by Kat Bastion
Light flickered in as a burst of wind jostled the animal skin hanging over the front entrance. Details of my situation floated back . . . minus any explanation of why all my clothes and boots had gone missing. I sat upright, holding the insulating fur up to my chest, and scanned my surroundings, my eyesight adjusting to the darkened room. Blessedly, I’d been left alone.
With all the grace of a giraffe righting itself from the ground, I got up limb by limb from the pallet, managing to wrap the fur around my body as I straightened. A quick inventory of the place yielded none of my former attire. I did find small leather pieces and an additional fur that hadn’t been there the night before draped over the back of a low wooden chair. I hesitated, not entirely certain they were meant for me, until I noticed soft leather boots about my size next to the clothing articles.
Since no “Dress Yourself in Pictwear for Dummies” manual had been left, I did my best to figure out how to wrap and fasten the skins around my body. Interestingly, the outfit resembled the hunting garb Iain had provided me, only Velloc’s version—a bikini halter top and short, wraparound skirt—made me feel like I’d stepped onto a photo shoot for the latest Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue. Lovely.
Dressed in my only option, I swallowed my modesty. I sat down and slipped on the first boot, crisscrossing the strips of leather up my shin and securing them. The leather-bound poultice had been removed from my other foot, so I examined the slightly swollen ankle. Near-painless rotation in every direction proved the injury had mostly healed. I laced up the second boot as I considered the pelt that remained over the chair. The fur’s long, course-looking hairs felt soft as I ran my fingers through them. The winter coat of a wolf, perhaps. I grabbed one edge and spun it around, draping part of the material behind me and tossing the extra length over a shoulder.
High-pitched yips and squeals of little ones rose above the continuous rushing of waves. With no window in the small structure to spy from, I remained rooted to the dirt floor, bolstering my courage. I took a deep breath and exhaled to the count of ten, reminding myself of who I’d become—a survivor.
I peeled back the entrance flap. Vivid reality beckoned me to come out and play, activity abounding everywhere. Children chased or were being chased by four small pups. Women chatted and laughed in small groups, performing various tasks: drying fish, treating and working leather, and carrying baskets across the meadow toward the forest. Five girls sat around a smoldering fire pit, their hands occupied with something in their laps.
The men were nowhere to be found. Velloc hadn’t just left me alone . . . he’d left. Anxiety fluttered up from my stomach. My sole protector had left without a word.
But then, what should he have done? Left a yellow sticky note? I laughed at the thought, my humor calming the sudden panic like a dose of Valium.
Curiosity spurred me on. I wandered unchecked amid round stone buildings with thatched roofs. The bustling people paid me little heed.
A thick blanket of cloud cover concealed the exact location of the time-telling sun, but it seemed like I’d slept well into the afternoon. Repeated stress and sleep deprivation had knocked my exhausted ass out as if I’d been chloroformed. No wonder I’d been cluelessly disrobed.
Motivated by a natural inquisitiveness and a need to assimilate, I meandered toward the women by the fire. They sorted baskets of food—shellfish, vegetables, roots, and herbs—as they laughed and whispered, appearing to gossip. One glanced up, said something, and the whole group hushed. Faces popped up, assessing the newcomer approaching their clique. I straightened my spine and forced a wide smile, ignoring the nervous roil of my stomach as I realized their topic of discussion: me.
In an empty spot on a broad log, I sat and nodded, opening my extended hands. The one closest to me handed me a basket of mussels, and I watched carefully as she sorted them. Open or cracked shells were tossed into a discard pile. I touched the rough edge of one shell, and it snapped shut. I gasped, jerking my finger back, and the entire group laughed.
“I’m Isobel,” I said once their chatter died down.
Lots of blank expressions followed.
I pointed at myself, reenacting my primitive standard introduction. “Eeee-sooo-bellll.”
A bright girl about my age pointed at me. “Isobel,” she repeated, with slow enunciation. She smiled, flat palming her chest. “Dotán.”
Finally. I’d made a breakthrough in my communication quest. Around the circle, each girl introduced herself and repeated my name, everyone enjoying the game. I took full advantage of the instant camaraderie, drafting off the momentum of the speeding translation train, and held up one of the shells in my lap.
“Mussel.”
Unblinking stares were my only reply.
“Mussel,” I repeated, tapping the shell with the index finger of my other hand.
Dotán offered the name for it. “Seynah.”
Aaand . . . we’re off! I grabbed every object I could find, and they supplied their translation for each: pelt, boot, basket, fire, log. The words were short and easy to pronounce, so we kept going, and I continued absorbing, like the driest sponge dropped at the edge of an enormous sea.
I held up a lock of my hair, identifying it. “Blond.” Among the group, my pale shade stood out from their vivid browns, auburns, and blacks.
They responded with a word that, for all I knew, could’ve meant hair. Common sense told me it probably had.
I grasped a lock of Dotán’s silky raven hair with my other hand. “Black,” I said. They giggled. I shook my head, laughing and joining the amusement. Colors seemed too difficult to distinguish from the objects themselves, so I shelved that clarification challenge for a later date.
After exhausting the supply of identifiable items around the fire, the girls abandoned their kitchen tasks, dragging me around their village, delighting in our new game. Thank God I’d been blessed with a photographic memory—a vital weapon for rapid retention.
In our quest for new subject matter, we wandered toward the outskirts, and a weathered, middle-aged woman who was hanging tanned animal hides barked a curt word at us. The course command doused our lightheartedness like a snuffed out candle, the girls instantly losing their smiles and turning around. With a swift pace, we returned to our abandoned food preparations, taking our former places while two of them whispered heatedly. I decided they were grumbling about the woman who still glared at us from afar, since overseeing our obedience had become her new primary function. We sorted in relative silence, finishing the preparations of a very large meal.
Suddenly, animal cries pierced the calm, a couple of teenage boys sounding some kind of alarm. Answers were carried to our ears on the wind. The dogs arrived first, circling the village several times. Two broke off and rolled around with the puppies.
Minutes later, dozens of men approached, carrying fresh kills from a hunt: a deer, several rabbits, and a goose dangling by its neck from one hunter’s fist. Velloc brought up the rear, accompanied by several men who held a regal, experienced air about them.
Velloc scanned the crowd until we locked gazes, and a smile lit up his face. He was either pleased that I’d worn the outfit he’d provided or that I’d had the wits to properly to dress myself in it; but perhaps he’d simply been happy that I’d been accepted by his tribe. If it was the last theory, that made two of us. In what had become my best academic day ever, I’d learned volumes in hours about the lost culture and language of the mysterious Picts.
* * *
Meat roasted on wooden spits over several small fires, and I watched as everyone helped themselves to a share with their own knife. I hadn’t any need for food weaponry, apparently. Velloc brought over a diverse sampling of food to where I intentionally sat away from the group, choosing to take a break from the day’s sensory overload by observing from afar. Before I had the chance to express my thanks, he left and mingled with the rest of his people.
An entire buffet had been prepared for the communal gathering. I ha
dn’t determined if they celebrated a special event or if the bounty represented their nightly meal. I slowly ate delicious mussels and tender root vegetables off an earthenware plate with my fingers as I silently watched everyone in the group interact.
A clear hierarchy existed among the men of the tribe, and each woman’s standing fell in line with their associated males: fathers, brothers, husbands, and sons. Seasoned men—aged anywhere from their midtwenties to around forty—told suspenseful tales as younger men gathered close, hanging on every uttered word.
Velloc did much of the storytelling in the beginning, becoming the very warrior he portrayed with his fierce growls and the animal fur covering his back. After he finished a hunting tale to a round of shouts and whistles, he mumbled to the man to his right, nodded, and stood. Based on everyone’s generous no-questions-asked acceptance of me, and also the respect that every person young and old showed him, I’d come to a conclusion about Velloc: he was not only a leader among their warriors—he was the chieftain of their tribe.
Looking very much the dark predator amid his pack of wolves, Velloc took a direct line of approach to where I sat alone on a rock. Firelight danced shadows across the hard planes of his face. His intense expression was indiscernible, so I inhaled a steadying breath, readying for anything.
As he neared, Velloc extended an opened hand in invitation. The novel, gentle-mannered gesture surprised me. Intrigued by his change in demeanor, I cocked my head, accepting his request. With a firm grip, he pulled me up and held my hand tightly as if he’d been given a treasured gift.
He led me into the growing darkness, away from the crowd. Hand in hand, we walked down a worn earthen pathway overlooking a beach illuminated by the silvery cloud-cloaked glow of the moon.
“Isobel.” He articulated my name with quiet admiration.
A full minute ticked by as we continued to walk with no other sound coming from him. I glanced his way and saw him staring at the ground with a contemplative expression on his face. I spoke in the same respectful tone. “Velloc.”
Velloc stopped, pulling me to a halt with him. He looked at me, and I smirked. We had so much to say, but our discussion toolbox was disappointingly empty. He gave me a wicked smirk back. Well, there you go. On pure instinct, we’d communicated volumes without uttering a word.
All hadn’t turned into a vocabulary total loss, however. I pointed to my leather-covered foot. “Boot.” I beamed with pride as I provided his Pict term for it. Then I pulled forward a lock of my hair, holding the strands that seemed to fascinate him. “Hair.” I still hadn’t identified their word for yellow or golden, so I used my own. “Blond hair.” After which, I repeated the entire thing in English.
Velloc repeated my English, “Blond hair.” He chuckled.
I placed my hand in his again, tugging him along, recounting my repertoire of new vocabulary words in the only Pict dialect to ever grace modern ears. The beautiful language spilled from my lips like poetry. He added to my collection, pointing out and naming the ocean, the sky, a rock. I got confused when things encompassed a larger group, like the forest versus a tree, or the village versus a dwelling. But since I’d already mentally documented a dictionary of Pict vocabulary compared to any scholar I knew, I let all the inconsequential details slide.
We circled up toward the forest and curved down into the village through the flatland buffer. Five of their wolfish dogs spotted us and raced to our side as if we’d again become newcomers. Like a hired personal guard, they flanked us until we entered the perimeter of their dwellings.
An orange glow from the dying fires provided faint illumination on the way to Velloc’s home. The jovial banter of our word identifying had faded into a pall of silence. The tension mounted, suspended between us like the ocean mist in the air, as I worried about how to spend another platonic night with him after our intimate communication breakthrough . . . that had only gotten as far as basic nouns.
Velloc stepped inside first and held the flap open, waiting. With nowhere else to go but into the darkness of the wolf’s den, I followed. The leather covering dropped shut, sealing me into my unknown fate.
Shadows enveloped me. Velloc’s presence pressed in from behind without contact, his innate power charging the small space. Every ounce of the alpha I’d witnessed publicly carried through to the essence of the man in private. Overwhelmed, I struggled for air, moving forward to increase the distance between us.
Hot breath steamed across the back of my neck, and I realized he’d moved in concert with me. He removed the fur wrapped around my shoulders, and I shivered, the response having nothing to do with the cold air. My toes hit the edge of the pallet, and I sank down onto it, pivoting as I pressed my back against the uneven stone wall, folding my legs in front of me as a barrier.
The edge of the cushion shifted under his weight. What felt like the backs of his fingers caressed my cheek. I swallowed, trying to calm myself in an inky darkness where our already-difficult means of communication had been reduced to touch.
Trepidation pumped through my veins, teetering toward full-blown anxiety. My nerves had become a runaway coach. I inhaled, grabbing the reins, refusing to succumb to feeling out of control. Firm hands encircled my wrists, pulling me from the wall, urging me to recline.
I resisted.
He insisted.
His body stretched alongside mine. Evidence of his arousal pressed into my thigh and enormous heat radiating into my skin told me that he’d stripped naked while my back had been turned. Panicked, I tried to scoot back, but the rock wall prevented my retreat.
Trapped. In his world. In a situation not of my making.
“Velloc, I can’t do this.”
I arched away from his touch, only to find I’d given his mouth access to my neck. Frantic to tell him to stop, I pressed a hand to his chest, giving a forceful shove. He grabbed my arm by the wrist again and pinned it over my head, leaning his weight forward. With a quick shift of his body, his legs locked over my shins, spreading my legs. His sheer strength and deft leverage held me restrained. His short, hot breaths steamed my lips. He waited. I tensed. His firm hold gave me no leeway.
Unconsciously, I licked my lips. Velloc growled low in response. I couldn’t figure out if he’d seen the involuntary movement or heard it, because I couldn’t see a thing. He curved his hips into mine, his erection pressing down in perfect alignment to every nerve beginning to light up.
My pulse quickened as heat flooded deep within me. On an instant throb, I arched my hips up without control. The unnerving reaction—born of a fierce arousal I failed to understand—confused me. My body betrayed everything I’d once held sacred and true, but faster than the wingbeat of a hummingbird, fear had transformed into a fiery awakening, instinct ruling my actions.
Tired of being lost and afraid, I clung to the heady drug washing through me as it cleansed away any last obstructing inhibitions. Ravenous hunger overtook me as an all-encompassing sensory awareness poured into my body, seeking to feed until the fire burning through every cell had been quenched.
Velloc growled louder, capturing my lips in a bruising kiss as he plunged his tongue into my mouth. My response matched his fervor, the animal that had been unleashed within me biting his lower lip. I rolled my hips, trying to gain relief from the growing ache inside. He ground down onto me, restricting my movement, but gave me what I sought as he dragged his shaft along sparking nerves.
I moaned at the torturous movements. The contact wasn’t enough. I needed more. He pulled my deerskin halter down beneath my breasts, tracing calloused fingertips across sensitized flesh. A hard pinch of my nipple arced fire between my thighs, and I gasped. His hot mouth seized the other, suckling until teeth bit down. I cried out from the erotic pain.
Moisture slicked down between my bare upper thighs, the undeniable scent of my arousal surrounding us. He scraped up my skirt with his hand, and his erection slid through abundant juices, coating his length as he glided through. I shuddered from the plea
sure. He arched and flexed, setting my every nerve ablaze. When he pulled back again, the tip caught at my entrance, and he thrust hard. My loud gasp echoed off the stone walls as he slammed his hips down, filling me completely.
My body tried to accommodate him, stretching around the invasion. I groaned when he stayed motionless, my ache for release intensifying. I squirmed, lighting up a circuit board of nerves. The overload hurtled me over the brink, a powerful orgasm jerking my body.
I cried out into the darkness. Velloc remained embedded, laying claim to me as my pulsing muscles accepted his assertion with pleasure. He rocked back and rammed forward, a hard, bruising impact drenched in urgency. With methodical precision, he withdrew slowly and pounded forcefully. The jarring blows kept my orgasm pulsing, every thrust pulling a soft whimper from my lips. I met every strike with a curve of my hips, charging flaming nerve centers, prolonging the ecstasy.
He freed my clamped wrist, pressing his palms on either side of me, bracing for leverage as he pumped hard. I skimmed my hands down his back, gripping the muscles of his ass as they flexed and released beneath my hold. His body tensed as an animalistic growl ripped from his chest. He thrust once more before collapsing down around me, his body a muscular cage containing a willing prisoner.
His rough beard scratched against my cheek as he shifted, rolling over, pulling me with him. My body sprawled halfway across his as his strong arms locked me tight to his chest. I hid my face into the dip below his collarbone and closed my eyes.
Like I’d done with so many things of late, I surrendered to forces beyond my control, letting the blessed oblivion of sleep be the second thing to claim me tonight.
* * *
Regret hung heavy in my chest as harsh consciousness tore into the blissful numbness. Velloc had exerted his ownership, expressing his passion for me repeatedly throughout the night. Raw need fueled my eager participation. I’d drowned in the euphoric chemicals, quenching my body and sedating my mind. I drew in a ragged lungful of air, untangling my limbs as I tried to push him away. His grip around me tightened, crumpling me back down onto him in an inelegant slump. I forced a loud sigh through puffed-out cheeks, marking my protest to an unbelievable scenario.
