Worry clouded his handsome face. "Take me with you."
It was her turn to pull back in surprise. "Know ye what ye ask?"
His expression turned grim. "I ask only to stay at your side, Mia~Ell. You know I will not get in your way."
She settled her gaze back on his men. "Know ye what they will think of ye?"
He grinned again. "They will be jealous because I travel at thrice their speed and in the company of my beautiful mate."
Mate. Shaken, Cassadara turned to scan the horizon, pretending to scout. Mâk spoke the word so easily. But he was a Human. Humans did not think the way her own people did. Still, she had to swallow hard. Mate. Was that what he was to her?
She wanted him. In the beds at his father's house or here in the snow. The where of it mattered not. She wanted him more than she'd thought it possible to want any man.
Mâk wanted to hunt. Could she run beside him and not desire to truly become his mate? Somehow she doubted that. Yet if she allowed this, she would lose another piece of herself. If he left her–when he left her–after this mating he would rip out a piece of her heart. She would lose a part of herself she might never again recover.
Her eyes ran over his men again. They would be more than jealous. They would be suspicious, thinking she had indeed bewitched their leader. If only she had the power to do so…
"I will not get in your way," he promised, his voice a warmth against her neck.
She turned in his arms, her teeth closing over his shoulder. "Tell them. Tell them we go to hunt."
He smiled the smile of a child, happy in the prejudices he knew not.
She watched him as he moved back down the hill, a strength and a grace in his stride she'd never have suspected when she'd first seen him there in the mud. She could not hear his words as he spoke to the men, something low and reassuring, but she could see their eyes flick up to her and away again once they caught her watching.
He couldn't see the way this mating would further encumber his dealings with the men. All he could see was the chance to run at her side.
Perhaps that would be enough. She tried hard to hang on to that lie.
He stopped in front of her, his eyes smiling in genuine happiness. Too late to tell him she'd changed her mind.
Cassadara slipped her arms around his neck and exhaled gently, letting her tongue slip over his in that strange way he seemed fond of. His body lurched against her, his erection its own weapon in the battle against her defenses. She snarled as she felt their bodies falling away, thick, shaggy winter fur beginning to cover her, until they dropped to all fours and she raised her head to catch the message of the wind.
Instead all she smelled was him. Pure lupine now, he gave off the strong odor of pheromones and sex. She sniffed him behind the ear and nudged gently. By the gods he smelled good. She bit playfully, snapping at his shoulder, her teeth doing little more than yank at his fur.
His first steps were tentative, but she turned and lifted her tail, teasing him with the scent of her need, daring him to follow her where he could. He was up to the challenge. She streaked away, across the snow-covered hills, staying just far enough ahead that he could not quite catch her until she was ready.
A copse of pine trees huddled along the river a few miles from their camp. She rushed into them, her nose already telling her they were empty. Laughing eyes met hers as she spun, sliding to a halt in the softly matted needles. His low growl told her he was here to hunt all right, and she was the prey. His nose against her cheek made promises she understood.
Ready, all too ready, she turned, lifting her tail. He growled again, deep in his throat, at the scent of her. She had never done this, but she knew what was coming. Fearful for just a moment, she tried to escape.
He lunged at her, his teeth grasping the fur at the back of her neck. She was not ready. She would lose too much of herself in the bargain. She whimpered in protest, but her attempt at self-preservation came too late.
Strong legs straddled her shoulders as the huge male rose over her, his entry quick and hard as he stabbed himself into her. She ran a few steps, trying to escape the intensity of his attack, but she fought against herself. She wanted him. By the gods she wanted him.
The wolf had not forgotten the ways of the man. He entered her hard and hot and fast, withdrawing again and again, leaving her whimpering for more until she backed against him trying to move even closer as he thrust against her. His whole body strained with exertion. His front legs hooked around her chest, pulling her back as he pounded into her over and over again.
So hard. So hot. Like a burning fire within her. She wanted. She wanted more. The first orgasm hit like a pain that would slice her apart with its pleasure. Still he pumped into her, days of frustration behind his strength and endurance. His organ grew harder still, expanding until she felt she would burst. She clenched harder around him, feeling each thrust like a strike into her soul.
"Now!" she wanted to scream. "Now!"
But her voice was the voice of a wolf, and she lifted it in song as she shattered again and again.
* * * * *
He couldn't get enough of her. She smelled like sex, filling his senses. The world had focused down to the smell of her sex and the feel of her body beneath his. He felt bigger and harder than he ever had before. Her sheath burned like a fire, making him harder with every stroke. She held him all.
He bucked against her frantically, frenzied beyond his mental endurance, desperate to spill his seed as she convulsed around him time after time, but there was no relief. The harder he pumped into her, the more he wanted. She was hot and wet and slick, and he buried himself within her time after time, yet still it was not enough. Her moaning barks became howls, cries for release.
By the gods she would be the death of him. Their wet flesh made a sucking sound as he drove into her, and he could feel his balls, which hung farther back now, contracting, ready to burst. Her muscles pulled around him again, tighter than ever, squeezing him painfully, demanding more. He had no more.
Yet from somewhere he found the strength. She whimpered as he pounded harder, his body responding to an ancient ritual his mind had not conceived of. At last. He could feel his release coming. At last, at last, he chanted. Her sheath became a vice, squeezing, milking, clamping him so tightly that he could not withdraw.
Momentarily, he panicked, trying to break away, but it was no use. Trying to withdraw from her caused him unbearable pain. He surged into her again, hard, searching for release. He found it in overwhelming new sensations.
As her voice lifted to the stars, he bucked against her again, shattering like a broken vessel, her body milking him of his seed until his balls ached with the exertion. Still she did not release him. They collapsed together into the pine needles, her legs stretched backwards under his, their breathing ragged and their minds numb.
For nearly an hour they lay together, their bodies still joined, until they relaxed at last into a peaceful sleep.
* * * * *
It was her feral growl that awoke him. He awoke almost fearful, for he knew he had not the stamina for another such mating. But the bright shining eyes that looked down over him were not the eyes of a wolf. At least not all wolf. His body responded immediately. For he was indeed within his own body. It seemed impossible that he'd managed without sex for two years, and now found such torture in just a few days abstinence. Yet it was obvious by the look on her face that he was not the only one who'd been feeling this powerful need.
"No," she whispered, pinning his shoulders to the ground as he tried to move. "Not this time. My turn."
Again he felt that momentary flash of panic that he'd felt when her wolf-body would not release him. He held himself rigid, but he didn't fight her. He could have, he told himself. He was bigger than she was. He wasn't afraid of her.
Right.
She'd picked him up and carried him away as if he were a small child. She was Tranorva's sister. She could tear him limb from limb if she wa
nted to. He was playing a dangerous game. He'd known that from the start.
"Mâk?"
"Mia~Ell?"
"Do ye not trust me yet?"
He smiled up at her and lied. "I trust you with my life, Mia~Ell." Which wasn't really a lie, after all. He had put his life in her hands. Things hadn't gone at all the way he'd expected them to. He'd certainly never thought to end up a slave on the auction block. He already owed her his life and more. If she was going to hurt him, she'd have done so by now.
He forced his body to relax. If she was going to hurt him, she would do so by breaking his heart.
"Remember that first night, when I healed ye?"
Remember. As if he could forget.
"I wanted to do this then, but I feared ye would go berserk after the healing."
The pieces came together. Her healing magic had left him with the energy he'd seen in men of her race on the battlefield. "I was berserk," he agreed. "But only for you."
She straddled his waist, her knees on either side of his pelvis, sitting up just a little too far for his aching penis to reach what he wanted. Her hands on his arms exerted no force to keep him pinned, but they could. He knew they could. The knowledge slid from alarming into exciting. "I am yours," he whispered. "Bought and paid for. Body and soul."
She lowered her head to kiss him. Her tongue darted between his teeth to stroke across the top of his pallet, sending waves of desire through his body. She'd taken his lessons well. She rocked back, settling on his hips so that her soft mound just grazed the tip of his erection, then slowly rocked her body forward again.
He could feel the heat of her flesh dragging across him. He lunged desperately with his hips, trying to reach inside her, but she only smiled and pulled away slightly. As she moved back to glide over him again, her head dropped to lick his left nipple. The sensation was as much pain as pleasure. She bit gently, and he heard himself moan as he arched up into her, finding her sheath at last. She allowed him but one thrust before she lifted herself to the tip of his throbbing cock.
"You shall break my mind," he whispered.
She slid slowly back down his rigid member, rocking back slightly as she enveloped him all the way to his balls. "I would own more than thy body," she told him, reaching this time to flick her tongue over the tip of his right nipple. He rocked up into her harder. "I would have thine heart."
He laughed at that, though a little breathlessly. "You already have it, M'Lady. You have owned me body and soul since I first looked up at you from my place in the mud. Do you not understand what Mia~Ell means?"
She raised herself up slowly to her knees again. "It is more than a pretty name?"
"My heart," he whispered. "It means my heart."
Her smile turned wondrous. "My heart. Mia~Ell. Ye have my heart as well, Mia~Ell."
The chains of a fear he had not known he harbored fell away as he surged up into her. This time she made no move to withdraw, but rocked hard against him again and again, driving him home to the place where he'd always wanted to be–the place where he had but dreamed of being. His restraint broken, release came quickly, but not before she convulsed around him with a strength that threatened to shatter his sanity. It was his turn to hold her tightly in his arms as her arms lost their strength and she toppled to his chest.
"Mia~Ell?" Her voice was but a whisper against the quiet of the night wind.
"My love?"
"If ye would stay with me then ye should know the truth."
His lips quirked up into a slight smile. "There is more?"
Her tone remained serious. "I have been sent to House Yarishet for more than just simple negotiations. The House of Yarishet holds a Talisman that is of import to House Lochinvar. This talisman was stolen from our house long ago. Still, I canna simply burst though the door and demand its return. To slaughter the entire house of Yarishet over a talisman would be in bad form. We would lose many political allies."
Relief surged through him. If that was all…
He dragged his tongue over the tip of her still darkened nipple. "Perhaps I can help you."
Her breath caught in her throat, making her response a strangled sound. "How?"
His body was recovering all ready, wanting her more than he had ever imagined he could want a woman. The legends were true. She was as an intoxicant to him. "I have been often within the walls of the keep at Yarishet. I know the castle layout well." As he indeed knew the layout of her body.
She smiled up at him. "Ye may well be useful in other places than beside me in bed."
"Useful?" he mocked, nipping at her bottom lip. "Is that what I am to you? Useful?" His rigid cock pressed against her thigh.
"And entertaining."
He pinned her hands to her side, his body over hers, brushing her mouth with his lips again. "Allow me to entertain you again."
"Ye shall entertain me to death," she whispered.
Somehow, the words did not sound like an objection.
Chapter Five
She sniffed the air cautiously. "Mâk."
He groaned in sleepy languor. "Rest, woman. There is no more. You shall be the death of me."
"Mâk, something is wrong."
He rolled to his haunches, his hands finding the hilts of his scattered scimitars in the dark. The stars reflected off their wicked blades, and the air made a tiny scream where they cut through the night.
She felt him shift silently until they were back to back, covering the night with their well-trained eyes. "Where?" he whispered.
"I know not. I simply awoke knowing something was wrong. I can smell it. I can taste it."
His tongue made a soft rasping noise as he moistened dried lips. "Orcs."
Orcs. Out here. Orcs were poor night hunters. What would they find on the open tundra to…
By the gods–no.
Mâk was already throwing on his armor. Cassadara slipped into her mail as quickly as she could. Orcs. Not again. His men would all be killed and their deaths would be her fault. She had enticed him away from the camp with the promise of hunting. They should have stayed together. She should have seen his men safely home then bid Mâk farewell, allowing him to return to his safe, ordinary life. He had no part in her wars or her life. She had simply had the gold to free him from his chains. If his men died now because of her selfishness he would never forgive her. She would have lost his trust as well as his friendship.
Whatever happened now she would lose.
Orcs. The name tasted like fear on her lips. She had lost her own men to Orcs. It would not happen again.
She buckled the last buckle and strapped on her sword. She would not lose Mâk to Orcs, nor see him enslaved again. She reached for him in the dark, already finding his body rigid beneath her touch. She kissed him hard, blowing the gift of speed and strength into his lungs. For herself she chose lupine form, knowing that fast as he might be, she would be faster. And she would be deadly. This time she would be deadly.
"Cassadara!"
She crested the hill as he screamed her name. Already she was well outdistancing him.
"No! Cassadara! No!"
She had never yet taken orders from any man.
* * * * *
"Cassadara!" Terror struck through him as she crested the hill, the myths and legends stripped away to leave the naked soul of the woman exposed at his feet. He knew her fierce loyalty too well. She would sacrifice herself to save his men, and there was nothing he could do to stop her. He wailed in anger and grief even as he pushed his body to speed well beyond the limits of the spell she had cast upon him. The sound ripped from his lungs as the mournful cry of the lone wolf.
He crested the next ridge before he stopped to gasp for breath, searching the hills ahead of him as he did so. He was not lost. She was out of sight, but he was not lost. The river had been at their back as they raced toward privacy in the early evening. The moon had been before them. He could find his way alone.
A wolf's cry of warning split the night air. His sens
es responded as if he had learned this language as well. The She-wolf protecting her territory. Forgetting his aching lungs he sprinted toward the sound.
Cassadara must have reached the scene just as the Orc patrol attacked. The Orcs had tried to trap his men against the rocks. Now they were caught between an angry She-wolf and six men who would fight to the death before being captured again. Cassadara had attacked from the rear. Mâkakao altered his course to come in hard on the left, both scimitars singing their song of death.
Cassadara had gone for the Caster first. The She-wolf's feet raked the Caster's chest as she hung suspended in the air, her jaws still clamped around his bleeding arm, keeping the vile creature too distracted to heal his warriors. The Caster was recovering though, a yellow sheen beginning to encase his body.
Fear twisted Mâk's heart. He tried hard not to wonder if the Caster would be too much for a woman who swore she wasn't yet a Shaman. The Caster had to be kept out of action. Cassadara couldn't hold out against him on her own for much longer. The yellow aura had grown to encompass them both, and a wolf's whimper of pain echoed through the bedlam of battle.
Mâkakao fought his way to Cassadara's side. Fear spurred on his battle lust. He was going to be too late. The Scout had seen what was happening and he shoved his way to the Caster's side. Thank the gods the Orcs were so stupid. With a brain of any size behind that terrible physique they'd be unstoppable.
Another cry of pain from the battling She-wolf ripped at Mâkakao's heart. His current Orc was giving him more trouble than the others had. This one was older, a veteran of many campaigns, and he knew how to use his body to his advantage. The Orc had a good foot of height advantage over Mâkakao. The scimitars slashed into the air while the Orc blade came down hard to nick into Mâk's rawhide bracer.
Mâkakao took a deep breath. Cassadara was a better Shaman than she gave herself credit for. She could win this fight.
She had to win.
Mâk changed his tactics and dove to the ground, coming up hard into the heavy Orcs groin, his blades flashing. A roar of pain and outrage shook the huge creature. His eyes turned blood red as he dove for Mâkakao's weapons forgotten in the lust for blood. Hands like iron vices clamped around Mâk's neck as he struggled to regain his feet.
Way of The WOlf: The Northlanders Book I Page 5
