The Midwinter Mail-Order Bride

by Kati Wilde

  That could not be the only reason. “But it is not only the women. When I think that I might not see him again, I feel such pain.”

  “That is also not love. Love begets no pain.”

  “Then what is it? Because it feels like a knife in my chest.”

  “It is longing. Dread. Perhaps fear.” The older woman’s gaze burned into Anja’s. “Love and kindness are the most powerful of all magics—and not only for the one who gives, but also for whom the magic is bestowed upon. So love is nothing to dread or fear.”

  Excruciating pressure built within her chest. On a strained whisper, she asked, “What if it’s not returned?”

  “Do you give a gift expecting one in return? Or do you give it for the happiness it gives?”

  “What if it doesn’t make him happy? What if it means nothing at all?”

  “Then hope he knows kindness, too,” the old woman said, her voice warm with sympathy. “Love gives the most. But it also takes the most.”

  “I fear it will leave me with nothing.”

  The woman patted Anja’s hand. “Fear is also a strong magic. As is courage. So tell me, Anja of Ivermere—which magic will you wield?”

  Eyes filled with tears, Anja shook her head. “I don’t know.” A watery laugh escaped her. “Perhaps when I’m desperate enough, I’ll find my courage.”

  “You seem desperate enough now,” the old woman said dryly, but did not wait for a response. Instead she braced her cane against the floor and rose to her feet. “And there is my sister, waving at me to come to her. Merry Midwinter, Anja.”

  “Merry Midwinter…” She had not asked the woman’s name. But the opportunity passed, because when she raised her head her gaze caught Kael’s—and she realized belatedly that her eyes still shimmered with tears. Hastily she wiped them away, but his face had already darkened and he was striding toward her, and the old woman was moving away.

  “What happened?” he demanded. “You’re crying.”

  “I’m well. I was only talking to…that woman there.” Anja spotted her in the crowd and pointed in her direction.

  Kael’s eyes narrowed after her. “Is that a witch?”

  She almost flinched at the term. But to him, or anyone from the Dead Lands, it apparently was not a curse but a title of honor. “It is.”

  Kael abruptly grinned. “We are all fortunate, then. When anyone of such powerful magic is near, Midwinter wishes are more likely to be granted.”

  He sounded truly elated by the prospect. And when he didn’t return to his friends but took the seat the old woman had vacated, Anja’s heart filled at his very nearness.

  “What have you wished for?” she asked him.

  But of course he would not say. Instead he laughed and shook his head.

  “What gift would you ask for, then?” she wondered. “You are the ruler of four kingdoms, and a man of plenty. Yet there must be something you need. So what would you ask of me for your Midwinter gift?”

  His intense gaze caught hers. His voice was gruff as he said, “Forgiveness.”

  Brow creasing, she searched his face, and tried to think of anything he’d said that required it. “For what?”

  “For something I haven’t done yet.”

  She huffed out a laughing breath. “Consult me when you do, then, and I will consider it.” Abruptly she bit her lip. “But you had best do it by tomorrow. After that I will be in Ivermere.”

  “Don’t be so certain,” he said before sprawling back in his seat and extending his powerful legs. “And what gift would you like from me? Dryloch, Vale? My stronghold?”

  Nothing so big…nothing so small.

  Heart pounding in her throat, she recalled how he had described magic: an unseen force that changed the world. Anja wanted a different world than the one she had. She only needed a bit of courage.

  But when she reached for that courage, she found more than she’d known. It was waiting, bold and full, for her to use.

  “A kiss,” she told him. “I want a kiss.”

  And although he was a man of sudden and volatile action, Kael did not move at all. Instead he stared at her, as if not entirely certain he’d heard. “A kiss from me?”

  “Yes.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Why want something you would only tolerate?”

  She had said that once. “That was when I didn’t know you. But now it is something I desire.” Her courage faltered slightly when still he didn’t move, and she added on a whisper, “Very much.”

  Slowly, he straightened up from his sprawl, bracing his feet on the floor and leaning forward in his chair with his eyes locked on hers. “And the touch of my hands, you want that?”

  Her breath shuddered. “So very much.”

  A fire seemed to light behind his eyes. “My mouth upon your tits? My tongue on your clit?”

  At his shocking words, sheer need gripped her inner muscles achingly tight, and she gasped her reply. “Yes.”

  His scarred knuckles whitened, fingers wrapping around the arms of his chair as if preparing to push out of it—or trying to keep himself in. “And my cock deep inside you?” His voice was a growl. “You want that, too, Anja? You want me to fuck your virgin cunt and fill you with my seed?”

  So badly she couldn’t speak. Only nod, her face flaming, her most intimate flesh so wet that she could feel the moisture pooling at the juncture of her thighs.

  All at once he bounded out of his seat, those tightly coiled muscles releasing their tension—and carrying him past her chair in long, powerful strides. In disbelief, she whipped around. He had already reached the door leading outside, his path clearly marked by the startled villagers who were staggering in his wake.

  Then he was gone. Leaving her alone.

  Leaving a great emptiness where her heart had been.

  Because she’d mistaken everything. She’d thought he’d only said those things because he wanted them, too. But he must have been asking the extent of the Midwinter gift she wanted from him. And he must not have wanted to give them in return…because he hadn’t been able to escape fast enough.

  Anja the Unwanted.

  Blinded by tears, she turned away, unable to bear seeing that empty doorway. Unable to bear any of this. Being unwanted had always hurt, but never had it destroyed her. And destroyed she had been. Every breath seemed like a knife stabbing into the gaping wound that was left in her chest, the remains of a heart that had been butchered.

  A commotion slowly filtered through the haze of devastation. Then Kael’s irritated bellow ripped the haze away.

  “Cease your struggles, witch! And put away that stick, crone, or by the gods, I will—”

  A solid thwack cut him off and his shouted curse echoed through the inn. Through Anja’s tear-blurred vision, a mountain seemed to be coming her way—a mountain with a crow flapping wildly around his head. In his arms he carried the old woman. Another white-haired woman, who must have been her sister, chased after him, hitting his head and shoulders with her cane.

  With lips pursed sourly, the witch told him, “I would have come. No need to carry me as a child.”

  “You did not move fast enough.” His burning gaze shot across the room and met Anja’s. “Only you can give me a wife this night—and I need to bed my bride.”

  His bride. His bride.

  The tears Anja had been trying to hold back began pouring down her cheeks.

  “You do not even have a red ribbon!” the sister crowed, whacking his shoulder. “There can be no binding without one.”

  Shouting again, Kael spun to address the gathering crowd. “I need a red ribbon! Does anyone have a ribbon—”

  Someone called that they had one, but Anja didn’t see who it was. Suddenly Kael was standing before her and he was all that she saw.

  Carefully, he set down the old woman. The next moment Anja’s cheeks were cupped in his rough palms, his thumbs wiping away her tears.

  “Are you not happy?” he asked softly. “It is more than you asked for, b
ut if you wish for me to give your gift, then you must first give this to me.”

  “I cry because I am happy.” A watery laugh escaped her. “And a Midwinter gift should not be offered with a condition attached.”

  “It is how a king gives a Midwinter gift.”

  Giggling, she shook her head. From somewhere a red ribbon was waved in their direction. Kael took the length of crimson and handed it over to the witch.

  “Asking for ribbons and wives,” Anja teased him. “Is that what a king also does? The man with the most plenty, also asking for the most gifts.”

  “The most plenty?” His gaze caught hers, shining with intense blue fire. “Without you, Anja, I have nothing.”

  The response took her breath away. She could only stare at him, her heart whole again—and so very full.

  His gaze never leaving her face, he told the witch, “Marry us. Right here. Right now.”

  Her eyes sparkling, the witch said, “Put your hands together for the binding.”

  They both towered over the older woman, though Kael far more than Anja. Facing him, Anja held up her hand. His palm met hers, so much larger, yet still their fingers aligned and the witch slowly wove the ribbon between them.

  Over her gray head, Kael asked, “Do you still intend to kill me in our wedding bed?”

  Anja grinned. “No.”

  “I do not care if you do,” he said, “as long as I have you first. I will kiss you this night, Anja. No inch of your skin will be left unkissed.”

  The old woman clucked her tongue. “You should not make promises you cannot keep, especially as you make your pledge. The binding must remain intact until dawn, so there will be many things you cannot do with your bride this night.”

  Kael’s brows drew together and he frowned at her darkly. “What can’t we do?”

  “You must avoid the wren,” the witch added, “for that position would strain her shoulder too much. The centaur, too. And the wolf—”

  “No,” Kael said flatly. “I will have her that way.”

  “It cannot be done.”

  His fiery gaze caught Anja’s again. “We will see about that.”

  The old woman gave him another warning look, which went unheeded. Clucking her tongue again, she lifted the two ends of the red ribbon, which had been wound through their fingers and around their wrists but was still untied.

  In a raised voice, she announced to the now-silent crowd, “These two are not yet bound together. So we gather to witness their joining, as two become one.”

  Her heart thundering, Anja smiled happily up at Kael—who did not smile back, but watched her with all-consuming hunger smoldering in his eyes. His palm was like a hot stone against hers. His body seemed preternaturally still, as if simply waiting for this binding to finish before exploding into motion.

  With a quick glance at Anja, the witch said, “Princess Anja of Ivermere, do you—”

  “Anja the Wolfkiller,” Kael added. “And the Huntress.”

  She began again. “Princess Anja of Ivermere, the Wolfkiller, the Huntress, do you pledge yourself to this man and vow to be his faithful wife?”

  “Yes,” she said breathlessly.

  “Wife,” Kael echoed on a growl, then threw his head back and roared, “Is that bedchamber ready?”

  From the corner of her vision, Anja saw the innkeeper and his wife turn deathly pale, then rush away.

  “I don’t care if it isn’t,” Kael said, his eyes hot on hers. “I will take you upon this floor if I must.”

  “You will not take her yet,” the witch said. “We have first your pledge to finish, and you have names to last all night.”

  “Then begin saying them, woman!”

  The witch took her time before starting, mumbling his names to herself and counting upon her fingers. Then she lifted her voice and said, “Kael of the Skull Clan of the Dead Lands, the Butcherer, the Pitiless, the Conqueror, the Raviner, also the Wolfkiller, but only a small wolf, and with a rock—”

  That was said with a sly smirk and twinkling eyes, but Kael gave no reaction, his gaze only for Anja. Only when she giggled did he respond with the barest twitch of his lips.

  “—Disemboweler of Eathe, Silencer of Qul Wrac, Destroyer of Toatin Zan—”

  A hearty cheer rose from those Kael had known from the mines.

  “—Slaughterer of Geofry the Child-Eater—”

  That drew a roar of approval from everyone, with clapping hands and stomping feet that was so loud and went on for so long that Kael bellowed for silence so she could continue.

  “—Ruler of the Four Kingdoms of Grimhold, Vale, Lyngfen, and Dryloch.” A frown creased her wrinkled forehead. “Is that all of them?”

  “Kael the Free,” Anja said. “That is the most important.”

  “No,” he returned, his voice so guttural that each word seemed to emerge from deep within his broad chest, and his fingers shook against hers. “There is one more important that I do not have yet—Kael, Husband to Anja.”

  “Then do you pledge yourself to this woman?” the witch asked solemnly. “Do you vow to be her faithful husband?”

  “I do,” he said hoarsely, bringing their bound hands to his heart. “Forever.”

  The old woman tied the ends of the ribbon together. “Then you are now wife and husband—”

  It was Anja who moved first, leaping forward and catching his hair with her free hand and dragging him down for a kiss. Though there was not much dragging, for he met her halfway, capturing her parted lips beneath his own, then delving past them with a penetrating lick that pierced her to the hot, liquid core between her thighs. The villagers’ cheers and stomping began again as Kael’s mouth ravished hers. Then the villagers might as well have vanished, because he was her husband now, and kissing her as if she was his next breath, the next beat of his heart—and for the very first time in her life, Anja felt completely and deliciously wanted. And beyond that, needed.

  With a rough groan, Kael locked his forearm behind the small of her back and lifted her up against his chest, their bound hands trapped between them. His mouth never relinquished hers as he strode through the crowd, each step bumping her knees against his thighs until she instinctively wrapped her legs around his hips.

  And by the gods—how incredible it felt to have his rigid length between her legs instead of against her bottom. That had been thrilling, too, simply having him so close. But now with every step there was pressure against that spot he’d promised to lick, and she only had to rock her hips to increase the pressure, increase the friction, creating a wild storm of pleasure deep inside.

  His mouth tore from hers as he began to the navigate the stairs that would take them to their bed, and where he would give her all the things he’d said. With his mouth, with his tongue. Until he was deep inside her.

  Inside her, inside her, inside her. Exactly where she needed him to be, to quiet this raging storm building within.

  Panting, Anja wildly kissed his neck, his throat. “Hurry, Kael,” she urged him faster. “I’ve waited so long already.”

  Not even knowing what she was waiting for. Pleasure, yes. But she’d never imagined something so frantic, so sweet as this.

  His groan reverberated through his chest. “Then why did you not invite me to kiss you before this?”

  “You sent me home,” she reminded him, and through all the sweetness, a fresh pang struck her heart. Closing her eyes, she held him tighter, buried her face against his neck. “It is good you asked for forgiveness this Midwinter. So I’ll forgive you for leaving me alone this eve, believing you’d rejected me again.”

  Abruptly he stopped, which was not what she’d intended for him to do. With their bound hands, he used the backs of his fingers to urge her chin up, for her eyes to meet his. Remorse carved sharp lines through his features. “I only wanted to bind you to me as quickly as I could.”

  “I realized…after,” she said thickly.

  Gently, his mouth brushed hers. “I will do better, wife
.”

  It was already better. Tightening her fingers in his thick hair, she lifted against his erect length, deepening the kiss. But something had changed. Where he had been so impatient before, promising to take her on the floor if their bed wasn’t ready and roaring at any delay, now his tongue leisurely stroked over hers as if there was no hurry at all.

  Oh, but there was. Yet no matter how she moaned and rocked desperately against him, Kael kissed her in the same way that he walked—a steady prowl, as if he were searching out all the pleasure that could be found between her lips. But she needed his volatile burst of action, instead.

  Yet even passing into the bedchamber didn’t speed him. Slowly he lowered her to the bed. Slowly he came down over her, pinning their bound hands beside her head and bracing his weight upon his knees. When he broke the kiss, she whimpered and arched beneath him, yet he didn’t push apart her thighs and shove his cock deep inside her as he’d promised.

  Instead he started at the first promise, softly pressing his lips to her cheeks, her nose, her chin. Kissing every inch of her skin. Steadily prowling again.

  She was far beyond that. “Kael,” she begged. “Please.”

  His response was to tilt her chin back and kiss the length of her neck. Anja shivered with pleasure for every touch of his lips, yet still it wasn’t enough. She used his own words, too desperate to even blush, hoping to prod him into that explosive rush. “I need you to fuck my…fuck my…”

  Oh she could not.

  “Virgin cunt?” His voice was a deep growl against her throat.

  “Yes,” she breathed.

  He only kissed the hollow beneath her ear, then sucked on her lobe. She moaned and her fingers clenched in his hair as she felt that erotic pull through every womanly part of her. By the gods, her ear. How did that feel so good?

  But not as good as the pinch of his teeth. She gasped, her entire body afire, and he said hotly into her ear, “You have another name that we did not use in the pledging: Anja the Virgin. And while you are still she, my wife, I will be Kael the Gentle and Slow.”

  She laughed breathlessly. “I just want you to be Kael the Thorough, and rend my maidenhead with your sword.”