by C. D. Gorri
Twas a modern village and a thriving one. All the old timber and sod huts had been replaced in the last hundred years or so with strong and durable stone dwellings. There were two large towers, a stone wall, and several smaller outer buildings. Presently, there were smithies working on the construction of an enormous stone and iron gate.
The design was supposed to praise the Wolves of the Pack and their connection to the Church and God. It was foolish to wave a red flag in the face of that bull of a Tudor monarch, but, though it be a sin, pride was abundant among those who dwelt in Northern Ireland. Wolf or not.
Inside, the castle was opulently decorated with enormous tapestries woven with golden thread. They graced the walls of the great banquet hall and throughout the bedrooms and sitting rooms of the family and honored guests.
The furnishings were just as fine, draped with gold and heavy brocade fabrics. Fine linens made up every bed and they were topped with fur lined blankets. Heavily lacquered tables and benches, as well as sturdy upholstered chairs, were placed throughout to accommodate the number and size of the Pack’s Wolves.
The Castle was especially known for its excellent privies or garderobes. Unlike other castles, where human waste was left for months at a time, the sensitive noses of the Werewolves required them to be emptied and cleaned daily. The Chief of the Name forbade the disposal of human waste in the local streams as well. Overall, the village was fresh smelling and common illness hardly affected any who lived there.
It was a grand place, it’s visage much like the old Irish royal castles across the countryside. Lyall MacContire approved of the buildings. He relished the thought that one day, Castle MacContire and everything inside of it would be his.
He crept across the freshly swept stone floor on leather soled boots. The smells of grain and fresh killed fowl and deer were faint in the air. His Wolf was smallish, but cunning in his senses. It disturbed him that he found no trace of the one he sought. Neither by scent or sound.
The lingering order of the human servants from the village, who came and went daily was still in the air. Some of them lived inside the castle itself. Lyall sneered at the thought, those vermin did not deserve to sleep in the same place where he did.
The present Greyback Alpha, his revered da, took too much care of the local normals. Lyall sneered at the thought of their treatment. Such respect should be reserved for the Werewolves alone.
Twas an absurdity he’d pondered his entire life. He recognized his superiority amongst the beasts that roamed the Earth and aimed to best those who would look down on him as second son. Every single one of them would bow to him. Including that dolt of a brother that he was forced to endure.
That pale-haired oaf was little more than a weapon with a heartbeat. He was all brawn and no brains. Lyall studied and read their histories, even those scrolls taken down in the ancient language of the Celts that many of the Pack had long since forgotten. He studied long and hard. When he brought his findings to his father he was told that the Pack had no room for old stories about deals with Witches and ancient prophecies.
“Why can’t ye take an interest in wrestling and handling a sword like yer brother, eh? Put down those dusty tomes, Lyall, and prove yer worth as a man should! Yer my second son, ye must earn yer place here.”
Lyall retreated into himself after that. He knew he could never best Eoghan in strength, so he began studying even harder to his father’s consternation. As they grew older, Eoghan received all the attention and accolades. That pretty face of his was just another nail in his coffin as far as Lyall was concerned.
Eoghan had been born blessed and lucky, but he had not the brains to attempt the ideals to which Lyall himself aimed. He didn’t deserve his position. The fool would never get the chance to run this Pack. He’d make sure of it. Even if it meant getting in bed with the Devil himself.
He smiled at the thought of his brother’s bloodied corpse hanging from a rope. Even better, his father’s right next to him. The old man had overlooked him far too often for Lyall to feel anything but hostility and rage, but his time would soon come.
He stilled and waited. The person whose audience he sought would know he was there, but there was often the show of making him, second son of the Alpha, wait for her. He rolled his dark eyes. He’d keep up the pretenses for now. The ends were well worth the means after all.
He stood straight, he’d not sully his fine shirt with whatever grime clung to these walls. Lyall frowned at the thought of soot from the kitchen fires blackening the leather soles of his fine made boots. When he was Alpha the floor would be scrubbed thrice daily! Maybe he’d have servants carry around carpets just for him to stand on! Ha! That would be grand!
“Has all been made ready?” A raspy voice sounded in the dark causing him to gasp.
“You are late, lady, I have waited for you some time now.” Lyall straightened his tunic. He did not like being caught unawares.
“Aye, my lord, but what I can give you is worth the wait is it not, he who should be Alpha,” the woman said.
She stepped out of the shadows and Lyall kept his face still. Her dark hair was limp and dull. The bosoms that heaved with each breath over the neckline of her dress were covered in dirt and grime. She stunk of decay, blood, and offal. But all of those were nothing compared to the horror of her face.
The Witch smiled at him, but he managed to keep his disdain inside for he knew it would not please her. She was missing several teeth and what remained were blackened and produced a foul and sickening stench.
One eye was sewn shut, he’d made the mistake of asking about it once, and after she tore out the stitches and showed him the rotting hole she told him that she gave it to her master as offering. So, I may better see the truths of my master, Wolf pup.
“Ye know what I need from ye.”
“Yay verily, I am aware of yer needs.” He swallowed and closed his eyes a second.
“Are ye prepared to give it then?” The grin on her face was as nasty as the rest of her. Lyall tried not to breathe deeply. He nodded his head.
“Aye, I shall give it ye.”
She smiled wide and Lyall backed up a step. This was not going to be an easy feat. The Witch lifted herself onto the side table and pulled up her stained and frayed skirts. She hiked them up over her bruised and scabbed legs to reveal herself to him in a most base manner. Lyall felt his dinner surge in his stomach, but he forced it down.
“Why doth ye tarry, sir? It needs be now. The seed. Now!”
“Don’t talk and for God’s sake don’t smile.” He clenched is teeth as he spoke and reached for the bottom of his tunic.
Twas no use, he was limp and soft as freshly kneaded dough. Damn it all, he cursed himself.
“Well? Find yer manhood, then! The door is closing!”
“Aye, hush now!” Lyall took himself in hand. He closed his eyes and thought of his prize. Riches, land, fame, power, control, his rightful place. Suddenly, his manhood became engorged. He pumped himself a few times to be sure.
“Yes, I will be Alpha. I will be Alpha,” he continued with his mantra until he felt himself harden to the point twas needed. He kept both eyes shut and found the entrance to the Witch’s slit.
“Grrr. I am the rightful son,” he said and impaled the Witch on his staff. Manic with the idea of his own success, Lyall thrust himself into her foul and shriveled body. She was dry and rough and though it pained him, he kept on, ignoring all else.
She cackled deep in her throat and Lyall’s eyes flew open. He muffled his scream on the long sleeves of his leine and tried to pull away, but the Witch’s claws were on his back and he could not move a muscle.
“Nay, wench! Yer eye, tis black as a bottomless hole!”
“As yer soul, now keep at it, pup. Tis yer youthful seed I require, here,” she touched his forehead with her finger and muttered a spell. Where his dick fell limp a moment ago, it once again became hard.
The picture in his head was of a lovely maid with blond
e hair and a wet, soft cunny. He pushed himself in and out believing in the besepelled vision, choosing to see the fine lass instead of the foul Dark One. Lyall moaned as pleasure began tingling up his spine. It sickened him, for he knew the truth of it, but he quieted his conscience. He needed to finish his fuck to get what he wanted.
“I will be Alpha!” His final thrust was deep and he poured himself inside of her foulness.
“Tis done,” her gravelly voice echoed in his ears. When he opened his eyes, he was alone in the hallway. His manhood was once again in his hand. Coming from the tip was a thick, putrid, black sludge. He wanted to scream, maybe even to cry, but he bit his tongue.
Lyall’s breath hissed in and out of him. He never felt more physically alive. Elated and disgusted at once. He covered himself with his clothes and quickly left the place.
Twas only a matter of time now.
CHAPTER 3
The road to Tyrone was far more perilous than Ailis Dungannon prepared for. They hit many a hole and rock along the well-worn path through that part of the woods where the heather seemed to bloom year-round and the trees grew tall as mountains.
Twas not a terribly far journey, but an arduous one indeed. They arrived at the gates of the Village of the Warrior Wolves and Castle MacContire at just past midnight.
Ailis felt as though the excursion had lasted a fortnight instead of just a few days. Her stomach turned over itself, nerves ate away whatever measure of composure she had feigned the trip over. She looked to her maid and bit her lower lip. At least she had the comfort of going straight to her rooms.
She was to remain hidden from sight until the ceremony. A surprise for her betrothed as it were. She had no audience with the head of the household upon her arrival. Thank the Lord.
She was shown the way to a handsomely decorated chamber by an older house servant. The slight woman had a mean air about her. She never glanced back or spoke a word, just gave them nasty looks as she walked ahead of Ailis and her own lady’s maid.
When she left them at the door to her chamber, the maid simply held her rather large nose in the air and walked away. Ailis shot a look to Gwinnie who just shrugged.
She opened the door herself and took a walk around the room. It was decorated richly with intricate tapestries depicting the moon in all her phases and a pack of Wolves in a variety of colors from coal black to a brilliant yellow.
Her lady’s maid fetched her a wooden tub and readied pots of hot water for her bath. Ailis enjoyed a nightly bath though many thought she would catch her death. Bathing was a ritual of hers, twas the only time she could take off the harsh scent her father bade her wear.
She used the time in the warm water to ready her mind for what was to come. Afterwards, she lay down in the enormous four-post bed with its thick hanging curtains and its intricate carvings of high Celtic crosses and, of course, Wolves.
Twas beautiful workmanship. The room was a statement, as these things were, of the riches of the household. Clearly, she was highly thought of by the head of the house. If not by the servants.
A thick, feather stuffed mattress sat atop a stronger one filled with straw. Twas covered with soft linen sheets and a fur lined blanket that was done in a rich, heavy fabric dyed a deep blue and embroidered with golden thread. The bed itself was large enough for more than two people and much finer than anything she had back home.
She felt so small just sitting there in her long night shift with her hair loose down her back. Her mind was still reeling from the idea that soon she’d be someone’s wife. If only she knew all that would entail.
Ailis made the sign of the cross and said a quick prayer before diving under the thick blankets. It was cold in the room. Drafty as castles tended to be.
“May the Lord keep you well through the night, my lady,” Gwinnie said as she snuffed out the candle.
“Aye, you too Gwinnie. Tomorrow, we shall see just what it is my father has sold me to.”
“Don’t fret, my lady, all will be well.” She curtsied and retreated to her chamber for the night.
Ailis wished she could put faith in her maid’s words, but after what she’d been through the past few weeks, it was difficult. Her life and everything she knew was about to change yet again. And not necessarily for the better. She closed her eyes and practiced the breathing exercises Gwinnie had taught her.
They were most useful on nights when she missed that internal contact with her Wolf. She said another quick prayer for forgiveness, for she felt none of the shame her father told her she should feel after her first Change. Her heart was sick with the memory of her father’s harsh words to her.
“Nay, it can not be. How couldst thou betray me like this?! False creature! Thou art cursed!”
She’d somehow shamed him, for all she could not control her very nature. He was Werewolf as men should be, but female Wolves were frowned upon. She felt her stomach tightened and closed her yes. The breathing techniques greatly helped her let go of the stress of it all.
She never understood what her father’s Wolves meant when they talked about the waiting. Now she knew. The waiting was what her da’s people called the time in-between moons. When Werewolves were cut off from that other part of themselves, the curse of St. Natalis, as it were.
She was new to being Wolf. Her father’s Pack did not value females for one simple reason. They had a difficult time bearing young. Barren women did not make good matches. Hence his fury when she had her first Change just a few weeks ago.
The MacContire had sent his second son, a shifty smallish man with dark hair and a nasty look about him to their house. He came to visit her father to negotiate the terms of the contract.
She was told to stay hidden, but there were secret places where she could observe and that is what she did. She prayed her husband to be did not resemble his brother, for the man sent shivers of dread up her spine.
On the second day of his visit Ailis had been hiding in the secret hallway watching when she heard him accuse her father of trying to trick them. Her dad had sent less than the promised dowry. Cheap bastard.
The Dungannon was furious to be caught at such a thing. That night he came to her chambers to be sure she hid herself from sight and scent. When she asked him about the dowry he struck her hard across her face.
She did not cry out. She’d not give the brutal man the satisfaction. The next day, for some unknown reason, the second son of the MacContire was swayed to forgive the discrepancy. A bribe no doubt.
Ailis had no feelings on the matter besides relief. She could not stay at her father’s house any longer. When she left he told her one final thing that would secure her hatred for the man who was her father.
“Ye must conceal yer true self, Ailis, for if the marriage fails to go through, I’ll take it out on yer mother’s hide one day at a time.”
Ailis agreed to obey her da, not out of any great love for the woman who bore her, but because she could not bear to be responsible for her mother’s pain.
The delicate woman fled to England when Ailis was quite young. Mary Elizabeth Dungannon was a normal, a human woman. Nothing at all like Ailis.
Her mother was a great beauty. She was soft and curvy, medium height, with lovely dark hair, and bright blue eyes. Ailis inherited the eyes, but that was all she got from the woman.
She did not blame her mother for leaving. The reality of living with a Pack of wild Irish Werewolves was too much for her. There were rules, hierarchies, she simply couldn’t understand.
Ailis was fine without her mother, at least that was what she told herself often when things got too tough for her. She had Gwinnie, who was both teacher and protector. Servants who were female and Wolf were afforded almost the same respect as male Wolves.
It was those in the upper class who were to rise above the Change, her father’s exact words. As if it were a choice she had! Gwinnie was the one who helped Ailis when it was evident her Change was to take place and soon.
She’d heard the call of
the moon and went through the agonizing transformation from maid to beast during a night when it was at its fullest. The song in her head was so beautiful she cried thinking about it.
She assumed her Change would mean freedom. Her father would surely toss her out, but no. After his initial rage, he informed Ailis that she was still being shipped off for marriage.
“Cursed ye are, Ailis, but he will still take thee to wed. You will speak of nothing, be hidden from sight, until the ceremony, and ye shall continue to apply this every night after yer bath.”
“But why?”
“Because I command it! Take the bottle, lass.”
“What is in it, father? Makes my eyes sting, it does!”
“Tis a special tincture, a covering scent. It’ll mask yer she-Wolf from the MacContire. Be sure and wear it well, girl, or that mother who whelped me such a wrong bitch as ye are, shall feel pain like ye never imagined possible.”
Her father did not smile when he sent her from his house just days ago. He simply went back to his rooms. Going over the contracts that allowed him to fall under the protection of the mighty Greyback Pack.
That was why he sold his only child. For solid ties to a Wolf Pack whose warriors were renowned for their skill at killing the evil forces who walked the Earth. Fierce warriors indeed.
Her father’s lands were being destroyed by Witches. They cursed the land they sucked dry to fuel their magic. They’d lost countless fields and crops due to their ways. Dungannon needed the Greyback to clear them out.
Ailis shivered in her bed. She was no more than cow sold by her da! Even when he knew twas most likely that, when her husband found out what she was, she’d be killed or imprisoned.
Nightmares of her husband-to-be kept her awake most of the night in the strange house. What was he like? Would he be cruel?
She’d heard tales of women, Werewolves such as she, who were ordered by their husbands to be confined to dark iron cells lined with silver panels, during nights of the full moon. Others were less fortunate, tossed out to become prostitutes or beggars, and some were even killed by beheading or hanged as traitors.
