Way of The WOlf: The Northlanders Book I

by Shelby Morgan

  Seanen ignored the blood that ran down his arm as he grabbed the sundered head from the cold stone paving. Raising the head high in one arm and the battleaxe of his grandfather's house in the other, he moved to the edge of the parapet. "Lindall!" he screamed. The battling troops paused to raise their eyes to the madman on the wall. "Lindall!" Seanen swung the gory trophy by its meager hair, sending it sailing down into the midst of the Orc soldiers. "Lindall!"

  The Humans and Northlanders surged forward, overrunning the outnumbered remains of the Orcish army. The Orcs broke, turning to run, but there was no place for them to go but into the moat or across the bridge toward the castle.

  Blood stained the paved courtyard below until the stone turned a dark crimson. Seanen turned from the carnage, the battle rage fading, to leave him feeling older and tired beyond belief. The axe dangled from his arm, almost too heavy to hold. He needed to do something about the blood running from his arm, but first he needed to find Yarwyn. He needed to hold her, needed to feel once again that sense of peace and rightness with the world.

  "Seanen."

  He raised his eyes to her face, too tired to ask how she had come to him or when, too tired to care. She had taken the antidote. Her skin had faded back to its natural ivory, looking pale against the colorful silks. Magic flowed from her, healing his wounds even as his arms closed around her, his lips finding hers as she returned his embrace.

  "Seanen."

  The voice jolted, shocking him down to his toes. It was Yarwyn's voice, the same as it had been only moments before, but filled with deep foreboding now. He raised his eyes to the place where the voice had come from. The axe dropped from his nerveless fingers. Yarwyn stood, at the far side of the parapet, next to the door, her colorful silks streaming from beneath the Elvin mail, the ancient bow slug over her shoulder, her dirk ready in her right hand.

  The woman in his arms turned to face the one across the courtyard. Seanen pulled back, comparing the two. They were the two sides of the same woman, one dark, one pale, one dressed in silks, one in mail.

  "What are you?" they demanded, both speaking at once. They circled each other, moving slowly, like dancers in the mirror. Anger stabbed between them, raking the air with uneasy blue magic.

  Changeling. The word came to his mind unbidden. Seanen studied them both, looking for differences, finding more that was the same. The lips that had touched his had felt so right, the magic that healed him so familiar. Yet the other Yarwyn looked so much like his own. He'd heard of changelings, of course, knew they existed, a magic as old as the stones. He'd never seen one before, or if he had, had never been aware of its existence.

  "Seanen," the darker one warned, "There can be only one reason for this deception. The Changeling will hurt you. You must destroy it."

  "True," the paler one agreed. "And you have no way to know which one of us has been sent here to kill you. There can be but one solution. Destroy us both."

  The darker Yarwyn drew in her breath sharply. "I hate to agree with this one, but I see no other solution."

  Seanen moved slowly toward them, running through the possibilities in his mind. If he chose wrongly, the damage the Changeling might do him would be of no consequence, for he would have lost the woman he loved. He had to choose, and choose correctly, for he could not accept their solution. The Changeling would be counting on that. He held out his arms to the pale one. She sobbed against him, turning to look over her shoulder at the other one. "You should have known he would recognize me," she hissed.

  The darker one paled visibly, fear filling her eyes. "Seanen," she breathed.

  He met her eyes, hoping she really could read his thoughts. "I'm sorry," he offered. With a swift move of his hand he brought the other one's arm up behind her back, laying the edge of his dirk against her neck. "What are you, Élandine, or whatever your name is?

  The thing in his arms shrieked and twisted, changing forms even as it attempted to escape. He held it tight, refusing to let it escape, though even the bones beneath its skin seemed to be viscous.

  It was an Orc, then a troll, his strength almost overwhelming Seanen before the blade against its skin pressed deep enough to draw blood. It went limp in his hands, but even that did not persuade Seanen to lose his hold. It shifted again, this time reverting to its Dark Elvin form. "How did you know?" he asked calmly.

  Seanen shrugged. "When you looked at me, all I could see was the lust. There was no love in your eyes."

  Élandine shrugged.

  "I killed you," Yarwyn sputtered, staring at the Dark Elf in horror. "You died in my hands."

  "Simple magic. Feign death. Had you truly been a Dark Elf, you would have known that our hearts are on the opposite side from yours. But I must say, you're stronger than you look. You nearly managed to finish the deed from the blood loss alone." He looked up at Seanen over his shoulder. "What shall you do with me now, Northlander? If you're going to kill me please get it over with. It's been a very long day."

  Seanen used the silk scarf wrapped around Élandine's waist to bind his wrists. "Your day will be longer, Dark One. I shall leave your fate to other hands." He pushed Élandine ahead of him as he slipped his arm around Yarwyn's waist. She had retrieved his battleaxe, though she held it with both hands, supporting its weight with her arm. He wrapped his hand around the shaft, lifting it easily from her fingers. "The battle is won, but it is far from over. Let us give aid where we can."

  * * * * *

  The bonfires blazed at the center of camp, an act of defiance against the few Orcs that had survived the day's massacre. The Humans and Northlanders mingled freely now, sharing the treasures in the Orc King's wine cellar. Many of the Northlanders had stripped to their kilts to dance in a circle around the fire.

  Yarwyn knew the revelry would last far into the morning. She almost wished she could join in the celebrations. She didn't know how to explain to Seanen that she could not, or why. Not without revealing her deception. He'd insisted she stay by his side, and she had, but the swirling emotions of the revelers were slowly tearing her apart. Emotions bombarded her from all sides. The chaos of the battle lust mixed with the drunken frenzy about her until she could no longer discern which emotions came from where.

  The strongest emotions she had to battle were from within. She was jealous. There was no way around it. She was angry and jealous and bitter. Not of Seanen. No. True enough, he was the one at the center of everyone's attention. When ballads were sung of this war it would be Seanen's name that people remembered, not hers. But that was the way of things. House Lindall had had its long overdue moment of triumph. Seanen deserved his recognition.

  No, it was not Seanen who sparked Yarwyn's ire. It was Tranorva. Tranorva was at her best tonight. Filthy and bloodstained and covered with the gore of her enemies, she sat amongst her soldiers as their equal, her mail tossed aside, her long black hair lifting lightly with the breeze, her magnificent figure clad only in a sleeveless leather undertunic, and her mind was focused where it had no business being.

  She had finally noticed Seanen.

  Any woman would notice Seanen. Tonight he looked the part of the Warrior. He stood half a head taller than those around him. His grandfather's helm made him look even fiercer. The dragon swooping down between his eyes reflected the firelight until it looked ready to attack. He moved easily amongst the soldiers, for position and status held no rank here. He smiled and laughed and retold the story of the Orc King's death, as he might have back in the taverns of Yarishet.

  And Tranorva watched. She talked to those closest to her, and she shared their ale all too freely, but her thoughts were focused on Seanen. Yarwyn could feel the lust rising in her, bringing her blood to almost as hard a boil as the battle rage had.

  How could she ever have thought that one cold? Tranorva might have no lust for the court or the dance floor, but here she was in her element, and here she was the soul of passion. The woman was predatory. She would not sleep alone tonight, and she had set Seanen as her t
arget.

  Seanen's attention focused on the storytelling. Yarwyn slipped slowly back away from the crowd, trying to regain control. She paced the line of the shadows, blending into the darkness, trying to do battle with her unreasonable anger. She wanted to strike out, to unsheathe her dirk and slip up behind Tranorva before she had a chance to touch what Yarwyn had no intention of sharing.

  Yarwyn knew she could get in close enough to do real harm without ever being detected. As the woman's eyes raked over Seanen's body as if he stood before them naked again, Yarwyn decided it was time to test her theory. She moved with the stealth of a cat stalking its prey. Closer. Closer. She was within a meter of her victim before strong hands lifted her off the ground, turning her in the air so that she came down plastered against a massive chest that could only belong to Seanen.

  His breath came in a hiss against her ear. "What do you think you're doing?" He bent his head over hers so that the drunken revelers around them cheered, thinking their new found hero embraced his lady love.

  "I'm going to kill her."

  "I could see that. Why?"

  Anger flared up hot and red before her eyes, venting itself on Seanen. "Do not play the innocent with me! If you want her enough to defend her take what you want! I am done with you both!"

  Seanen merely scooped her up into his arms, despite her attempt to free herself, and carried her away from the bonfire and the heat of the lusts that lingered there. He pried the dirk from her fingers as he carried her, tucking it safely out of her reach. When he stopped they were alone at the perimeter of the camp, in front of a large pavilion tent. Seanen thrust the door aside with his shoulder to gain them entrance.

  "Put me down," Yarwyn ordered, calmer now, but still angry.

  Seanen did as she requested, depositing her none too gently into a pile of pillows that shifted atop a thick feather bed. He ran a hand through his thick mane of hair, his mind a jumbled mix of emotions. "You know Tranorva would have killed you."

  "She would never have known I was there."

  "Think you this a logical plan? To kill the daughter of the House I am sworn to protect? Would you ask me to choose between my duty and my heart? Would you leave me bereft of all honor?"

  "Honor?" Yarwyn's voice rose to a screech. "What honor is there in this? You profess to love me, yet you would defend that–that–monolith when she would steal what is mine!"

  Seanen stared at her, his expression unreadable, her mind too overloaded to sort out his emotions from all the others. With slow, deliberate movements he stripped off his armor, setting his weapons in the rafters, well out of her reach. His eyes alone held her captive, for she was too confused and overwhelmed to know whether to run or attack. When he had done away with his own armor, he began on hers.

  He had stripped her naked before his intent registered on her beleaguered mind. Her rage rose to the heat of the bonfire the men had built. "Do you think that sex can cure everything?"

  He captured her fists in his hands before they could attempt to do him damage. "I think," he answered carefully, "that you have lied to me. You told me once that reading people's minds would overwhelm you with noise. I think also that you are very angry. If you wish to vent that anger, vent it on me. Whatever is wrong here, it stays here, between us. You will not leave here until I can trust you again."

  "I cannot read minds," she insisted once again. "But perhaps you can read mine." She brought a knee up hard into his groin, but he was not there. A leg wrapped around hers, sending them both tumbling into the pillows, their hands still locked. He landed on top of her, his mouth coming down to cover hers, his lips hard and demanding. His hands released hers to stroke over her body, lighting the flames until she could not tell anger from desire. She shoved hard at him, and he let her roll him to his side, though his leg stayed hooked over hers. She attacked again, but this time with her mouth, licking and nipping her way down his neck until she reached his chest.

  That broad expanse of chest would always be her undoing. She traced the lines of the blue runes with her lips, following the longest one down, until it blended with the dark hair that led up from below. She would make him pay.

  She felt the sharp intake of his breath, pleased with herself, knowing she had already won. He breathed her name when she took his rigid shaft into her mouth, pushing the foreskin back, circling the tip with her tongue.

  It was hard to remember that she was angry with him when these other emotions threatened to overwhelm her, but she tried. She would punish him. She would…

  Strong hands moved to stroke her head, stopping to fist for a moment in her hair, then moving on to trace the outline of her ears. His fingers slid down, lifting her until she found herself face to face with him again.

  There was no limit to how low he would sink. He took her ear in his mouth, sucking gently on the tip until the room faded to a swirling mass of colors. A long shuddering moan broke from her lips. Her eyes slid closed, and she knew she had lost.

  "Emotions," she managed. His tongue outlined the ridge of her ear, sliding slowly along the most sensitive edges. "Sometimes I can sense emotions. Only strong ones. I can't get inside your mind."

  "Emotions." He pulled back to study her face. "What do you feel from me now?"

  Cautiously Yarwyn lowered her defenses. She closed her eyes and opened herself up to him, letting him pour inside. The intensity shook her. Love and lust swirled together until there was no room for anything else. The last traces of anger swept away with the rising tide of desire. "I need you," she whispered. Tears streamed down her face as she found his mouth and kissed him the way she'd wanted to all evening.

  As if he'd made it his mission to drive out her demons, Seanen took control. His hands worshipped her body, first soft, then demanding, as she arched against him, her body aching for the feel of his touch. His hand stroked down her back until he reached her hips, pulling her more tightly against his swollen shaft as he flicked his tongue lightly over her nipple. "Who am I?' he demanded.

  "Seanen!" she moaned, as much a plea as a response. The heat of his breath against her neck sent her pulse hammering against his lips.

  "What do you want?"

  "I want you," she moaned. Her voice broke as he cupped her mound with one huge hand. "I need you."

  He slipped a finger inside of her hot, wet flesh, teasing, torturing, promising more as she shuddered around him, already breaking with desire. Pinning her into the pillows, he hovered above her, the tip of his shaft resting against her so that she writhed under him, seeking to push up on to him, whimpering in frustration when he simply rose out of her reach.

  He brushed his lips over hers, teasing her with his tongue, then taking possession. She fought him now, trying to free her hands. She wanted to touch him everywhere. She rose up against him, brushing her breasts across his chest, her nipples painfully hard.

  "Please," she gasped.

  "Please what?"

  "I want to feel you inside of me."

  "What do you feel from me now, Yarwyn?"

  It was impossible to tell where he ended and she began. "Everything," she moaned.

  "There is only room for one woman in my heart. Can you feel what I feel for you now?"

  "Yes." Yarwyn strained against him, urging him to fill the ache within her.

  He pushed against her, almost gaining entrance before he withdrew, sliding his hot, rigid shaft up over her swollen lips instead. "Tell me what you feel. Say it."

  She couldn't. She wouldn't.

  Warm breath caressed her neck, her cheek, her sensitive ear. "Tell me."

  "You love me," she gasped, the words tearing from her with a sob.

  Her body shuddered to climax as he came down on top of her, driving into her with all the force of unrestrained desire. He released her hands, finding his own necessary to stroke and to hold as he filled her again and again. She crested, and crested again, each wave hitting her harder as he built the need within her, his hands worshipping her everywhere, stroking he
r breasts and her thighs and her neck.

  "Seanen!" she cried, arching mindlessly against him, meeting him stroke for stroke. Her hands raked though his hair, pulling him tightly against her as their lips met again. She felt herself clench around him like a tightly closed fist, shattering her world into so many points of radiant light. He pushed into her again with one long, last shuddering thrust, filling her with a gush of hot, wet seed.

  A long, eerie wail broke the still of the chill night air, the mating call of the white arctic wolf. From somewhere far away she heard an answer, only dimly aware that the voice was her own.

  * * * * *

  She felt so small and vulnerable. Seanen curled around her, trapping their warmth within the shelter of the furs he'd drawn over them, protecting her with his body, wishing he had some way to protect her mind. She stirred beside him, turning in his arms to study his face in the dim light of the stars.

  "The more I know of you, the less I understand." He kissed her gently on the forehead. "You are beautiful and talented and held in high esteem by all who have dealings with your guild. I marvel the fates that brought you into my arms. I would not hold you prisoner, but know that wherever you go, you take my heart."

  Yarwyn traced the runes that ran across his chest with the tips of her fingers. "I shall always be your prisoner," she countered. "You hold the key to my heart within yours."

  Epilogue

  Seanen stood at formal parade rest, eyes forward, feet spread slightly apart, hands clasped behind his back, every ring of his grandfather's blackened mail buffed clean and lying precisely in place. He hated waiting. Always had. Seemed like he'd been standing here for hours. He didn't belong here. He didn't want to be here. Not now. Not for this reason. But one simply did not ignore an invitation from Lady Lochinvar.