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

by Monica La Porta

  She didn’t think an answer was required, but regarded him from over her shoulder and cocked her head.

  “Looking at me like that won’t spare you your punishment, kitten,” he said, but his eyes were laughing.

  She didn’t feel like laughing though when he removed his hand and patted down her skirt.

  “And that’s your punishment, kitten,” he repeated his words from not so long ago.

  Physically frustrated, she ached for his touch, but she wasn’t going to beg for it. And, although his words had evoked images from yesterday’s spanking, she wasn’t going to analyze why she had not stopped him the day before, and why she agreed with his definition of punishment. So she reoriented her treacherous thoughts toward the landscape. “How big is your estate?” she asked when she was once again able to utter a complete sentence.

  “Quite large.” He then whispered in her ear, “But I thought you already knew that.” Pressing his hand over her tummy, he pushed her closer to him, giving her evidence of his unsubtle innuendo.

  Determined not to let him win at this game of merciless teasing, she continued, “Will you show me the Great Plains?” She readjusted her position, pressing down on him, and she heard his intake of breath. “I heard they are beautiful.”

  After a low growl, his teeth playfully bit the base of her neck. “If you are a good kitten, we could fly my draglet over the Great Plains.”

  “Would you do that for me?” Mirella’s stomach filled with butterflies. “I’ve never even been close to a draglet.”

  Her parents had never let her do anything dangerous. She couldn’t be damaged in any way because she was to be consigned into Master Lobo’s hands in mint condition. There had been a time during her rebellious teens when she had resented this future husband of hers who had dictated her life since she was in the cradle.

  “As soon as it can be arranged I’ll take you to the stables to meet Dallian, my purebred.” He pressed a kiss to her head.

  “Thank you.” Moving her legs to one side, she burrowed closer to him, resting her head under his chin.

  Leaving the airbike unattended, Valentine wound both arms around her and lowered his head to her face, leaning his chin over her shoulder. In his tight embrace, she felt whole.

  After a few minutes of peaceful silence, he asked, “Is there anything else you’d like to do?”

  “I’d like to travel, to see Lupine.” She paused, gathering her thoughts. Then in a low whisper she added, “And I know that my main concern should be giving you an heir, but… maybe one day, when our children are older, I’d like to see the rest of the Coral System as well.” She smiled against his leather jacket.

  To her dismay, she felt his body stiffen against hers, then he uttered a low curse and landed the airbike. Once on the ground, without a word of explanation, he leaned away from her and dismounted.

  Disconcerted, Mirella watched Valentine raise his face to the sky and howl with all the power of his formidable lungs.

  The guttural sound was haunting and evoked pain and desperation so deep it hurt.

  Mirella’s heart ached for her husband. Without thinking, she jumped off the airbike and walked to Valentine. She leaned against his back, pressed her face to his jacket, and wound her arms around him. Keeping silent, she moved her hands under the leather and over his shirt, then splayed her fingers over his heart.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you,” she said.

  Valentine shook his head and let out a long, suffered sigh, followed by another curse, before saying, “It isn’t your fault, kitten.” He stopped her hand with his, then turned and took her in his arms and sought her lips.

  The kiss they shared was nothing Mirella had ever experienced from him. His mouth hovered over hers, his breath tingling her skin, then he brushed her lips before pushing his tongue inside. He was gentle and hugged her close, his hands roaming up and down her back. His strokes were slow and his touch light. Soon Mirella was breathless and dizzy.

  “Mirella…” His whisper sounded like a prayer.

  They stood embraced for a long time, and when the kiss finished, he rocked her back and forth.

  The tenderness of the moment was forever etched in Mirella’s mind. She locked the memory in her secret vault, where she kept her most treasured remembrances.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “Let’s go or we’ll arrive too late to Adris.” With his arms around Mirella’s waist, Valentine walked them back to the airbike.

  Her desire to travel after his progeny was born, something normal for a woman in the full bloom of her youth, had reopened the wound festering inside Valentine’s heart. His wolf was still crying a mournful bay.

  She let him help her on the Desert Fire, then molded her body against his when he sat behind her. He rejoiced at her nearness and inhaled her scent, wanting nothing more than to stop time. She burrowed closer and he circled her in his arms.

  When he finally started the airbike’s engines, his mood had settled to a calmer state, and so had his wolf, but his sadness hadn’t abated. By the time they reached Adris’ outskirts an hour later, he had managed maybe three sentences in all. Mirella didn’t seem to mind though. Curled on her side, she fit against him as if they were pieces of one of those jigsaw puzzles he used to play when he was a youngster on Sidera Prime.

  “The outskirts are pretty,” she commented when they flew over the first row of residential houses that were part of Suncadia, one of the less wealthy neighborhoods in the city. “I never left the city center, but I was told the rest of Adris was just dirt and ruins.”

  “It was true several decades ago, but things have changed in Suncadia since then.” Valentine pointed at a low building a few streets ahead. “That is a public clinic. It’s for people who don’t have money to pay for their medicines, or need to be visited by a doctor.”

  She tilted her head to the side to better look at the clinic they were now flying over. “I didn’t know Adris provided this kind of service.”

  “Adris doesn’t.”

  “Who does then?”

  “Privates who want to make a difference.”

  “That’s very generous.” She turned her head to look at something else. “What’s that?” she asked, pointing to an art-like structure in the middle of a small park. “Is it a sculpture?”

  “No. It’s a playground.” He flew lower. “See that slide and those swings?”

  She nodded. “They’re pretty.”

  “The teachers from the nearby school made them. They used recycled materials from whatever is discarded from Adris’ most affluent neighborhoods. It’s ingenious.” He didn’t add that he had procured the transportation needed to move the bigger pieces across the city.

  Somehow, he didn’t want her to see him in a good light or to know that he was the sole benefactor of the town.

  “So many colors.” She pointed at a series of cottages with clay roofs and the exteriors painted like the nearby desert, a riot of dusty oranges, yellows, and reds. Light-blue and green windows and doors completed the picture. Next, her attention was snatched by the floral market. “And look at the flowers. So many of them.”

  “Would you like to descend and take a stroll through the stalls?” Valentine asked.

  Looking over her shoulder at him, she said, “Am I allowed to do that? To walk freely in the street?” Her eyes lit up, changing her face from pretty to breathtakingly beautiful.

  “I’ll be with you.” He steered the Desert Fire lower and spiraled toward the large square where the floral market took place every day.

  After he parked the airbike without locking the wheel, she asked, “Aren’t you worried someone’ll try to steal it?”

  “This is the safest part of Adris. The bad people live elsewhere.” He smirked. “Besides, nobody would steal from me in Suncadia.”

  She didn’t look convinced.

  “Come.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her forward with him as he walked toward the market.

  Her
small booted steps created a nice tick-tack on the worn cobblestones, which pleasantly contrasted with his riding boots’ deep thump-thump.

  It was lunchtime, and the streets of Suncadia were busy at that time of the day. Families reunited for a light repast before the adults went back to work and the children resumed their school day. The crowd parted as Valentine and Mirella crossed the square.

  After showing Valentine the due respect, people eyed Mirella with curious stares until her identity was murmured softly through the square. Then hundreds of voices called, “Blessed Bride,” and those present genuflected before Mirella, heads low and fingers to their hearts.

  “They like you.” He nudged Mirella who stood frozen by his side.

  “What should I do?” she asked under her breath.

  He smiled. “Whatever you feel like.”

  “Okay.” Stepping away from him, she motioned for the crowd to stand. “Thank you for welcoming me to your neighborhood,” she said in a steady voice. “Suncadia is as pretty as the people who live here.”

  The lilt in her voice was music to Valentine’s ears. The rest of the crowd was equally affected by her words because the whole square exploded in cheers and a long applause. Valentine waited until the festive uproar quieted down, then led Mirella to the market.

  It was soon evident they wouldn’t be able to advance a step without being stopped by Suncadians bringing gifts to his bride. They were small tokens like flowers or freshly baked sweet bread, but they meant so much more to him than the expensive keepsakes the rich and the powerful had given. Mirella was soon overwhelmed by such displays of generosity, but he was secretly pleased by her humility and also by the people’s genuine reaction to her.

  Valentine and Mirella finally reached the mechanical umbrellas of the flower stalls with their brass gears whirring and turning according to Coral’s movements. The smell of fresh wild roses and blue and red lavender bunches permeated the air alongside the sing-song shouts from the vendors on their hovering carts. Among the bustling humanity, Mirella took her time to admire the floral compositions, imparting thoughtful compliments to the girls working on them. While his bride was busy talking to the florists, Valentine made sure to order from every stall they stopped at.

  “This is all too much,” Mirella commented several stops later, inhaling the sweet scent of blue honeysuckles from a braided garland she had been gifted along the way.

  “It doesn’t happen every day that I show up with my beautiful Blessed Bride at my side,” he joked, but the pride he felt looking at her was real. “Are you hungry?” he asked when emotions threatened to spill into the next thing he said.

  Her stomach rumbled before she could answer and they both laughed.

  “I’ll take that as a yes.” He pivoted on his boots and headed toward the opposite end of the square.

  “Where are we going?” Mirella asked, lengthening her short steps to match his long stride.

  “Have you ever tried roasted lamouris?” He smiled and nodded at the passersby.

  “No, I haven’t. Is it any good?” She kept looking around as if she wanted to take it all in, the sights, the scents, the cacophony of sounds.

  Shouting, two street urchins chased each other, flying their homemade wooden hoverboards amongst the crowd. People yelled at them to go somewhere else, but Mirella seemed amused by the adolescents’ antics.

  “Wait until you try Mama Bee’s roast and answer that for yourself.” He dragged her along toward the end of the square, where they left the throng behind and entered a narrow alley.

  Built in a time when city regulations weren’t respected much, the buildings on either side of the street were attached at the roofs as if the constructions were leaning against each other for support, creating an arched canopy over the alley.

  “Where are we?” A few steps into the dark passage, Mirella squeezed his hand, slowing her pace.

  “We’re almost there.” He patted her arm. “Look, fourth door on the right—” He pointed at the front entrance with a red wooden door with a brass knocker in the shape of a lamouris’ head dangling from a ring.

  “Is that a restaurant?” she asked, but resumed her walking.

  “More of a trattoria of old.”

  “What’s a trattoria?”

  “They were like small eateries which catered for a handful of clients at a time. The owner was usually the cook and the rest of the family served at the tables.” Valentine stopped before the red door that showed heavy signs of wear and tear in the peeling paint. “Ready?” After a wink to Mirella, he knocked twice using the brass head.

  A moment later, a large woman wearing a dark tunic and a purple turban opened the panel. As soon as she saw Valentine, she smiled and opened her arms to welcome him in a warm embrace.

  “Hi, Mama Bee,” Valentine said.

  “Master, it’s been so long since your last visit.” The woman released him and turned her penetrating black eyes to Mirella. “Is this your Blessed Bride?” she asked in her Northern accent.

  “Yes.” Valentine stepped away from Mama Bee.

  “What an honor to have the Blessed Bride eating at my kitchen.” The woman bowed before Mirella at first, then she huffed and exited the doorway to take Mirella in her arms. “It’s such a pleasure to meet this rascal’s bride at long last.”

  Mirella’s argentine laugh warmed Valentine’s heart.

  “It’s nice to meet you too, Mama Bee,” his bride said with a cute curtsey.

  The Northern cook blushed and chuckled, then stepped to the side to let them inside her establishment.

  Chapter Twenty

  When Valentine had described the place as a small eatery, he had been generous.

  Mama Bee’s “trattoria,” as he had called it, was a kitchen, and not even a big one at that. And definitely not the kind of establishment she had envisioned him frequenting. Mirella’s walk-in closet at Lobo Mansion was easily four times the size of the restaurant.

  A beige porcelain sink, a huge, black, cast-iron stove—an ancient gas model with glass pipes connecting the cumbersome appliance to the wall—one white table, four chairs, and a light-blue cupboard were the only furniture populating the narrow room with the low ceiling. Red, orange, and white garlands made of peppers and garlic decorated the fading turquoise walls. The only window present, opening into the dark alley, was covered with a white and sunflower-yellow checkered curtain. Everything had seen better days, but the place was clean and it smelled divine. Mirella had never set foot in a restaurant like that and immediately loved it.

  “Please, take a seat and I’ll serve you promptly.” Mama Bee left them at the door and took position before the stove where each of the ten burners was occupied with pots and pans.

  Valentine offered Mirella a chair and she sat.

  “What’s today’s special?” Valentine asked, sitting at the square table with a rickety leg.

  Mama Bee answered by pointing at the pots. “Shrooms and fennel in a sweet gravy, and marinated leeks.” She then indicated the pans. “Trout from Lake Balan, served with spicy couscous, and congee.” Finally, she bent to open the oven drawer under the stove. “And off course, my roast with potatoes and wild herbs I collected this very morning from the meadow.”

  Valentine made appreciative sounds at every dish the woman listed, but at the mention of the roast he applauded. “I would’ve been so disappointed if I came all the way here and you didn’t have the lamouris. I promised Mirella a real treat—” he stopped abruptly.

  Mama Bee turned and raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow at him. “And we wouldn’t want to ruin that for you, would we?” She cocked her head to give Mirella a knowing look, which Mirella didn’t know how to interpret, then the woman resumed her cooking.

  True to her words, Mama Bee served them a full meal in a matter of minutes. She deposited plate after plate on the table until there was no space left on the checkered tablecloth.

  “Try this.” Valentine took a morsel from the bowl heaping
with the brown gravy and proceeded to feed Mirella.

  At first, Mirella was embarrassed that he would do something so intimate in front of someone else, but Mama Bee smiled at her when their eyes locked, then turned her back to them, busying herself in the kitchen.

  Valentine didn’t seem to notice Mirella’s reticence and spooned some congee for her. “Can you taste the cardamom?” he asked as she savored the rice porridge.

  Mirella nodded. “It’s really good.”

  Next, her husband shredded a chunk of tender lamouris with his fork, then used a piece of soft sweet bread to soak the juices from the plate and took both to her mouth. “Close your eyes.”

  Her breath hitched and her heart skipped a beat, but she did as he had requested. Without the use of sight, her remaining senses were amplified. A wooden spoon hit the copper walls of a pot. Hurried steps echoed from the alley. The smell of grounded rosemary and thyme wafted up from the plate in front of her. Valentine’s fingers against her lips were at the same time soft and unyielding.

  “Open your mouth,” he said, and she obeyed.

  A foreign current passed through her body, part excitement and part embarrassment. He pushed the food into her open mouth and she couldn’t help but moan.

  The meat was like nothing she had ever tasted, and the bread was soft and spongy. A trickle of roast juice fell to her chin. Her hand instinctively reached up to clean her skin, but Valentine pushed it away. He licked the juice with his velvety tongue, but didn’t stop at her chin, following the contour of her throat down to its hollow spot.

  Shocked by the sensual desire his act had evoked in her, Mirella gasped, opening her eyes to find Valentine staring at her with his hungriest gaze yet.

  Mama Bee chuckled, then shook her head. “Master Lobo…”

  “What do you think of the roast?” he asked Mirella without blinking.

  “It’s the best I’ve ever had.” In truth, after that meal, food would never have the same appeal.

  Her husband had just ruined eating for her. Unless he was there to feed her.

  Valentine didn’t let her use her utensils once. When Mama Bees announced she had made a special dessert for them, her husband’s eyes twinkled with a child-like joy.