by Sadie Savage
Catriona inhaled sharply, her vision going hazy as she climaxed. It grew deep within her, spreading from her legs, into a swarming heat that traveled up her stomach and through her chest. She let out a cry - one she was almost surprised to hear from her own mouth. Beneath her, Catriona heard Conall exclaim as well, his grip tightening on her as his body trembled with the force of it. The both of them gasped, breathing deeply as if all the air had been drawn from them.
It was a moment before Catriona came back to her senses, now lying next to Conall on the floor. He ran a hand down her cheek, gently, his eyes warm and wavering. He moved in closer, leaving small kisses on Catriona’s cheeks, her lips, her eyelids.
“You must promise to be careful tomorrow morning,” Conall spoke softly.
Catriona smirked, “I ought to be telling you that, shouldn’t I?”
“I’m not the one carrying a new life within me,” Conall placed a hand on Catriona’s stomach. Catriona’s eyes widened, putting her own hand atop his.
“Good lord, you wolves are potent,” she said before thinking.
Conall blinked in shock at the comment, clearly expecting a different sort of reaction. Then the two of them broke into laughter, unable to contain themselves. Catriona took Conall’s face in her hands and kissed him — eagerly, happily, savoring the moment for all it was worth.
Morning came slowly, allowing the night to step away at its own pace, along with the mist that blanketed the ground. Catriona stood alone near the base of the mountains - not far from the path that she and Conall had traveled on their first journey. She waited, wrapped in a heavy cloak that hung draped from her shoulders. The blood rose to her cheeks against the cold, contrasting sharply against her pale skin as she watched Hector and his men approach. He advanced with a large army of men and horses - they had seen her from some distance away, and deemed it safe to approach for a parley of sorts. Catriona watched with steely eyes as Hector drew his horse before her and looked down from the saddle.
“My darling wife,” he said without affection, “I thought you dead - having been taken captive by these ruthless men.”
It was clear that was the fate he wished for her - perhaps that was the excuse he had been using amongst his friends at court. Catriona wondered why he bothered to put on this show now. Hector tossed Catriona’s knife to the ground with distain. Her heart fluttered for a moment, having forgotten the small weapon long ago. Hector knew the truth, how could he not? If the day proved fatal for the Shifters, the look in Hector’s eyes made it plain that it would be her last as well. Only a short time ago, this would have made Catriona tremble, would have sent a chill through her bones. But now, she lifted her chin and returned his stare.
“We’re offering you a chance to surrender, before there is any needless bloodshed.” She told him calmly.
As expected, Hector laughed, throwing back his head - his men joined in, as always, and the army rippled with their amusement before Hector waved a hand for silence.
“Their own, I’m sure. My Lady -.”
Catriona’s skin rankled as the words passed Hector’s lips. She was no longer his.
“Step aside, or die like an animal along your new friends.” He drew his sword, signaling to his men who too readied their weapons.
“They are not the animals, Hector,” Catriona said - and then all hell broke loose. The wolves burst from the mountains, Conall and his people. They charged the field in their shifted forms, howling and snarling, without warning. Half of Hector’s men fled immediately at the sight, scrambling to turn their terrified horses as dozens of the huge beasts streamed towards them, teeth bared. Those who remained to fight stood little chance. Catriona watched, transfixed, as men were dragged from their saddles - fangs sunk into their legs - or toppled to the ground as wolves heaved their entire bodies against the horses. Where silence hung only moment ago, now the clamor of battle rang. For a moment, it seemed victory would be an easy thing - but as soon one of the men managed to land a blow, he took courage in the sight of the creature’s blood. He cried out, to rally the men, and they returned with renewed vigor to their fight. The wolves flagged, only slightly but enough to allow Hector’s men a better footing on the battleground. Still Catriona did not - could not - move, gazing from the sidelines as men and wolves alike began to soak the grass with the red stains of their blood. Her eyes searched the melee for Conall, for his dark fur and a flash of his amber eyes, but there was no discerning wolf from wolf in this confusion. A wretched yowl pierced the air and Catriona saw one of her comrades fall to the ground, the animal form shed as he lie in the dirt. Arran - the young man Catriona had met upon her arrival. A wound on his side bled freely as he tried to scramble back to his feet - but the soldier before him was already raising his sword again.
Without thinking, Catriona grabbed her discarded knife from the ground and ran into the fight. She had no idea what she was going to do, she could only move forward. Throwing herself at the man, Catriona managed to leap on to the man’s back. He exclaimed in anger and confusion as he tumbled to the ground. Arran watched with shocked amazement as Catriona dug the knife into the enemy’s arm - it wasn’t sharp enough to do much damage at this point, but it was enough to keep him from picking up his sword. The man howled in pain. Catriona pulled out the knife and gazed in disbelief at her work, but there was little time to pause. Suddenly Arran had his arm around her and was pulling her away, staggering as they both ducked for cover and made it out of harm’s way.
They collapsed on the grass, far enough from the fight. Arran panted. “Conall would never forgive me if I let you stay out there,” he said with a strained laugh.
Catriona removed her cloak, all she had at hand, and began to dress Arran’s wound. She looked back at the field distractedly, her terror growing - how many more would be hurt, or be killed before Hector would retreat? As if he could hear her thought echoed across the field, Hector appeared before them, his sword dripping. He spotted Catriona, and a flame seemed to burst in his eyes; he hefted his weapon in his hands and began to charge the woman and the injured man. Catriona took hold of Arran and turned her face away, closing her eyes tightly. But a vicious growl was heard, and Catriona turned her head again to see Conall - at last - crashing into Hector with great force. Conall pinned the Lord to the ground; the body of a man was nothing when weighed down beneath the huge body of a wolf. Conall sunk his teeth into Hector’s arm, forcing him to release his sword. Hector cried out in agony, clawing at the great wolf with his other hand, but it did little. Conall then brought his face close to Hector’s, baring his teeth so that the saliva dripped from them onto Hector’s clothes. The wolf’s hackles stood on end, his ears back, nose wrinkled and drawn. Hector gazed up at the creature before him in terror - trapped.
“Hector!” Catriona called to him, her own voice turned into a growl.
He looked to his former wife helplessly.
She offered no help, only this; “Leave this place - leave Scotland or you will die here.” To back up her statement, Conall snapped his teeth, causing Hector to yelp in fear. The words barely made it from his throat - but he swore, swore to retreat, to remove his men and return to England without word of what had happened there that day. It was that or have his head torn from his body - and Catriona knew how fond he was of keeping it there.
The battle had not been without its losses. The bodies of the fallen were gathered, and Catriona’s heart stung as she saw Lenox’s face among them. Conall reassured her that the man would have been happy with such a death, but the words would take time to truly sooth her. She leaned into Conall and let him hold her tight. They had driven Hector’s men away at last. Catriona thought grimly that more armies could come. Word may still spread of their presence in the mountains, if not the story of their supernatural secret. But as she thought of the child that would soon grow within her, Catriona could only look to the future with hope and happiness.
That night beneath the stars, they held another celebration. More so
mber but still with spirit. The clan made a bonfire for their lost ones, honored them with story and song - and most importantly with drink. Catriona sat with Conall, a sweet sadness in her chest as she watched the people who had so quickly become her new family say farewell to Lenox and the others. Conall placed his hand on hers and Catriona looked to him.
He brushed a few strands of hair from her face and tucked them behind her ear. “You know, I do have to thank Hector for something.”
Catriona balked. “What on earth could you possibly have to thank him for?”
“You.” Conall smiled. “Had I not ended up being captured - like a fool, I must say,” he chuckled, “we never would have had the chance to meet.”
Catriona blushed despite herself. “That is true. I have to congratulate you on being such an incompetent little rebel.” She needed him, poking her fingers into his ribs.
Conall laughed and grabbed Catriona, keeping her from any further attacks. Catriona squirmed with delight, giggling. “Unhand me!”
“No, I’m afraid you’ve wounded my pride while I was trying to be romantic,” Conall teased, holding his grip.
Catriona kicked her legs, managing to push them both over onto the ground. With a bit of effort she pushed herself closer to Conall’s face. He looked up at her coyly.
“Well, if you shan’t let me go, I shall simply have to overpower you,” she said with a smirk.
Conall was going to reply with another clever quip, but before he could do so, Catriona kissed him. He breathed another laugh and released his hold on her. Catriona pulled her head up.
“Oh, you give up so easily!” She exclaimed. But Conall shushed her and pulled her back to his lips with a smile. They kissed tenderly, not with the excitement of the night before but with the contentment of knowing they were safe, and in each other’s arms.
The fire burned brightly, warming the two lovers, and the rest of the pack. That day marked a new life for them all - Catriona had found her new home, and the clan had at last laid claim to one of their own. Who knew if the future would bring more enemies, more fights to be fought - but they knew where they stood, and the clan would never let another army drive them away.
THE END
DRAGON LORD
DRAGON LORD
“I don’t see why I have to be married off to such a loathsome man!”
Alva McCraig circled around her brother, matching his strikes as well as any male swordsman in the land. Their father, Lord McCraig, found her penchant for sword fighting with her brothers unacceptable for a young woman of her stature. He only allowed it as long as she maintained her duties in a society that treated her like a delicate flower, which she abhorred. The only female in a house of six brothers and a mother long passed into her grave, she was more tomboy than lady.
Alva never fit in at the society functions, but her father trotted her to all of them, hoping to marry her off to an eligible member of their rank and file. Recently, he had found success with Lord MacEwan, a man she found as unattractive in looks as well as in personality. Though she had only met the man briefly during a grand ball, he was rumored to be arrogant, ruthless and aggressive. She couldn’t imagine being married to such a man.
“You know that this will seal the peace treaty between our clans.”
“So, I am to be trotted off to get married to someone I despise in order for everyone else to be safe and secure.”
“That is pretty much the case, yes.”
Infuriated by the notion, she quickly countered his thrust and dropped her boot behind his leg, knocking him off kilter and bringing him to the ground. His sword flew from his hand and she stood over him with the tip of hers touching his breast. Smiling down at him, she held him there a moment longer than necessary before pulling the sword away.
“I’d rather fight.”
“Yes, we all know you would. I’d wager that you’d come out victorious too.”
She watched as his body changed, shifting before her eyes. A large black wolf with bright yellow eyes slid easily from beneath her sword and stood looking at her from just beyond the edge. It was something she could never get used to, seeing her brothers shift into wolves as it suited them. She was deeply envious of the ability. Just as quickly as he changed into a beast, he reformed into his human state. He stood smiling at her, still wearing the tattered clothes that had ripped apart in the transformation.
“I hate it when you do that.”
“You just hate that you can’t do that.”
“It is entirely unfair not being able to shift. Our family is one of the original clans in Scotland. We’ve been here for thousands of years and are full of wolf shifters, everyone but me, it seems.”
“Not just you, but all the females in the family. You act as if being a woman is a curse. You have no idea how good you have it. We have to work. We have to fight. You get married off to some fancy Lord and instantly create peace while moving into his wealthy estate and being waited on hand and foot.”
“You think being a woman is that easy, huh? You’d feel differently if you were subjected to the pawing of a man you don’t care for and forced to bear his children.”
“I wonder what they’ll be?”
“What do you mean? They’ll be children.”
“No. I mean will they shift into wolves? I hear that the MacEwans are dragon shifters. You might have a son that shifts into a fire breathing wolf or a howling dragon!”
“Are you seriously making light of my predicament? I should have sunk the sword into your chest before you shifted!”
“You’d never do that to me. You love me.”
“Yes. You are my sixth favorite brother.”
“You’ve a sharp tongue, Sis. I hope you intend to temper that with Lord MacEwan. Peace treaty won’t be a lasting long if he doesn’t treat you well.”
“Of course. I will be a perfect lady so that all the land may have peace while I have peril.”
“You shouldn’t look at it like that. You might enjoy all the finery you’ll be granted. There’s hope that you’ll be a lady, after all!”
Alva swatted at him playfully as he dodged her hand and laughed. He grabbed his sword and motioned for her to come back with him. She followed behind, still scowling. He was lucky that he wasn’t female. He would never have to suffer being married off as if he were livestock being traded for barley. It was demeaning. If her mother were alive, somehow, Alva thought she would not have allowed such a thing to happen to her.
“There is nothing unladylike about me. You just don’t want to admit that you had to shift into your wolf form because you were defeated by a girl!”
Alva laughed playfully as she pulled her long honey wheat hair out of the neat bun it had been pinned into and shook it free about her shoulders. Her bright blue eyes twinkled in the sunlight as her laughter sang along the pines that surrounded them in the nearby forest. She might well be a tomboy and given to sport with her brothers, but she was one of the most beautiful girls in the land. There was many a saddened suitor who had sought her heart and failed.
Walking into the house, she considered the misfortune of having been so picky about who she would like to marry only to have the choice taken away from her. There had been some boys she had dated that would have been preferable to Lord MacEwan, but she had not known a day like this would come. She told herself that there was no rush to marry though some would deem her an old maid. Her mother had loved her father very much and that is what she wanted for herself, a house filled with love and devotion.
“It’s not fair!”
The words she uttered to herself still echoed along the walls of her childhood home. She looked around, knowing it would be far behind her soon. She would live elsewhere with a man she did not care for. He would take her as his wife and she would bear his children. The thought made her shudder. Children were wonderful and beautiful, but not something she had ever envisioned for herself. She had believed she would find someone as passionate as herself given to adventu
re and fun. There would be none of that where she was going. Of that, she was certain.
It seemed like the day to leave for Lord MacEwan’s estate had arrived before she knew it. The servants had all of her things neatly packed and loaded into the carriage that would take her to her new home. Giving it one last shot, she begged her father for a change of heart.
“Please, I’m begging you. Don’t’ send me off to that horrid excuse of a man.”
“You hardly know him, Alva. You might be well surprised how well suited for one another you are.”
“Exactly! I hardly know him and I’m being shipped to him like a neatly wrapped gift. How could you do this to me?”
“Don’t be so dramatic, Alva. You’ll quickly be an old maid if I leave it up to you to choose a husband. You’d rather spar with your brothers than court a suitable mate. This pairing will create a much needed peace between our clans and I think you’ll find it isn’t as unpleasant as you think.”
“You have no idea if it will be unpleasant for me or not! You don’t care!”
“Of course I care. You are my only daughter. Just give it a chance, Alva. You’ll do just fine.”
“So you say. I’ll never forgive you for this. Never!”
Her father looked at her forlornly as she hugged each of her brother’s goodbye, tears falling down her face. Moments later, she was seated in the carriage and on her way to her new life. It felt like a death sentence as she made the three-day journey, stopping periodically in towns along the way for food and rest. At each rest stop, she contemplating running away, but she had no means of support and nowhere to go. Far worse could happen to her out on her own than having to marry a man she didn’t care for.
