by Anh Leod
“Virgin hole,” she said. “Try the other one. It will be easier for now.”
“Okay.”
She tilted again.
This time he slid smoothly into the channel her excitement had lubricated for him. She rested her heels against the edge of the swing, her body accepting his thrusts. He moved so deeply she could almost feel him in her stomach.
Somehow even this position hit her plump bundle of nerves. Helpless to stop herself, she began to moan in time with his thrusts.
“Shhh,” he said, placing his hand over her mouth. “Don’t want the neighbors to hear you howl.”
She bit the fleshy pad of his palm in protest. He laughed, but the sound turned into a low grunt when she pushed against his pistoning hips, driving him even more fully up her channel.
If she could choose a moment to live in forever, this would be the one. Already sated with orgasms, her body preparing for another, able to see the great sky bursting with colored lights. Music, sweetly sensual music, filled her ears, an undertone of rhythmic breath from her partner adding a husky note. There was a point when all thought ended and she was simply sensation, soaring up with the brilliant lights and the music as she rode his body into the sky.
She felt him tremble and gasp. He called her name in a hoarse whisper when he came, her channel filling with hot cum.
When he finished she was numb. Her body was exhausted, the fireworks over, the radio station gone to commercial. Pompey picked her up again, taking her back through the doors and into her rose-scented bedroom.
“Thank you,” he said, standing over her bed.
She struggled into a seated position. “You don’t have to leave. You could stay the night.” Was he ready for their night to be over? She wasn’t.
He shook his head. “I made a bargain with you and with your clan. One night for six months. I’ll keep our secret, assuming your family keeps ours.”
“They will.” Her family was loyal, if impetuous.
He gathered his clothes. “Do you want to be courted or would you rather be left alone for the next six months?”
Her head spun with exhaustion. How could she explain what she wanted when she didn’t know herself? “Why don’t you call me this weekend?”
He nodded. “I can do that.”
She tried again. “We have a wedding to plan.”
He pulled on his slacks. “That’s your department.”
She ran her hands through her tangled hair, surprised at his businesslike tone. “Don’t you want to be involved?”
“Just send the bills to my office. I’ll have my assistant get you a guest list when you’re ready for one. Just remember all my staff is human.” He grabbed his rumpled shirt and stuck one arm into a sleeve.
“Fine,” she said, stung. “I’ll speak to you in a couple of days then.”
“Great.” He leaned, as if considering giving her a kiss, then straightened as if he thought better of it. “Until then.”
Dazed, she walked out onto her porch with him so she could lock up as he left.
The next morning when she woke alone in her bedroom, she knew she was pregnant. Inside her was a spark of life that hadn’t been there before, a tiny hint of magic. How she knew she couldn’t say, but it was there, a little Greco-Roman life force. She and Pompey had both achieved their goals. He would have a child to continue his line and she had the next six months of her life to herself.
If she wanted it that way. She propped pillows behind her and struggled into a seated position in bed, counting on her fingers. Today was July fifth. She’d have to return to Pompey on January fifth no matter the state of their relationship at that time. But like most women, she didn’t like the idea of being obviously pregnant on her wedding day. This meant she’d need to marry him by November. Once she was married though, she’d lose access to the archives of the Brotherhood. That didn’t give her much time to do research. She’d have to prioritize. After the wedding, she’d figure out how to proceed, what her future held. For now she’d focus on present concerns only.
One of the most obvious items to learn about was magic. She had a pressing need now to understand mate magic. Why couldn’t shape-shifters survive more than a year without regular face-to-face and sexual contact with their true mates once they had met? What was an aura and why could only Barkley see it? And what was the deal with that door in Pompey’s house?
Hello, little wolf. She touched her flat belly with her fingertips. Rest and grow. Everything will work out somehow, even if I haven’t a clue as to how your father thinks.
* * * * *
Bijou leaned back in the chair and stretched her neck, resting her right hand on her still-flat belly. Her left hand held a faded scroll she’d been trying to decipher. For two months now, she’d spent most of her time in the archives deep beneath Nana and Barkley’s home. Though she’d given up on her hopes of extracting any answers from the two of them, King had commanded they open their archives to her, once it had been obvious the archives under King’s own home were more ancestral and political in nature. Her interest in these fields was nonexistent due to the time pressure she was under.
One thing Bijou had expected was some kind of magic lock on the steel door in Nana’s basement, but there’d only been a standard fingerprint lock that she’d been added to. Barkley hadn’t been forthcoming with information regarding Pompey’s magic door. Maybe even the elders were limited in their magical knowledge, though they never admitted such things.
“I do wonder though,” she said aloud, “if this dratted fatigue is why I can’t find any success in my research.”
She pinched her nose to try to hold back a sneeze caused by setting the scroll back into its dusty box. Her pants were feeling a little tight too, though her slightly thickening waistline was nothing compared to the enormous growth of her breasts. Idly, she wondered if Pompey was a breast man. She had no way of knowing, since she hadn’t seen him since July fourth. He had called her that July weekend as arranged and in the interests of practicality she’d told him he didn’t need to court her. Still, he could have sent flowers or something on occasion.
“Give me strength, little wolf,” she murmured. “I wonder how your father is doing.” Even with the fatigue her body felt like it had been at a constant level of sexual arousal since she’d met Pompey. Maybe that was a drain on her too.
* * * * *
Magnus drummed his fingers on his desk, trying to distract himself from his ever-present urge to yawn. At first, at the end of July, he’d began to feel tired, but now, ten weeks since he’d been with Bijou, he was suffering from full-blown fatigue. He’d tried to blame it on the seasons changing, but by this point he was certain that his separation from his mate was the cause. Was this how separated mates died? From terminal fatigue?
At least his busy schedule had prevented him from sharing in the group Legion activities that occurred every full moon. No one was surprised that he was always overbooked and so no one in his clan had seen either his exhaustion or mating and shaming tattoos.
He blinked hard, suppressed another yawn and tried to focus on a recent upgrade to Cherry Blossom’s emergency plan. Next came a meeting with Julian in ten minutes and he needed to be sharp. Reading this plan was likely to put him right to sleep, so he pushed it aside and hit the brew button on his one-cup coffeemaker. The machine buzzed and vibrated as it poured rich, dark-roasted coffee into the white china cup he always had ready under the spout.
Coffee kept him going for now, but what would go wrong with his body next? Even in his backyard in wolf form on the full moon two weeks before he’d felt a little off, though not as severely.
His phone rang as he put the cup to his lips. He forced a smile to his mouth and picked it up.
“Julian is here to see you, sir,” his secretary said.
“He’s early.”
“Yes, sir.”
Damn power games, Magnus thought, draining his cup. It would be better to get this over with now. “Send him
in.” He put down the receiver.
“You’re looking tired,” Julian said unctuously, smoothing his red tie against his chest as Magnus’ secretary showed him in.
Magnus felt his smile dim. “I’m reading the emergency plan. It’s practically a sleep aid.”
“Now, now, Mr. Mayor. Surely you’re not losing your enthusiasm for the job? And right before the election? You know this is your first election since you were appointed after your father’s death. It can be a trying process but you need the public to support you.”
“I’m not losing my enthusiasm,” Magnus said, fighting to remain pleasant.
“I have been concerned,” Julian said, seating himself in a chair. “I’ve never seen you so jittery and my wife commented that your face looked thinner than usual at the Legion Council last Saturday.”
“Get to the point, Julian,” Magnus snarled. “I have to speak at a lodge luncheon in forty minutes.”
“Just a friendly visit,” Julian crossed one thin leg over the other, smoothing his slacks to cover pale, hairy flesh. “We’re concerned, those of us on the Council. You know the rules. Our alpha must be at the peak of physical perfection for his age. If you are ill…well…”
“I’m fine,” Magnus said, pointing his hand at Julian for emphasis. “Just busy with the election. Too busy for mind games. I’m sure the Council understands how valuable it is for the clan to have the alpha be Cherry Blossom’s mayor as well, despite the time commitment.”
“Yes, yes, of course,” Julian said smoothly. “Another thing though, before I review the sales information for the wildlife preserve properties with you.”
“Yes?”
“Are you getting married?”
Magnus leaned forward in his chair, genuinely startled. Had Bijou sent invitations out so soon? “Why?”
“One of my daughters-in-law said she saw your name in a gift registry when she was shopping yesterday.”
The invitations weren’t supposed to go out until the first week of October, according to his secretary. She’d been his contact with Bijou, since his mate had declined to be courted. At least he’d offered and therefore was justified in hiding the wedding to maximize his speech time talking about the issues instead of talking about his own nuptials until close to the last minute. He’d tried to make his secretary talk Bijou out of a wedding two days after the November election, but she said Bijou’d gotten quite hysterical at the idea of waiting until January.
He didn’t know why for certain, but he suspected her secret. If only he hadn’t promised to stay away from her, to stay out of Brotherhood territory for six months. If only he thought she was speeding up the wedding because she wanted to be with him rather than display an early pregnancy. Once the Brotherhood and Legion knew she was pregnant they’d know Magnus and Bijou were mated and start asking questions of both of them. The Brotherhood Council might be angry that she’d been in their archives and the Legion might get a whiff of the story behind their original meeting.
He didn’t want to try to win a tough election and fight off an alpha challenger in the same season. Especially when he was so damn tired. Still, he’d often found his mind wandering in the direction of an unborn cub. Could he be right about Bijou’s pregnancy?
“A registry?” he said, fighting for time.
“You know, for a wedding. A present wish list?”
“Oh. Interesting,” he said vaguely. “Like I told you, I’m tightly scheduled today. You said you’d gathered a final proposal on the cost of buying farmland for the preserve?”
* * * * *
Bijou set down the Cherry Blossom Gazette, the weekly newspaper of Pompey’s small town. She’d been sitting at her kitchen table with a glass of water staring at the society page, which had a recent photo of the mayor and a mention of wedding rumors. His face looked alarmingly thin and there were dark circles under his eyes in the photo. The mate magic wasn’t doing him any favors. Today was exactly three months since they’d been together last.
He looked downright ill and aged, but she didn’t feel any different at all, other than being pregnant of course, and suffering related fatigue and nausea. But today was the last day of the first trimester so she expected to feel better soon.
She was starting to wonder though, if there was a point of no return. When they married next month would it be soon enough to reverse the frightening changes in her mate? Guilt crawled over her heart with sickly fingers. Pompey was the father of her little wolf. Had her selfishness doomed him?
Her head dropped onto her arms. Three months of dedicated research and she hadn’t found anything of value except maybe a set of books she hadn’t known existed, in a tongue she didn’t recognize. When she’d mentioned them to Nana she’d looked troubled. Barkley had flat out told her they were worthless and had locked them into a cabinet in the archives, as if that would stop her from looking at them further. She could open the lock and they’d never even know it.
The reality was, however, she had no idea what language was used in the books.
Time for another day of fruitless research. “You up for it, little wolf?” she said aloud, rubbing her stomach.
No answer was forthcoming from her womb. Her mother had told her that some women could communicate with their unborn children, but never until the last trimester. Bijou couldn’t wait for that first touch of minds with her unborn child. So far she had a general sense that she was carrying a girl but no hints as to personality.
At least her little wolf was tolerant of research. She was never nauseated when she was working. Maybe her cub understood its importance.
It only took her ten minutes to walk swiftly through a light autumn rain to Nana’s house. Neither Nana nor Barkley was home but she unlocked the door and was soon at the bottom of the subbasement steps, opening the door of the utility closet that hid the entrance to the archives.
That door was behind a stack of old screens. She lifted them easily and put her finger to the lock, then slipped through, letting the screens drop against the doorjamb.
Here there were no worries about weddings or the new life she’d be forging for herself soon. Normally she absorbed herself deeply in her work. After an hour though, she realized today wouldn’t be so easy.
Pompey’s thin face simply wouldn’t leave her mind. Still beautiful, still sexy, but now he was in danger and it was all her fault. She had to find something in these blasted archives to make his suffering worth the wait she’d imposed.
Today’s task was to look through a fifteenth-century clan history volume. The book was small and the writing faded. Some entries were in Greek and others were in French. The Brotherhood had been based in England then and French had been used at the royal courts of the time. Thankfully she could read the medieval versions of both languages easily.
For two months, she’d been working her way backwards in the histories, searching for mentions of magic. All she’d found so far were tantalizing fragments that led nowhere.
On February 20, 1432, she read, ten-year-old King Henry VI, having returned from a Paris visit, decided to visit London. Alongside him were the aldermen, the sheriffs and some twelve thousand citizens and others, which included a visitor added to His Majesty’s retinue in Paris, one Alcander of Athens, a shape-shifter magister from Greece. On the twenty-second of that month, a deputation from the city presented the king with a gold casket full of money and foreign guests were presented with caskets as well.
On the left side of the page there were painted pictures of the caskets. Bijou grabbed her magnifying glass to examine the caskets.
Wait a minute. One of the caskets, perhaps the one offered to young Henry VI, didn’t appear to be anything above the ordinary, but the other one, apparently made of wood, had symbols painted on it. Symbols like those in the ancient books Nana had taken away from her!
Were the symbols a language the magister used to perform magic? Could this be her way in to the secrets behind mating?
Artifacts or documents
in that casket had been given to this Alcander back in 1432. Surely this meant something was known about the old language then. Perhaps she would be able to find information by going farther back. Certainly nothing later than 1432 had been helpful in her research.
She put the fifteenth-century book back into its box and pulled the fourteenth-century history from the shelf. Dust on the box made her sneeze. Wiping it carefully with a soft cloth, she placed it on the reading table in front of her and opened the box to reveal a set of five small hand-bound books.
The first book was even harder to read. But every so often, mixed in with the French and Greek, she found notations in the mysterious language. She began to copy down every word in her notebook, hoping to figure out the context and therefore the translation.
By the time she was done with the first book she had two pages of notes. Late that night, at the bottom of the box, book five had the answers she’d been seeking.
“The original language of our forefathers has been fading from memory,” she translated from the Old French. “No one is alive to remember the migration from Greece. We are the first generations of the Brotherhood to lose our history. I have set down here such words that I was taught, and such proverbs in our native tongue, even older than that of the human Greeks.”
“A dictionary,” she breathed, grateful to the anonymous chronicler who had seen fit to write down what he or she knew. Reverently, she turned the page and began to read, burning the new language into her well-trained mind.
Chapter Seven
A week later, thankfully one with no more distractingly ominous reports about Pompey’s health, she was ready to break into the locked cabinet and secretly translate the books that had been taken away from her. Thank Zeus for her years of language training. She could see the origins of ancient Greek in this older shape-shifter tongue and this would help her translate words not in the small medieval dictionary.
As she went to her mailbox and picked up her newspapers and mail, she realized this had been the first morning in nearly three months she hadn’t needed to eat crackers before getting out of bed. The nausea of early pregnancy had vanished. She felt great now.
