The Fifth Moon's Wolf (The Fifth Moon's Tales)

by Monica La Porta

  His lips smothered hers while his tongue demanded entrance. Mirella tried to resist, but he angled her face, uncomfortably arching her neck backward until she yielded to him. The hand he kept between her legs moved again, long caresses that were soft in nature and contrasted with the angry devouring of his kisses.

  Disoriented by his ministrations, both harsh and considerate, Mirella’s body was soon afire. Gasps of pleasure erupted from her parted lips, eliciting Lobo’s laugh, but she couldn’t stop herself from opening to him as he filled her with a long finger.

  “I own your body.” He massaged her inside, varying the pressure and tapping his fingertip over her sensitive spot.

  As the pleasure mounted, Mirella panted in his mouth. She recognized the feeling from their first mating and anticipated the fiery explosion that would engulf her within a stroke or two. She was close.

  “Not yet, kitten.” He leaned away from her, removed his finger, and brought it to his mouth. Making a satisfied rumble, he sucked his fingers. He then pulled her thighs apart and positioned his hardness against her core, rubbing and teasing her folds far longer than she could bear. “Beg me,” he commanded, his voice low.

  Without thinking, at the mercy of her body’s demands, she whispered, “Please.”

  “Louder.”

  “Please,” she said, raising her voice.

  When he finally entered her, she cried, but not in pain. She was filled and stretched, and loved the feeling as he started moving within her. At every thrust, the hard planes of his chest rubbed against her soft mounds, peaking her nipples. She wanted his hands molded around her breasts, but she didn’t dare ask for it. Lobo seemed to read her mind though, because while one hand grabbed her wrists and kept her arms over her head, the other hand took possession of her breasts, massaging the tender flesh with rough caresses.

  Bursts of breeze coming from the skylight cooled her exposed skin where her husband didn’t cover her with his body. He was hot to the touch, but the chamber was getting chillier by the moment. Mirella was burning and feeling cold at the same time. His hold on her wrists scared her, but it also excited her senses. His movements were animalistic, and yet she moved with him, matching his tempo. A part of her felt ashamed by her willingness to submit to him, but another part of her had never felt more alive, and that wanton side won. The overload of sensations engaging both her body and her mind was such that when he leaned away from her and his hand moved lower to her core, only a flicker of his finger over her nub was sufficient to send her over the edge.

  Mirella shattered in a long spiral of pleasure that kept going until she screamed in ecstasy.

  “That’s my kitten.” Lobo thrust into her one last time, then arched his neck and howled his release.

  The sound was guttural, and his stance over her primal, but instead of being scared by his show of dominance Mirella felt powerful. She had made him howl.

  Chapter Seven

  Valentine looked down at the slip of a woman who had given him so much pleasure.

  When he had entered the chamber, he was angry at the whole universe. Gabriel’s words had touched him deeper than he cared to admit, and he needed to release his temper. It had not been his intention to visit his wife, but his wolf was more restless than usual, and after flying his airbike at breakneck speed for an hour and a half, he landed at the Vestal House before he could stop himself.

  Mirella had been peacefully lying on the daybed, her oval face partially hidden by her long curls, her chest rising slowly, and her body gracefully arranged on the cushion. She looked like delicate china, easily broken and precious.

  At her sight, so innocent, so young, his wolf had had taken full command of his body. Animal lust fueled by anger propelled Valentine into action, and a moment later he was looking down at her, her clothes ripped apart, and her terrified eyes staring at him as if he were a monster.

  Then she had told him to stop. Her melodious voice barely a whisper, and yet it rang loud to his ears.

  No one before had ever stood up to him like she had. In the aftermath of their union, he asked because he needed to know, “What did you think to accomplish by telling me to stop?”

  Still under him, pinned to the mattress by his weight, although he had been careful not to crush her, Mirella looked satisfied. Her hair fanned all around her in an auburn halo that caught the warm light from the braziers, shining with red accents. His hand was still holding both of her wrists over her head, but she had languidly relaxed her arms, turning her face to the side, her lips turned up in a small smile as if she was the one wanting him to hold her thus.

  “Answer me.” He placed a finger under her chin and turned her face so that their eyes met.

  Her breath hitched, but she didn’t avert her gaze. “I told you.”

  He heard the strain in her voice and how much it cost her being bold, and that endeared her to him, even though he had never condoned insolence before.

  “The first night, your behavior was more in line with what I expect from my bride.” He tightened his fingers around her wrists, but didn’t apply much pressure.

  “The first night, I didn’t know what was going to happen to me.”

  “I was told you had classes on the matter.”

  “I did, but none of my textbooks could’ve prepared me for… you.”

  “And why is that so?”

  “I am a woman, but you are no common man, husband.”

  “You knew that.”

  “I did and I didn’t.”

  “I have no patience for riddles.” Valentine moved to the side, uncovering her petite body, and she began shivering right away. “I suggest you speak plainly.”

  “You are my Fifth Moon’s Wolf, husband, but you are intimidating and bigger than any man I’ve ever met. I know you have power over me and I must obey you. When I first saw you I thought you didn’t want me, and that was even scarier. And tonight, you had murder in your eyes and I thought you weren’t happy with me and that you wanted to punish me, but I didn’t even know what I had done. My mouth said the words before I could even think about what I was doing.”

  To his surprise, Valentine didn’t want her to be scared of him, but instead of telling her that, he changed subject. “Did you eat pineapple today?” Her juices had tasted as sweet as the fruit.

  Startled by his question, she stared at him for a moment before nodding.

  “Good. From now on, you’ll have pineapple every day.” He then left the bed and the chamber without a farewell.

  He rode his Desert Fire as if a pack of wild draglets were chasing after him. His multi-terrain airbike’s avionic engines roared to life, and he flew over the crowded streets of Adris, hoping for the cold wind to cool his nerves. At ground level, among the market stalls, people looked up when they recognized the Desert Fire and shouted their nuptial blessings. He acknowledged them with a nod and sped away, passing over the glass spires and the terraces that made Adris one of the most beautiful cities on Lupine.

  Back at Lobo Mansion, he left his airbike at the mechanical stable, then on his way to the house proper, he summoned Karl Maeister, his master at arms, to the sports hall. Sparring usually calmed him.

  “Valentine,” Karl greeted him when he entered the open-air room.

  Marcellus, Valentine’s father, had the gymnasium built to resemble a Terran arena with a central area for fighting and exercising and surrounding stands for the crowd. Marcellus had had a penchant for entertaining. Valentine could barely tolerate having guests over for dinner. He hadn’t dismantled the sports center only because he enjoyed its proximity to the hanging gardens. One of the few traits Valentine had in common with his father was his dislike for being inside. Maybe it was the wolf inside him, but he was at his happiest when he roamed free in the large valleys of the Great Plains.

  “What is it going to be today?” his master at arms asked.

  “Electric saber.” Valentine had already chosen his sword and was polishing the blade, the blue halo brimmi
ng with energy. He was partial to those electric swords because they were among the few weapons with a sharp enough edge to decapitate a shifter. One single slash could end Valentine’s immortal life.

  “I see.” Karl chuckled and walked to the sword rack, where he took a blade with a carved pommel resembling a wolf head.

  Chapter Eight

  Eight long days had passed since Lobo’s second and last visit to Mirella’s chamber.

  She didn’t know what to think of her husband. The wolf was mercurial. One moment, he acted like he was about to eat her alive. The next, he was her passionate lover, rough around the edges, but capable of erasing the rest of the world with his kisses and touches. She had been putty in his hands and it terrified her.

  Looking up at the skylight, she marveled at the deep purple sky and rich orange sun. Soon it would be sunset. Coral changed colors during the day, and one could tell the time by simply looking at its shade. From pale pink to deep carmine, Lupine’s sun was a wondrous sight. A vision she would be forced to admire from a hole in the ceiling from now on. Or from the claustrophobic terrace she had visited several times already.

  The medicus had been generous in his description of the balcony. The bridal passageway was narrow and long, and it opened into a room with a fourth wall that didn’t reach all the way to the ceiling. The low wall—or the high parapet—was a slab of granite carved in an intricate lacy décor. The result was a wall to wall doily with numerous holes large enough for her to look through them. The experience had left her with an even greater longing to be outside.

  Now, when she wanted a reprieve from the whiteness of her gigantic bedroom, she would close herself in the en-suite bathroom, which was larger than her former quarters in her family house. Bathing herself in the copper bathtub had become the highlight of her day.

  She had to find a way to get out of the Wedding Chamber or she would end up crazy in no time.

  How the High Priest and the medicus thought it would be safer or healthier for her inside a cage with no windows was beyond her. Forced since childhood into a life of luxurious imprisonment, Mirella was used to having her freedom strictly supervised, but her current predicament had surpassed all her fears. At her house, she had never been alone, and her tutors alongside her sisters had filled her days with studying and chatting.

  Now, whom would she talk to?

  Not to her husband, who wasn’t interested in visiting her. Not to the small army of servants who tended to her needs but wouldn’t say a word back to her, intimidated by her status.

  In one of those rare moments of lucidity when one discovers the greater meaning of life, Mirella started laughing. If nothing else changed, she would soon long for the medicus’ blood drawings. If she were lucky, she would get pregnant soon and have her child to take care of.

  She was in this altered mood when her mother dropped by. “How was your day?” she asked after dropping a kiss on Mirella’s forehead.

  “Pleasantly boring.” Sitting straighter on the daybed, Mirella smiled and took her mother’s hand in hers, then brought it to her face and leaned to it, starving for human contact.

  “Queens in high castles were treated as you are.” Her mother spoke softly, but to Mirella’s knowing ears the rebuke was clear.

  “Thrown in cells and left to die of loneliness?” Mirella patted her mother’s hand, then leaned away, pulling up her legs.

  “I’m sure your situation is not as dramatic as you make it sound.” Her mother lowered herself beside Mirella, arranging her voluminous gown around her.

  “New dress.” Mirella reached her hand for the orange silk of the gown’s bodice. “It’s beautiful.”

  Her mother looked down at the laces crisscrossing her front and accentuating her hourglass figure. Just turned fifty, she still was a beauty with corvine hair and ice-blue eyes. Mirella’s father was besotted with his wife and could never say no to her, even if her requests were often outlandish. When a younger Mirella had learned of her betrothed, she dreamt of her wolf husband, imagining him as enamored of her as her father was of her mother.

  “Your sisters were invited to court, and we were all in need of appropriate clothing,” her mother answered, flattening a crease in her skirt.

  “And you didn’t have any jewelry to go with it.” Mirella’s eyes dropped to the choker at her mother’s swanlike throat. The pendant was orangey-red and shaped like a heart, attached to the soft golden mesh hugging the skin like a glove. It was an expensive bauble.

  Her mother waved a delicate hand in dismissal. “You know how it goes—”

  Mirella knew. “Jewelry never matches the dresses you have.”

  “A tragedy, really.” Her mother touched the solitary pendant and sighed. “You look nice too.”

  “I’m required to change three times a day,” she answered.

  After the first day, every morning, a servant would come and bring her the proper outfit for breakfast, lunch, and supper. Another servant appeared an hour before each meal to help her dress, apply makeup, and style her hair. Sweet pineapple was always part of her menu, and if she didn’t eat all of it at one mealtime, she would be served double the amount at the next.

  From what she ate to what she wore, everything was done just in case her husband deigned her with his presence.

  “Turquoise is your color.” Her mother passed a hand over Mirella’s kimono sleeve.

  The dress she was wearing for tonight’s supper was heavy damask with draglets chasing each other, tone on tone. The hem and the sleeves were trimmed with light white fur. Her cleavage was pushed up by a low bodice and exposed her more than she was comfortable with, but her consolation was that Lobo would probably never see her wearing it. The ensemble was completed by a long pearl necklace that had a tendency to end up inside her bodice, tickling her skin.

  With a critical eye, her mother looked up at Mirella’s loose locks fanning over her shoulders. “I would’ve styled your hair differently though.” She brought her hand over Mirella’s head. “Something more appropriate for such rich dress. Maybe a lace cap holding your mane in a coiled bun and a few ringlets dressed with diamonds. Or something blue like Caucasum topazes. You should ask your husband for something more suitable to your station.”

  Mirella sighed. “Mother—”

  “He doesn’t lack the means to spoil you.”

  “We barely know each other.”

  “He has been waiting for you all his life. He should be covering you in jewels—”

  Her mother’s tirade was cut short by a commotion outside the chamber.

  As it had happened the last time Lobo visited her, Mirella’s heart jumped to her throat. She was elated and terrified at the same time. Her body reacted instantly by blushing. Then she heard the angry shouts and the screams, and fear took hold of her.

  “What’s happening?” Her mother’s eyes widened and her voice was but a shriek.

  Loud thuds reverberated inside, followed by more shouts until Mirella realized the metal door outside was being rammed in with relentless effort. The first night, when she had been led to the Wedding Chamber, she noticed how thick the door was, but now she wondered if it was sturdy enough.

  “Where are the guards?” her mother asked, panic showing on her usually composed face now marred by tears that were melting her makeup.

  Grabbing her mother by her elbow, Mirella stood and dragged both of them to the lattice panel concealing the bridal passageway.

  “What are you doing?” her mother asked. “Where are we going?”

  Mirella didn’t answer her, but pushed her farther down the passageway, then turned to realign the panel flush to the wall. The thumps were now louder. With her heart galloping inside her chest, Mirella pressed a hand on her mother’s back and prompted her to move. When they reached the terrace, she propped her face inside one of the larger trims on the carved granite wall and screamed, “Help!”

  From her limited peephole, she couldn’t see much further than the gardens below, and t
he sun had already set, leaving the grounds in the dark. She didn’t know if there was anyone out there to hear her calls, but she couldn’t simply wait and do nothing.

  Looking around for anything she could use to defend herself and her mother should the need arise, Mirella found little. The balcony was furnished with a wicker chaise lounge and a matching low table. Both pieces were made of solid Arkan wood and were too heavy for her to lift.

  Another round of thumps, then triumphant voices followed. A moment later, the ramming resumed, sounding closer and louder. Whoever was attacking the Vestal House had breached the metal door and it wouldn’t take them long to break through the screen, even though it was reinforced.

  Amidst her mother’s cries, Mirella’s mind worked overtime to find a way out.

  Angry voices could be heard now inside the chamber, sending her mother into hysterics.

  If only the parapet was lower, Mirella thought. Then she looked at the heavy furniture, and said to her mother, “Help me.” She started pushing the chair, motioning for her mother to do the same.

  After a first moment of hesitation, her mother spurred into action, giving her best shot at the endeavor, which unfortunately didn’t amount to much. Her mother had never worked a single day in her life and was of the opinion that exercising was vulgar.

  Thankfully, Mirella was of a different philosophy and since entering the rebellious teenage years had secretly run and sparred with her sisters daily. It was their one big secret. Of course, it didn’t make moving furniture easy, but she was able to push the chair until it was close to the wall. Removing her heeled slippers, she climbed on the cushion, but she still couldn’t clear the top of the wall.

  “The table.” She climbed off and reached for the piece of furniture with the intention of lifting it over the chaise.

  Renewed noise from the chamber reminded them it wouldn’t be long before the attackers found the secret passage, and it was enough incentive for her mother to make a final effort. Amidst unladylike grunts, they hefted the table over the chaise.