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

by Monica La Porta

  Mechanical workers were everywhere, filling the large spaces with sounds and movements. She wasn’t used to them, but her history tutor had told her they were once common. Nowadays, only the richest on Lupine could afford the luxury of maintaining the clockworks that still remained, and no one possessed an army like the one owned by her husband. But she had been instructed by her etiquette tutor not to comment upon someone’s wealth. So, she gawked in silence.

  “We can visit the rest of the right wing tomorrow when you are rested and refreshed,” Valentine said when her steps grew slow and she leaned heavily against him. “If you’d like something to eat, ring the bell to call Aldo. You can also speak to him through the voice-intercom.” He pointed at a wooden box on the nearest wall. “I’ll ask that a lady’s maid is provided to you as soon as possible. In the meantime, my majordomo will attend to any need you might have.” He bent to kiss her, and it was a repeat of the earlier chaste brush. “Have a good night, kitten.”

  Mirella watched him leave, his majestic body sailing through the hallway with a fluidity of movements that so well defined his wolf nature. He commanded the moment with everything he did. Be it walking or talking, he did it with finality, as if it were the last step he took or the last word he spoke.

  He, who was the richest and most powerful man on Lupine, didn’t like to waste his time, and she wondered how long she could keep him interested in her before he would grow tired of his little bride.

  With those mauling thoughts running circles in her already taxed mind, Mirella ambled toward her bed. Like everything else inside Lobo Mansion, the furniture was exquisitely crafted, large, and antique.

  She used the dainty steps to climb on the high mattress, then scampered on all fours to the center of the bed. Supported by four twisted columns, a white-wash canopy hung over her head, the cracks in the paint filled with gold, while on the sides, lacy ivory curtains framed the structure.

  From what she had seen so far of the right wing, that part of the mansion had been decorated with feminine tastes in mind. Had Valentine’s mother resided there? No, she hadn’t. Blessed Brides never left the Vestal House. The High Priest’s frantic speech had made that clear. Then, for whom had the right wing been decorated? One of Valentine’s father’s courtesans? Or was it for Valentine’s favorite?

  The sting of jealousy pierced at her heart.

  Mrs. Claretta, and even her own mother, had explained to her that powerful men employed courtesans because their marriages were usually political contracts. Between the upper echelons of Lupine society, unions between allies and enemies were stipulated every day. Their purpose was to solidify merchant routes or eliminate competition without unnecessary blood shedding. Men, and oftentimes women as well, sought affection and physical release in someone else’s arms. Harems were built inside the mansions of the rich and powerful to cater to a lifestyle that was too busy to cultivate the pursuit of courtship and love.

  Yet, although their union had been decided by their respective families, Mirella’s father had never strayed from her mother’s chamber. They maintained separate sleeping quarters as was proper, but he visited hers every night. Vera had once caught their father heading toward their mother’s room, holding a breakfast tray. Her sister had immediately told Mirella, “Pa spent the night with Mother!” with a disgusted look on her face. Mirella had thought it was rather romantic, but had confessed no such thing to her sister.

  The idea that Valentine had expressly decorated the right wing for his favorite courtesan pained Mirella more than she had thought it would. Even forewarned, the reality, once again, proved to be vastly different from what she had expected it to be.

  Out of the confines of her imagination, she felt every emotion with sharpened senses. As if the world had become brighter and louder overnight, and the scents were too rich.

  Now that she knew what his mouth and his hands could do to her, she didn’t want to share him with another woman.

  Sleep eluded her until dawn when she finally closed her eyes.

  The aroma of freshly-brewed curcuma tea tickled her nostrils and awakened her from a fitful slumber. She had dreamed of running and falling from a considerable height. A figure walked outside the lacy curtains, which had been closed by someone other than Mirella during those few hours she had slept.

  “Blessed Bride.” A pretty girl in her late teens parted the curtains and bowed low. She wore House Lobo’s black and silver livery, her skirt demurely covered her knees, and her rigid corset was paired with a shirt underneath. Black stockings, ballet shoes, and a chignon covered by a black mesh completed the servant’s ensemble. “I’m Laura, your new lady’s maid.”

  “Hello, Laura.” Mirella was used to sharing servants with her sisters back at home.

  “Is there anything you need before breaking your fast?” the girl asked, keeping her eyes on the floor.

  “I wish to clean myself first.” Exiting the warm cocoon of silken sheets and light comforter, Mirella moved toward the edge of the mattress.

  “Let me help you.” Laura repositioned the wooden steps to align with Mirella’s dangling feet and offered her a pair of pointed slippers.

  “Thank you.” Followed by her lady’s maid, Mirella walked to the en-suite, where running water was filling the large porcelain tub. Fanned by the glass pumps of a mechanical worker that resembled a wrought-iron accordion, white vapor scented with wild violets and red lavender permeated the air, surrounding Mirella. “I won’t need your help to bathe, thanks.”

  Even if dismissed, Laura didn’t move from the archway.

  With a smile, Mirella said, “I’d like some privacy.”

  The girl curtsied and turned, without leaving her position.

  “Were you ordered to guard me at all cost?” Mirella removed the chamber gown she had worn over the flimsy slip. She had found the garments waiting for her on the dresser the night before and wondered from where they had come.

  “Yes, Blessed Bride,” Laura answered from over her shoulder.

  “Then so be it.” Mirella folded her clothes, as her custom, and placed them on the vanity desk by the shell sink. Then she took off her slippers and positioned them with their heels by the tub, ready for later.

  One foot at a time she entered the tub, savoring the warm water with her eyes closed. She then lowered the rest of her body and rested her head on the edge. She heard scuffling feet, then the air was charged with electric energy, and she felt a hand cradling her head.

  “What a sight you are, kitten.” Valentine’s low, seductive voice first reached her most intimate of places, then her ears.

  When she opened her eyes, their gazes connected. The hazel in his pupils was almost green, and his mouth was red, flashing the whiteness of his perfect teeth when he smiled. She also noticed his hair was mussed and loose and dust clung to his eyebrows. Lowering her gaze, she took in his leather riding jacket. The garment was worn and hugged him tight.

  “Have you been outside already?” she asked.

  “It’s past lunch time, and yes I went for a ride with a guest of mine.” Removing his jacket, he folded his shirt sleeves over his elbow, then knelt closer to the tub.

  “You’re having guests, here in the house?”

  “Yes. My friend Gabriel, who’s gone for a few days. And a Solarian. You might’ve heard of him. Dragon Sol?”

  “The High Lord of Solaria? Your guest is Dragon Sol, the dragon shifter—”

  “The one and only. And the vast majority of his court it would seem.” His hand dipped into the water, seeking her breast. Mirella couldn’t help but check if they were alone, but Laura was nowhere in sight.

  “You don’t need anyone else to guard you if I’m around,” he said, also letting her know he had been outside a few minutes ago. “Did you sleep well?” His fingers played with her nipple.

  “I had lots on my mind.”

  “I as well.”

  She wanted to ask why, but he took a cake of scented soap from the tub’s side t
ray and lathered his hand, then covered the swell of her breasts with it, following the contour of her mounds with a soft touch.

  “Relax,” he said, plunging the soap between her legs and massaging her thighs.

  His hands played with her senses, igniting her fire by pinching and caressing. The alternate assault of soft and hard, sweet and harsh, disoriented her until he slipped a finger inside and it was just perfect.

  “I must spend the rest of the day with Dragon,” he whispered against her lips before kissing her fiercely, invading her mouth and stroking her tongue in a crescendo mimicking his intimate caresses.

  One last tug at her nipple sent her careening into the water as pleasure swept her away. She screamed, “Valentine!” and hugged him tight, needing an anchor.

  His hands patted her, soothing her sensitive flesh. “I like it when you sing my name.” He kissed the point of her nose, then gently freed himself from her hold.

  When she looked back at him, he was soaked in bath water, but smiling.

  “I’m sorry I ruined your shirt—” she started saying, but he shushed her with a peck on her lips.

  “Have a nice day, kitten.” He stood and left.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Let’s race to the meadow,” Dragon said, pointing his whip to the vast plain ahead.

  The Solarian never tired of challenging Valentine. It was all a bet to his colossal guest, and Valentine now understood why the majority of Lupine delegations had failed their negotiations with Dragon. None of them had ever spoken the High Lord’s language.

  Pressing his boots against Dallian’s flanks, Valentine spurred his draglet to charge ahead. The beast opened its iridescent wings to their maximum extent and dipped its long neck to veer according to its rider’s commands. Valentine studied the rapid movements of the cloud and determined the speed of the gale approaching them. Dallian’s feathers ridged on its back and it cried, eager to be let free to ride the thermals.

  Valentine waited until the last possible moment before tightening his grip on the reins, then patted the base of Dallian’s neck and shouted, “Go!” He flattened his torso against the beast’s back, holding to the bone spurs framing its spine.

  A few meters ahead, Dragon laughed. “This is fun, isn’t it, my friend?” He was riding Carellian, his purebred steed, higher, catching a thermal that sent him spiraling a moment later. His chuckle full of mirth could be heard loud and clear.

  For the Solarian what mattered the most was having fun.

  Valentine drove Dallian on by prodding its hide, but was careful not to hurt the draglet. He despised those poor excuses for riders who spurred their steeds until they bled, and had been pleasantly surprised when he saw how tender Dragon was with Carellian. From that revealing detail, he had realized that the Solarian wasn’t as much of a barbarian as he had thought at first.

  A fast gust of wind cut Carellian’s trajectory. Dragon tried to straighten their course, but the beast was pushed sideways and capsized when the wind changed direction. Dangling upside down, Dragon’s large tunic flapped all around him, making him look like a gigantic balloon.

  Valentine directed Dallian under Carellian, then grabbed Dragon’s elbow, trying to help him rotate his steed. The procedure was complicated by the size of both rider and beast. Carellian was twice the size of Dallian, and Dragon was built like an armored tank and a full head taller than Valentine.

  The trick was to keep Dallian well below Carellian, so that when Dragon’s steed turned, its wings wouldn’t whip Dallian’s. Timing his push with the wind’s whims, Valentine shouted, “Now!” and gave Dragon’s elbow a jerk, while at the same time commanded Dallian to descend as fast as possible.

  When Carellian turned, helped by Valentine’s push and the strong gust he had counted on, it still clipped Valentine’s head with the tip of its wing, even though they were several meters below.

  Valentine’s wolf took command of the situation and didn’t let him faint, but kept him aware and in command of his draglet. The beast had sensed its rider’s pain and was now in pain itself, its small head aching as if it had received the blow. With soothing words, Valentine calmed Dallian until its wings steadied and it slowly but surely landed at the center of the meadow that had been Dragon’s objective.

  Once the draglet was firmly on the ground, Valentine swung his legs to one side and dismounted. As soon as his boots touched the earth, he swayed and had to steady himself against Dallian’s flank.

  Dragon landed a moment later, then ran toward him. “I see you are all in one piece,” he said, towering over Valentine.

  “My head rings like a bell, but I’m fine.” Valentine was also seeing stars behind his eyelids.

  “You have a rather large gash on your forehead, my friend.” Dragon regarded him with curious eyes and a smirk.

  “Ah.” Raising one hand to his forehead, Valentine found that Dragon was right. “That explains it.” Blood seeped through his fingers.

  “I guess we should ride back home to have you seen by a medicus.” Dragon passed a hand between his long mane, looking in the general direction of the mansion several kilometers away.

  “If you don’t mind.” Valentine reached for Dallian’s bone spurs and hoisted himself on top of his steed.

  “By all means. If you bleed to death, we can’t go hunting tomorrow.” Carellian flattened to the ground, waited for Dragon to climb on its wing, then raised him up to its croup.

  “And we don’t want that.” Valentine patted Dallian’s neck feathers. “One day, you’ll have to teach me that trick you do with Carellian.”

  “My dragon talks to the draglet. But we could try to communicate with Dallian and train it.”

  “I’d love that.”

  Nodding, Dragon brought two fingers to his heart, then spurred his draglet higher.

  Later that night, their dinner was animated and friendly. Valentine felt the relationship with the Solarian had reached a turning point. Their banter sounded a lot like camaraderie, and Valentine liked the idea.

  After the dessert was served, Dragon excused himself to the smoking room. Free from host duty, Valentine headed to the left wing. On the way to his apartments, he passed before the harem and found Ronda sitting on the edge of the marble fountain that decorated the atrium.

  Her casual posture didn’t fool Valentine. Ronda had been waiting for him.

  “Good evening, Master Lobo.” She bowed, and in the process managed to show him the expanse of her generous décolleté.

  “Ronda.” Valentine didn’t slow his pace.

  “Will you need me later?” she asked, purring her question as it was her custom.

  “No. You have the night free.” He turned the corner and took the staircase to his quarters. As soon as he was in his bedroom, he rang Aldo.

  “Yes, Master Lobo?” his majordomo asked from the entryway.

  “I require my bride’s presence.” Loosening his cravat, he sat on his favorite chair and kicked off his riding boots. “Take her through the private hallway.”

  “Of course.” Aldo bowed and turned.

  Valentine could’ve sworn he saw the man smiling before he left. With a shrug, he unbuttoned his white shirt and leaned against the back of the chair, extending his legs before him. He still felt the whoosh of the wind lashing against his face and the undulating movement of the draglet under him. If he closed his eyes, he could’ve been straddling Dallian’s large, dragon-like body.

  He heard Mirella’s soft steps coming from afar. Standing from the chair, he walked to the liquor cabinet, chose two delicate crystal flutes and poured two shots of Velute, then added another shot of Daben and finished the cocktails with two purple hibiscus flowers and a dash of extra bitter cocoa.

  The door to his private hallway opened and Aldo let in Mirella.

  “Thank you, Aldo. That will be all for tonight.”

  The door closed, leaving them alone. Valentine walked to Mirella, offering her one of the flutes.

  Her fingers c
losed around the stem, and she smiled at him, then her expression changed to worry. “What happened to you?” Her free hand shot upward toward his face. “Are you okay?”

  “A close encounter with a draglet’s wing. Nothing serious. I’m afraid you are stuck with me.” He took her hand and brought it to his lips.

  Her expression was stricken when she said, “You could’ve died—”

  He cocked his head to the side. “I’m made of a sturdy material, and unless decapitated I’ll live forever.”

  “But you can still feel pain and that must have hurt.”

  “A lot, as a matter of fact.” He nibbled at her fingers. “But I can think of a few ways you can make me feel better.” Slowly twirling her around, he licked his lips. “Turquoise is truly your color, kitten. It enhances the pink on your skin that blushes when I say something outrageous—” his eyes were smoldering embers “—like that I want to feast on your womanly curves and satiate my hunger.”

  With a low growl he stopped her with her back to him and pulled her against his body, his hands roaming inside the soft bolero she wore over a long silk gown. His fingers found the outline of her bra and lace drawers. “There’s a strict no undergarments policy in my house.” His wolf paced inside his mind, pawing at the walls of his mental cage, telling him what to do. Valentine turned Mirella around and yanked her bolero away, sending the flute she was holding to the floor.

  “I’ll make you another one later.” He grabbed the corset’s edge with both hands and ripped the fabric to her waist.

  He waited for Mirella to stop him, but she stared at him, eyes wide and lips parted in a suppressed gasp. Dipping his head to her chest, he used his teeth to cut the white lace of her bra, then pulled one nipple into his mouth and suckled at it until her hands tugged at his hair. Maybe it was his wolf’s reaction to her that commanded his senses, but the frantic movements of her fingers in his hair sent Valentine into a second frenzy.