Way of The WOlf: The Northlanders Book I

by Shelby Morgan

  Ayailla smiled benevolently at him. "Ye have learned my lessons well, my heart."

  "Do no' take anything ye do no' wish to carry," was all he said. "If ye can set out across the tundra, ye can shoulder thy own pack."

  * * * * *

  Cassadara jumped to her feet, flinging Lord Mâkakao's arm off of her as she rose, and, in the process, pulling half the bedclothes along with her.

  "Married less than three cycles of the moons and already she steals the bed covers." Mâk sighed deeply as he rolled out of bed. "What is it, Mia~Ell? What ails thee?"

  "Mother. Mother needs me. I must go."

  "Mia~Ell, it is but slightly past moonrise. You were dreaming. No messenger has entered our bedchamber. Come back to bed with me."

  Cassadara turned to rest her gaze on his moonlit nakedness. "Truly I should prefer to rest in thy arms, my love, but I must go. I have been Summoned."

  "Summoned?" He was already stretching his long, lean form, bronzed muscles rippling across a broad-shouldered frame that was large for a Human, nearly of proportion to the Northlanders' physiques. "I know not what Summoned means, Mia~Ell, except I shall get no more sleep this night, and no good reason to stay awake, either. Does the occasion call for formal dress or full armor?"

  She kept her voice low, hiding her eyes so that he could not see her tears. "'Tis I who have been Summoned. Go back to bed."

  He crossed the chamber in two long strides to wrap his arms around her. "We are one, Mia~Ell. There is no I. There is only we. Do not shut me out. Tell me of what you are afeared. I will not leave you to face this alone."

  Cassadara turned to face him within the circle of his arms, no longer attempting to hide the tears that overflowed her heavy black lashes. "I know not. A Summoning is a powerful spell, like a message sent with the mind, commanding me to my mother's side. I know naught, except she is afraid. My mother fears nothing. I sense some great evil is upon us."

  Mâk kissed her once on each eyelid before throwing open the doors of the wardrobe. "Light armor for traveling, then. I will send for Balthain and have him ready a company."

  "No. This is a family matter."

  He paused, his hands on the laces of his light leather leggings. "I will not be left behind while you run out across the tundra like some madwoman. Am I not family?"

  Cassadara ran her hands over the muscles that bunched along the back of his shoulders. She understood, by now, somewhat of his odd compunction to protect her. She found his attitude sweetly endearing, yet dangerous. She swallowed a sigh of frustration. "I only meant ye need no' call the men. Mother has called her own company. We will find the others en route, or they will find us. Leave Balthain to guard thy house of the many beds, lest others see thy absence as a weakness in thy fortifications."

  The muscles under her fingers sagged in relief. "I feared you would try to leave me behind. 'Twould drive me to distraction to watch you head out alone."

  Cassadara kissed him on each shoulder, marveling still at the way his skin shivered at her touch. "I fear I am too selfish to leave ye behind, love. In truth ye are a fine Warrior. I would stand beside no other in a fight. I trust ye to guard my back."

  Mâk turned to kiss her swiftly before he yanked on his tunic. "Then let us slip away without announcement. I will leave brief written instructions for Balthain. We can scavenge what we need from the kitchens without anyone being the wiser. 'Tis best we were away before dawn. Balthain is loyal, and would feel almost as I do at the thought of being left behind."

  Cassadara laughed as she ran her fingers over his leather leggings, tracing the heat of his shaft. "Perhaps no' quite as ye do. Write thy note while I raid the kitchens. I will meet ye at our place in the gardens."

  "You give me your word you will not seek to slip out without me?"

  Cassadara kissed him again, this time taking her time, her tongue sliding between his lips to tease his with promises of things to come. "Wolves mate for life, my love, and we fight as a pack."

  Mâkakao lost himself in her arms, burying his fears in her kiss as he tried to pretend he believed her. It would have been easier had she given her word. He closed his eyes and breathed in the smell of her–warm, sexy, exotic. His body was already hardened with desire. He kissed her again, his tongue demanding now as he sucked her bottom lip into his mouth. His hands were rough as he pulled her against his aching erection, demanding her body's response.

  Her answer was a low feral growl that rose to a whine as he lowered his head to attack her straining nipples, twisting the small blackened rings with his tongue as she moaned in desire. "I have been Summoned. I must–"

  "We will run as wolves across the tundra. Surely we will outdistance the others. That gives us time. At least a little extra time. This won't take long." Not with her leg already hitched around his waist and her hands pulling his head more firmly against her taut, distended nipple.

  "Quickly, then." Her fingers fumbled with the lacing at his waist. "Why did ye waste thy time with these foolish knots if ye meant to distract me so?"

  Mâk laughed as he nipped at her ear, taking advantage of the distance she'd placed between them to glide his palm over her tightly muscled abdomen and down, until he could tangle his fingers in the dark, damp curls that seemed to cry out for his touch. Her breath caught when he outlined her labia with his gentle caress, and she lurched against the heel of his hand, moaning as he slid one exploring finger into her.

  Her body responded to his touch like the note of a perfectly tuned guitar strummed lightly by an expert, and he smiled, finding the chord much to his liking. Had there truly been a time when he had feared her? His pulse quickened at the memory, for he knew well what she was capable of, what she could become. Truly the legends were not all just stories designed to frighten a child. He'd seen the wild light in her eyes, felt her teeth close over the pulse of his life's blood at his throat and yet still, she'd known his touch, she'd trusted herself to him.

  "Mine," he whispered against her ear as he slid into her, grasping her hips to fill her more completely. She was ready for him. Tight, hard muscles rippled around him, squeezing, pulling, grasping his straining cock and greedily sucking him in. "You're mine. My mate. My love. My wife."

  "Mine," she countered. "My love, my mate, my husband." She strove to meet him thrust for thrust, trusting him to support her weight as she wrapped her other leg around his waist now, too, her hands tangled in his hair as she sucked his lower lip between her teeth, nipping playfully.

  Her sheath gripped him like a fist, hard and demanding and leaving him with little room for coherent thought. With a hint of the strength that had won her respect, Mâkakao wrapped his arms around her, one across her shoulders, one supporting her hips as he lifted her free of the wall. He stepped back three paces to drop onto the huge four poster bed, rolling with her there until he held her pinned under him, her legs still locked around his waist.

  His feet found the floor. With a growl he claimed her, stroking into her hard and fast, lifting her legs until her heels rested on his shoulders. Their eyes locked, she raised her fingers to her lips, licking her fingertips before she brushed them over her blackened nipple rings.

  He groaned as he grasped her buttocks, changing his pace, slowing to torture her with long, slow, hard thrusts that matched the rhythm of her fingers on her breasts, methodically pinching and twisting the fine black rings.

  She came with a stifled cry, her muscles pulling greedily at him as she convulsed around him, her moans of pleasure his reward.

  "Mine," he breathed, thrusting into her hard and fast again, pushing her back toward her peak.

  "Yours," she agreed as she slipped her legs behind his shoulders, pulling him even deeper into her. "Sing for me." Her fingers found his nipples, massaging the small hard knots of desire, while her eyes danced with laughter. Her words came in fragmented gasps, timed to their now frantic thrusting. "Take me–with you–wolf-mate."

  Their voices intermingled as they broke together, the an
cient call of mating wolves, high and fierce and possessive in the still of the pre-dawn light. If there was a hint of desperation in that call, they cared not to voice their fears.

  * * * * *

  Mâkakao woke up alone, with only a heavy down comforter for company. He sighed as he rolled swiftly to his feet. He was not one to fall asleep after sex. Not like that anyway. Not when there was a job to be done. He suspected some devilment in her final, lingering kiss. He jerked his breeches and tunic back on and donned his light traveling mail. Strapping on his scimitars and shouldering his pack securely, he slipped out the window, scaling the rough stone wall with the ease of nearly three decades of practice.

  Anger warred with humor as he considered his wife's deception. He'd been a fool to think he could outmaneuver her. She'd lulled him with her talk of wolves, and packs hunting together. But she would not get away. She had marked him. She was on him like a morning mist, permeating his pores. He could follow her scent anywhere. She knew that. Knew he would follow. She'd meant only to put some distance between them, to protect him.

  She loved him, but she had yet to learn to trust him.

  He raised his nose to the wind and howled, the mournful call of the lone wolf.

  * * * * *

  Yarwyn came awake abruptly, searching the bed with her hand. The place beside her was still warm, though empty. Rogue that he was, Seanen had managed to slip from the bed without awakening her. She could see his silhouette in the moonlight filtering through the window, all long lines of hard, lean muscle as he stared out into the night. "What is it, my love?"

  "I wanted it." His voice was low, barely audible. "The desert in the winter, and the tundra in the summer. Talismar in the spring, where the Elves walk in the trees."

  She could feel his regret, a tangible thing in the air between them. Her voice took on a note of desperation. "You will love Talismar. There are paths and bridges in the trees. I will show you."

  "You know me too well, my love. I must go."

  She rose to stand beside him, close enough to touch, yet knowing he'd never been farther away. "Go where? When? Why?"

  He shook his head, his dark locks disturbed by the action until they resembled a lion's mane. "I–I know not. I have been Summoned. Lady Evalayna has need of me."

  Anger furrowed Yarwyn's brow. "So that's it? Evalayna calls and you must go? In the middle of the night? Is this going to happen often?"

  At that Seanen turned to her, grasping her shoulders in powerful hands that could well have lifted her over his head. Instead he merely caressed her lightly. "No, my love. I have not been called back. Not like that. No courier has tracked me down and brought me a message in the night. I felt the command, inside me. A Summoning is a powerful spell, and one few Shaman would dare to attempt. I have heard of its use only once before, long before my birth. I felt–urgency. Evalayna needs me. I felt something else, too, that I hardly dare to put into words."

  Yarwyn laid her hand against his face, absorbing it all. For a Rogue and a thief, she reflected, he was remarkably honest. He put up no defenses to block her out. She, too, could feel it now. Could almost see into Evalayna's mind. "Fear." She whispered the word in awe. She dropped her hand and spun away toward the wardrobe. "I will be ready to move out in ten minutes. We will need supplies. The vendors will not yet be open. Try the kitchens. The cooks never sleep in a place like this. I'll meet you there."

  "Yarwyn, I–"

  She didn't bother to turn back to face him. "We will not have this argument."

  He laughed softly. "Whatever you feel from me, I know better than to say it. I meant only to tell you I love you."

  At that she did turn to him, slipping into the arms he offered, a small sob muffling itself against his chest. "And I love you. More than I ever thought I would love anyone. If you tried to slip away without me, you would break my heart."

  He snorted softly against her hair. "And when you caught up with me you would break more than that. I will not try to escape you, my love. But do not blame me if I feel the need to protect you. I was raised that way. I cannot help but feel some small amount of guilt at the thought of leading you into danger. And before you remind me, I do know you are as well equipped to handle danger as I, but that does not change the way I feel."

  "Nor does it change the way I feel," Yarwyn whispered against his chest. His body shivered in response when she flicked her tongue over his nipple. She felt the brief argument within him as duty warred with desire, felt the compromise he reached with himself as his body responded to her while his mind considered. She slid her still-naked body hard against his stiffening shaft, helping him decide. "We will travel light, covering the distance swiftly," she whispered, her voice blowing little puffs of warm air over the nipple she had dampened. "No time will be wasted."

  His hands slid slowly down her back to cup her hips, caressing as they moved, playing with her, teasing in their slowness. "Lady Evalayna knows well why we were here," he reasoned. "She can spare me these few minutes."

  Chapter Two

  Evalayna shivered next to the fire, cold beyond its meager ability to chase the chill from her bones. She was too old for this. She was...

  "He does no' grow cold, even in death."

  Evalayna forgot the chill that had overcome her once she'd expended the energy to issue the Summoning. "When ye were but a child, I spun tales beside the fire for ye, and ye did listen. In this way I taught ye of our people, as was the way of old. Will ye listen to me now, Daughter?"

  Tranorva might not have heard her for all the good her words did.

  Evalayna rose to her feet and hammered her staff into the ground. "Tranorva! Hear and obey me!"

  Grief-stricken eyes focused on her at last. "I am yours to command, as always, my Lady Mother."

  "Child, can ye no' see I am trying to help ye? Ye and the Mage? He is no' dead, Tranorva. No' in the way those of our race depart this earth. Behold." Evalayna raised her staff and cast a simple spell upon the empty shell in Tranorva's arms. The small darkling immediately rose to his feet to stand at attention before her.

  Tranorva scrambled to her feet. "Élandine?" she whispered in disbelief. She waved her hand in front of his eyes, but he took no notice. She touched his face gently, then spun to face her mother, angry tears smudging her dark lashes. "What foul magic is this? He stands, he breaths, yet he is still dead to me."

  "Shammall is Fey, my heart. He is no' like us. His kind live for centuries, mayhap even tens of centuries. 'Tis his spirit that has fled this plane. His body will no' decay the way ours would, yet he is neither dead nor alive. The gods have given him–have given us–a reprieve, to restore the spirit to the body. We have no' much time, and the conditions set by the gods will no' be easily met."

  "But it can be done?"

  Evalayna lowered her head. "I know not, Child. But I will try. We will try. I would do anything within my power to ease this hurt within ye. My only prayer is that I have no' doubled thy burden with false hope."

  Tranorva slowly pulled herself together, her eyes regaining the gleam that had struck fear in her enemies across the lands. "I will no' fail. We will no' fail. Know this, my Lady Mother. I shall rule House Lochinvar and the Northlands with this man at my side, or no' at all. Élandine holds my heart, and when his light is fully extinguished, mine shall be as well."

  Evalayna bowed her head. "There was a time when I knew a love such as thine."

  From far across the tundra, the call of a great grizzly reached their ears, an eerie echo in the early light of dawn.

  * * * * *

  Élandine turned his head into her hand, closing his eyes as he kissed her palm. "I have loved you for years, M'Lady. Loved you and needed you and feared for my soul because I knew it was wrong."

  Tranorva bent her head to kiss his closed eyes. "There is no right and wrong in matters of the heart."

  Worried eyes sought her out. "I am Fey. Such things are forbidden in Faerie!"

  "Would ye leave this world w
ithout knowing the feelings we share? If the Dark Ones take our lives in the morning, are ye less of a man because ye have loved?"

  He kissed her, then, pulling her tightly into his arms once more. "Whatever my fate, I shall be richer for having carried you in my heart. If I die tomorrow, know that I would never have lived had I not found you."

  Shaken by the dream, Tranorva threw off her cloak to pace beside the fire, fear and anger radiating off of her in restless waves. She paused from time to time to stare at the thing standing beside her mother as if it were some strange new enemy with which she was about to have to do battle.

  "What are we waiting for?" she demanded for perhaps the twentieth time.

  "Take his body to the source of his life, with all those you hold dear about you, and make your pledge to his king. He may grant you the gift you desire," Evalayna repeated again. "I have Summoned those I hold most dear. We must wait for them here. There is naught else I can do until the others arrive." Evalayna sighed. "I am old. I am tired. The Summoning has taken much of my strength. If ye can no' sleep, will ye no' cease this haunting, that I at least might rest?"

  "Ye are no' old, Mother. Ye have bundled thy cloak about thee and leaned so long on thy staff, pretending it to be a walking stick, that ye have begun to believe thy own illusions. Ye are but sixteen years my senior, and ye are as fit as ye were when ye did first train Cass in the art of the staff. I fear no Warrior in battle as I wouldst fear to face the wrath of thy magic. Abuse me not with reminders of thy age."

  Evalayna rolled her cloak into a pillow and curled closer to the fire. "I was old by the time I was twenty, Daughter. Mind thy tongue and get some rest."

  "How can I rest with that–that thing standing there, haunting me with the face I have come to love, mocking me with the eyes of death?"