my mate,” he told her. “If you come to desire another, I will release you to choose again. Know that I would never harm you or hold you in my closed hand.”
“I know,” Heather sniffled.
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
The tension of his body eased, just a little. He ducked his head, trying to see her face through the rumpled curtain of her hair. In a soft, concerned voice, he said, “Are you opened, my mate?”
Heather looked at Nona, who only stared back at her. She had a pretty good idea what the word must mean in this context, and if she did, Heather probably did too. And if she didn’t (or more likely, just didn’t want to know), how was saying, out loud, ‘He wants to know if you’re a virgin,’ going to make this whole thing any easier? Either she was or she wasn’t. If she wasn’t, putting the question out there was only one more wedge of uncertainty and expectation neither of them needed. If she was, then it was only one more reason to fear what was coming next.
“I…think so,” Heather said finally, the last word lifting into a question.
Burgash nodded, looking away and all around the cave, as if hoping a better way to phrase the question might be written on the wall. “Do you…Do you know what it is to be mounted and bred?”
“Oh God. I mean…” Heather backed away, moved closer, turned away, looked back. “I mean, I know what it is. I’ve been…I’ve had…” She shuffled through a few more steps of the Panic Dance before stopping short and hugging herself tightly. “I can do this,” she whispered.
Burgash nodded again, ears low. “Then come to me, my mate.”
Heather crept a little closer, shivering and trying to smile.
Burgash made comforting noises, petting at her several times before finally, gently, putting his arm around her. He smoothed her hair back (flicking his claws after every pass as if the touch were vaguely unpleasant to him) and leaned in to lick her tears away.
Heather shut her eyes. “Nona, don’t watch, okay?”
“I’m not,” Nona said. She sat down, her back against the wall, and looked out the mouth of the cave and down into the clearing. Now that Heather was gone, most of the pack had dispersed, but Vru was still there, pacing, staring up at the slope at her. Even from here, she could feel the heat of his anger. “I’m here, but I’m not watching. However, if you’re going to have the, um, the big birth control talk…well, now’s the time.”
“What does that mean?” Burgash asked with concern. “What talk is this?”
“Nothing,” said Heather. “Let’s…Let’s just get this over with.”
As Nona stared stonily out into the clearing, she listened to the rustle of Heather’s clothing being shifted. Not removed, just…pushed aside.
“This may hurt,” Burgash said. “A woman’s opening sometimes does, no matter how it is done, but I will be careful of you. And if there is anything I can do to ease your opening, tell me and I’ll try. I…I don’t want to hurt you, Heather, but I may.”
“I know,” Heather said in a small, scratchy voice. “It’s okay. I’m sorry I’m being so…I’m sorry. Am I…Am I okay? I’m not too uh-uh-ugly, am I?”
“You are a fine bitch,” he assured her. “Your body is…strange to me, but your scent is good and strong. I should be able to mount you now. Are you ready?”
Heather must have nodded, because there were more rustles, heavy, and the dry rasp of rough lycan fingerpads on soft human skin. She told him she was ready. She told him she was sorry. And then her voice swept upward in a sudden, hoarse wail and Nona shut her eyes. The sounds continued, inescapable. Slow at first, sporadic. His soothing growls, her muffled breaths, the fur-padded slap of bodies moving together and the mouse-like scratching of fingernails scrabbling at stone. Now and then, Heather’s voice broke into half-coherent cries he answered with those gentle growls that eventually subsided into breathing, his and hers, in a harmony of rhythm that steadily quickened over the next few minutes. He whined once, sharply. Then silence.
And then, the most surreal question she’d heard since she got here.
“Did you cum?” Burgash asked.
Nona swung her head around and stared. They were still together, Heather on her knees with her elbows on the ground and her hands over her face. Burgash still leaned over her, one hand braced on her shoulder as he tried to see her face, his tail tucked and ears folded flat.
“No, but I’m okay. I’m sorry I’m so…” Heather stared into nothing for a moment, then shook her head. “You were fine.”
“There are things I was meant to do. Human things.” Burgash pulled away from her in an ungainly crouch, his hand still on her back, apprehensively petting her. “I could not remember them. You made me nervous.”
Heather pulled her pants up, but didn’t fasten them. “I’m sorry.”
“No, I…I don’t mean to…You did nothing wrong! I only mean to say that…it’s all right if you want to tell me what gives you pleasure. I need to be told sometimes,” he said, scratching at the back of one ear in a self-conscious way. “When we mate again, it would be best if I gave you pleasure.”
He said these words with such an abject lack of passion that even Nona looked around.
Chagrined, Burgash attempted to soften the statement with a wolfish kiss, but Heather flinched away from his tongue and the two of them were left staring at each other again from opposite sides of the bed.
“A claiming can be a dangerous time,” Burgash said finally. “There are many who pursue you for a mate.”
“But that’s settled now,” said Heather in a querulous voice. “I chose you.”
“That law is very young. Our chief has named you his daughter. You are a great prize and even if you were not, you are, forgive me, a bitch in a pack where most males have no mate…an
d I have two. It is not—” He shrugged one arm in Nona’s direction. “—not fair.”
Heather began to breathe a little faster. “What’s going to happen to me?”
“I will protect you,” Burgash said at once. “And you will help me to protect you.”
“How?”
“Stay with Ararro. Go nowhere alone.” He waited for Heather to nod, then gently added, “And we will mate. It is not enough to say a thing. It is not enough for your packmate to say a thing. The others need to hear you choose me. To smell it. And yes, to see it. Not tonight. But soon. And often. Do you understand?”
Heather started crying again. Burgash moved to embrace her, his eyes anxious and his ears quivering, and Heather fell into his arms and wept against his furry chest.
“I can be a friend to you,” he told her, giving her a few clumsy pats. “I care for you. I don’t want you to be afraid of me. I…I know this is not the life you wanted, but that doesn’t mean it has to be a bad life.”
“I know,” Heather sobbed. “I know, I’m sorry.”
“I don’t want you to be sorry. I want you to be happy. I know you can’t,” he said as Heather cried harder. “Not tonight. But…will you try?”
Heather nodded, wiping her eyes on his fur.
“That’s good then. That’s good. I will be a good mate to you. I can be…good.” He seemed to grope for something else to say and settled on, “Ararro likes me.”
Heather laughed with tears still wet on her face and shaking in her voice.
Burgash held her, sending swift embarrassed glances at Nona as he wrapped Heather in a bed-fur.
“You okay, Heather?” Nona asked.
Heather nodded again. “Ararro likes him,” she explained, muffled against Burgash’s chest. “I’m sure I’ll be fine.”
Nona left them quietly talking and went down to the raised rock, where Kruin still stood over the half-butchered deer. “It’s done,” she said, and even though no one appeared to be listening, she made sure to say it loudly.
Kruin nodded once and knelt at last to collect the deer.
A sound behind her: bone cracking, flesh tearing. Nona looked and there was Vru, eviscerating the giant lizard he’d brought to buy Heather with. His ears were flat, but this was no crazed tantrum, not this time. He worked methodically, tearing off the skin and pulling limbs out of their joints so the whole thing lay more or less flat. When he had it the way he apparently wanted, he stood, spread his legs, and pissed on it, starting with the head and systematically splashing left to right and down, all the way to the tip of the tail.
