Celestial Seductions: The Complete Series: An MM Gay Paranormal Mpreg Romance Collection

by Odin Nightshade

  Greum did not say anything; merely placed a finger under Camden's chin to turn his face up toward his, planted a soft kiss on his lips, and spun briskly away to answer the call of the horn.

  Camden leaned back against the leg of the table and covered his face with his hands. What had he been thinking? He shook his head back and forth as he chastised himself for once again falling into Greum's embrace. Finally, he rolled to his stomach and released a quiet groan into the ground. The pain of the desire and self-reproach mixed were altogether overwhelming.

  Once he had collected himself, Camden rose and gathered his things. He would be expected in the courtyard, to help the townsfolk seeking shelter during the raid. This time, he told himself, he would be staying for the stories.

  Camden sprinted through the hallway to catch up with Deirdre, who had just left her rooms.

  Deirdre glanced at Camden with a grin. Over the past weeks, they had become good friends, and happy allies in a house of grim soldiers. They walked together in silence toward the courtyard. As they waited for the great doors to open before them, Deirdre turned to Camden and picked a piece of sawdust from his hair.

  “My brother looked similarly disheveled upon leaving the castle.” She stated bluntly. Camden was too panicked to answer. He felt the blush rise in his cheeks, and looked down, too awkward to respond.

  Deirdre linked her arm through Camden's, smiling.

  “You know,” She leaned against Camden’s shoulder and pressed their heads together conspiratorially, “I think I quite like you.” Camden allowed himself to release the breath that he had been holding. Without another word on the subject, they entered the courtyard to join the townsfolk gathered below.

  The gathering this time was substantially different. Having been welcomed by The MacConaill and his family, Camden was now treated as another, welcome member of the clan. The women joked and laughed with him, the men shared their food and drink, and all of them teased him like one of their own.

  As they all gathered around the fire a child shouted, “Tell the tale!”

  “No,” His mother whispered. “Mister Alan need not be bored with such tales.”

  Deirdre stood and placed a hand upon Camden's shoulder.

  “He’s seen the black wolf.” Deirdre announced. A hush fell over the crowd. “It’s time he hear the tale.” Deirdre looked down at Camden with piercing green eyes and a knowing grin. “If you’re going to stay, which I’d wager you will, its time you learn what stayin' means.”

  The children gathered in a half circle around the oldest woman in the crowd. She covered her hair with a tartan scarf and settled onto a stool to tell her tale to the waiting ears.

  It was a long time ago when Clan MacConaill came to these lands. Long before any of the others arrived to state their claim. The woods were filled with spirits and sprites. Druids roamed freely, bringing help or misery as they saw fit.

  Camden smiled and held his hands out to warm over the fire. Each clan had their own magical tale and he always enjoyed hearing the many versions. Clan Sutharlainn’s tale told of a great army of birds that flew in search of the most beautiful land they could find. When they settled in the highlands, they decided never to fly away again. They asked a druid to give them legs and arms to work the land and build their homes, and so the clan came to give up their wings for the love of the highlands. Every spring a great flock of birds flew over the Sutharlainn lands, a reminder from the druid of their great gift.

  It was a time of magic and mystery, danger…. And love. The MacConaills crossed the land searching for the perfect land to settle.

  Upon their journey, a young druid fell in love with the son of the Laird, but he would not have her. The druid cursed Clan MacConaill for to mend her broken heart.

  She called upon her magic, and turned the men into raging beasts of the forest. Great wolves, not much different than those that roam our lands today.

  The MacConaill women were distraught. They were never to hold or speak to their husbands and sons again. Those who were already with child gave birth to beastly sons. The young ran into the forest to join their wild kin. And the mothers were left alone.

  One day the druid found herself in trouble. An army of men had gathered around her hut, wishing her ill and harm. But the wolves of the MacConaill showed up and tore them to pieces, saving the young druid’s life.

  She was so grateful that she wished to remove the curse that she had placed upon them. But the call of the wild woodlands had already taken root in their hearts.

  As repayment for their deeds she did what she could. She allowed the wolves to return to their human forms. To return to their families.

  But the call of the wild was still with them, still in the hearts of the men MacConaill, who could shift between forms as they please, whether to roam the woods as their hearts desired, or protect our lands with their untrammelled fury.

  And so it is, that ours remains the only clan whose bond still ties them to nature. For the druid promised to never again tamper with beast or man.

  And so the men MacConaill are neither of wolf-form nor of man, but both beasts live inside of them.

  Camden clapped his hands with the rest of the crowd at the beautiful retelling of the clan tale. He now understood why the black wolf was a favorite of the locals, a protected pet allowed to roam their land without fear. He smiled to himself as he remembered Kenzie’s words. He wondered if that was why Greum wandered into the forest.

  The women kept vigil until the men returned in the late morning. This time they were all too tired to engage in much of a celebration. Camden and Deirdre retired to their chambers after a brief assurance that Deirdre’s brothers were safe and alive. Camden failed to meet Greum’s eyes, the memory of their last encounter playing much too vividly in his mind.

  The next morning, Camden woke to see, from his lofty window, Greum passing through the castle gate. He looked at the low sun, barely breaking the line of the horizon and knew the rest of the household would not wake for a few more hours. Greum was going to see the black wolf. Camden just knew it. He was too afraid to approach it on his own, but if he could only see Greum do it, it might ease his fears.

  He threw his new, soft traveling cloak around his shoulders, a gift from Deirdre, not bothering with anything more than his nightshirt and shoes beneath it. There was not time to dress properly if he were to catch up to Greum. It was not as if he were going to come out where Greum could see him, anyway. He would observe, he told himself, from a safe distance.

  Camden slipped out of the castle and through the outlying village with simple nods at the people he passed. He watched Greum cross into the woods as he jogged, once again, across the wet field. This time, he could see Greum ahead of him in the trees, picking his way carefully through the forest.

  He followed Greum up the side of the hill that he recognized from his last encounter with the wolf. Camden chewed her lip in anticipation. He could not imagine how such a great wild creature could be tame.

  When he reached the top of the hill he saw…nothing. He scanned the forest below him. He could no longer see Greum. He did not see the black wolf.

  It was then that he heard the low snarl behind him.

  Camden spun around to face a wolf across the clearing. He had approached the hill from the side and was slowly making his way toward Camden. Camden’s heart sank. This was a truly wild animal and he knew it. It occurred to him that the dagger he normally kept tied to his ankle beneath his boot was sitting uselessly on the table beside his bed.

  To his left, another wolf revealed itself through the tall bramble.

  The first wolf made a snarling lunge and Camden leaped away; the move brought him within easy reach of the foremost wolf. There were three wolves now, and they were closing in on him.

  He was afraid to turn his back on the beasts and run, the movement would surely encourage an attack. Not, he reminded himself, as if there were any other potential result. The way he had come was now barred by th
e dripping fangs of a hostile, territorial wolf. The way Greum had gone was clear, but Camden worried if it only led deeper into the forest. He needed to reach the clearing around the castle. Only then, could he hope that the clansmen would arrive in time, before he was killed. Camden shook as he estimated how fast a wolf could run in comparison to a human, and he did not like his odds.

  He had almost resigned himself to the inevitable when he heard a low growl behind him. The black wolf lumbered up the hill toward him. The first three wolves, appearing small beside their taller companion, braced themselves but did not retreat.

  Camden was shaking from head to foot. Sweat ran down his brow and his breath was rasping in his throat as the black wolf stalked past him and placed himself between Camden and the hostile wolves. Would the black wolf attack him too after finishing with the pack? He wondered.

  The wolf stood at his full height, snarling. The sound raised the hairs on the back of Camden’s neck. They were far too far away from the castle to be heard, and Greum, if he was smart, would remain hidden.

  The palest of the three wolves launched himself at the black wolf, who ran at him, snarling. He yipped, and the confrontation was brief. The smaller of the two ran off. The two remaining wolves considered an attack before following their companion down the hill, still growling.

  Camden sank to his knees on the ground. His legs were impossibly weak and his vision blurred. He did not know what would happen next—whether the black wolf would be as hostile as the first three, or not—only that he was relieved beyond measure to have them gone, and too numb yet with terror to even consider what would happen. He heard the wolf turn toward him and he covered his face with his hand, his entire body shaking as he lay curled on the leaves at its feet.

  Before he realized it, he was being pulled into the warm embrace of distinctly human arms. His head rested on a shoulder and gentle hands smoothed his hair and roamed his body in search of injuries.

  “Alan, tell me you’re alright.” Greum spoke into his ear. Camden, still dazed and numbed by the shock, nodded white-faced, and allowed Greum to hold him. When he had collected himself, he raised his head slightly to look for the black wolf behind him. But the hill was empty.

  Greum’s shoulder was level with his eyes and, for the first time, Camden realized that he was shirtless. Camden pulled away slightly to look at him and with wide eyes, realized that Greum MacConaill was crouched in front of him entirely nude. His eyes shifted quickly from his face, to his manhood, and back again.

  “What?” He began. “Where’s the…?” Again he took in Greum’s sky-clad body. He clapped a hand over his mouth as his mind made the connection. He pointed his free hand from Greum to where the black wolf had stood only minutes before, and to Greum again. Greum watched him with bated breath, waiting for his reaction—not denying his claim. Camden released a strangled sound and turned quickly to crawl away from him. Greum grabbed the back if his cloak to stop him, and Camden instinctively released the clasp at his neck and took off at a run.

  It did not take much effort for Greum to catch him.

  “Alan, calm yourself,” he commanded. He reached out to him. His hands on Camden's shoulder gripped him, the warmth of his fingers seeping through the cloak he wore. Camden's breath was coming in great gasps as he tried to make sense of all the conflicting emotions running through him.

  Finally he was able to look in his face with angry confusion. Camden could not say why he was angry, but his words were said through gritted teeth.

  “You’re the black wolf?” he spat.

  “Yes.” Greum laughed. “A shapeshifter. All MacConaill men are.”

  “A shapeshifter.” He repeated, more calmly this time.

  “Yes.” He conceded, allowing for whatever it took for his mind to take hold of the situation.

  Camden slapped his hands away.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” He paced in front of him. He realized that that was what was really fuelling his anger. That he had not known sooner. Opposite him, Greum raised his eyebrow, making the answer obvious. “Alright, that was a silly question.” Camden admitted.

  Greum was laughing, clearly pleased that Camden was now aware of his secret.

  “It is nice, now that you know.” He smiled.

  “So, the wolves on MacConaill land…” it was now beginning to make sense. “They’re the men.” He snapped his fingers at Greum, “And that’s why when you patrol the lands you don’t take horses or weapons.”

  “Very good.” He acknowledged.

  “And you’re the black wolf.” He whispered. His fingers rose to touch the curls around his face. “Like your hair.”

  “Yes.” He pressed his cheek against Camden's palm. “Are you afraid?”

  “A little.” He admitted. “But, you won’t harm me.” With absolute certainty he knew that this statement was true. The MacConaills were inherently peaceful. They defended their lands, defended their secret, but were not the brutes he had always thought them to be. He wondered then, what would make them harm his father?

  Greum sighed when Camden stepped away from him. He was allowing Camden the chance to make sense of this on his own but he could tell that the process was causing him anxiety.

  Camden turned toward him. He had one final question. One more, that was much more important to him than he had ever realized. The truth, he was discovering, was that he was in love with Greum MacConaill. But, if he had played a role in his father’s death, Camden would be forced to kill the man he loved. He had to know, now. The truth.

  “Did you poison the Laird of Clan Sutharlainn because he found out about your… secret?”

  “No.” Greum’s brows drew together. He could not understand his preoccupation with this issue. “The Laird knew about this unusual gift of our family, and he welcomed us. We had nothing to hide from him, no reason to cause him harm.”

  The breath rushed from Camden’s lungs. He could not help it, but he believed him. Every word. His father knew. Why then, or whom, might want to prevent this? The answer was simple: every other clan. A clan of shifters joined with clan Sutharlainn—the largest landowners in the highlands. That would be a formidable pair.

  “I believe you.” Camden whispered. He stepped into Greum’s waiting arms and pressed his lips against his. He knew without a doubt that Greum and his clan were innocent. He knew, without a doubt, that he loved him.

  Camden’s hands roamed Greum's bare chest in the way that he had imagined so many times before. Each muscle stood out against the next. He was a canvas of never ending peaks and hollows. His fingertips moved lower along his arm, brushing over the wound where the trap had once been.

  Greum's hand moved along Camden's back, stroking the muscles there as he drew him closer to his hard body. He pressed Camden against him, his arms clasped around him, fingers tracing his body as he kissed him again; lips warm on Camden's. His touch became more urgent, as the hard bulge at his waist pressed against Camden.

  They moved closer together, bodies pressing and parting and moving against each other, already fast and passionate with their need. Camden moved his fingers down, and grasped the bulge with his fingers. Greum looked down at him, his eyes soft with desire and hard with a warning. His breath was shaking with the effort of restraining himself.

  “I’m yours, Greum MacConaill.” Camden spoke against his lips, wanting him to know that there was no need for restraint. His need not to harm others seemed to come ahead of all else.

  Assured that he did no damage, Greum pressed Camden gently back, until they both knelt. His arms wrapped his waist as he pulled him down beside him, both lying on the winter cloak Camden had brought. It formed a warm barrier between them and the loamy ground beneath.

  Greum pulled Camden against him, turning him gently. Their bodies pressed together, and Greum moved the nightshirt away, so that their naked skin slid against each other, warm and soft and wonderful. Greum bit Camden's ear as he slowly, very slowly, entered him.

  The thick
fullness inside him made Camden want to cry out with the sheer fulfilment of it. He moved back, timing his motions with Greum's as they rocked against each other, moving to the driving rhythms of their bodies. It was a feeling of such intense pleasure and fulfillment that Camden lost all sense of any place or time. All he knew was Greum, and his body, and the sheer, slow satisfaction of their movements with and against each other, steadily growing in speed until they were almost flying, losing all control. Camden heard a cry, and realized only much later that it had been his own voice. All he knew at the time was the high, aching white mists of pleasure flooding his mind and his senses, leaving him insensible on the ground in Greum's arms.

  Their eyes met as Camden awoke, mind returning from the far reaches to which pleasure had carried it. He smiled. Greum's eyes were warm, and strange, and smiling. They kissed. Camden tasted salt on Greum's lips, and realized that both of them had shed sweat and tears during that time. Their arms came around each other and they slept a while, exhausted by their passion, spent for the moment.

  Afterward, Greum and Camden, Camden wrapped in his thick cloak, walked back through the woods, silent in the depth of their feeling. Both were smiling. Camden's heart was light, soaring somewhere far above the tree line with the springtime larks. From a short distance away from the castle, they thought they heard the sound of horses, running. They looked at each other, a message passing between them. They quickened their pace, back to the village gates. Upon entering the clearing, they witnessed a long line of horsemen riding through the village and entering the castle, the banners clearly displaying the soaring bird of Clan Sutharlainn. Greum took Camden's arm and pulled him across the field. Together they sprinted through the empty streets of the village. The townsfolk must have gathered in the castle courtyard for protection in case the Sutharlainns came to wage war.