Monica La Porta
The Fifth Moon's Wife
Book Two of the Fifth Moon Tales
Copyrights and More Information
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2016 by Monica La Porta
All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.
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Dedication
To Roberto.
Chapter One
The clockwork sundial on the wall was alive with activity. An animated ladybug danced on the compass rose, while a mechanical blue cricket fiddled with its front legs as if playing an invisible violin. Even though Mirella had been staring at the timepiece for more than an hour, she wasn’t looking at it. Caressing the platinum band of her wedding bracelet, she counted her blessings and decided to ignore that she was alone in her bedroom and missed her husband more than words could convey.
Her married life wasn’t the fairytale she had dreamed of, but Valentine was alive.
The shawl lying over her shoulders didn’t dissipate the chill in her heart. After his visit the night after the duel, she hadn’t seen Valentine in several days. Swept up in the whirlwind of the swordfight’s aftermath, her husband had thrown himself into the investigation with a single-minded focus. Mirella told herself he was too preoccupied with everything that had happened. But even at night, when the mansion slept and he was free to use his time as he liked, Valentine had not come to her chamber. Still, she waited and reminded herself life could be much worse.
At the moment, her indomitable husband was with Dragon Sol. The dragon shifter would leave at dawn the next morning, and the preparations for his departure had the whole of Lobo Mansion busy. Even the mechanical workers seemed to move faster, their well-oiled gears chirping in the hallways, dusting the walls and the mirrors in a never-ending motion.
Prying her eyes from the sundial, she looked outside the spacious bay window in her bedroom. The heavy drapery framed the Great Plains, outlining the subject of her tortured thoughts. In the distance, Valentine and Dragon Sol were taking off on their draglets. Seeing the two men racing through the plains in a playful banter was hard to believe. Not even a week ago, they had been about to kill each other in a senseless duel.
After the turmoil of the previous days, even Lupine’s capricious weather had settled. Coral shone a pale orange in the purple sky, and the Great Plains echoed the sun’s colors in a triumph of ochre and bright yellow. Higher than the clouds, Sidera Prime stood out, the large disk of the space station orbiting around Lupine in its lazy fashion.
Adjusting her body to the cushioned seat of the bay window’s bench, Mirella leaned on the windowsill, resting her elbows on the narrow shelf, and pushing her forehead against the glass. The two draglets cast shadows on the valley as they played with the thermals, their iridescent wings catching Coral’s rays and mirroring them back in a display of evermoving rainbows.
Mirella wanted to ride Valentine’s draglet, Dallian, with him. Her husband had promised he would take her for a flight over the plains, but so many things had happened during her short stay at Lobo Mansion, he might have forgotten.
“Blessed Bride?” Crea whispered from a few steps away.
Her new lady’s maid had arrived in the morning, and Mirella had welcomed the girl with mixed feelings.
Despite the incriminating proof Mirella had found against Laura, her former lady’s maid, she still couldn’t accept the girl had betrayed her. Laura had drugged Mirella and Dragon Sol so that it would appear the Blessed Bride was having an affair with Master Lobo’s Solarian guest. Valentine found Mirella in Dragon’s chamber, naked and intimately embraced with the dragon shifter in his bed. Only the presence of Gabriel, Valentine’s vampire friend, and of Dragon’s entourage had prevented a homicide from being committed. Valentine then challenged Dragon to a duel. Mirella was able to stop the swordfight, but it had been a close call.
“May I brew you some curcuma tea?” Crea asked, bringing Mirella back to the present.
“Yes, please.” Mirella didn’t want tea, but she wanted to be alone for the few minutes it would take the girl to go to the kitchen.
As Laura had been skittish, Crea was the opposite. Tall and curvaceous, the blonde was calm personified, for which Mirella had to thank Valentine, who had personally interviewed the girl, according to Aldo.
Earlier, the majordomo had introduced the new lady’s maid to Mirella, then informed her that Master Lobo would spend the whole day with Dragon. Every morning, Aldo had dutifully reported Valentine’s messages to Mirella, and she had smiled and thanked him as was expected of her.
Far away in the plains, the draglets’ aerial acrobatics kept Mirella entertained for several minutes until Crea stepped back into the room with a tray.
“I took the liberty to ask the kitchens for fresh rolls and passionberry jam,” the girl said, arranging the content of the tray on the breakfast table.
“Thank you.” Mirella unfolded from her curled position on the bench and moved to the sunny nook, her eyes on the plains as she sat on the high-backed chair. “I’ll go to the library later.” She tore a chunk from the soft roll and buttered it before spreading a generous amount of jam on it. “You can take the afternoon for yourself.”
“Blessed Bride, I’ve been given precise orders to accompany you wherever you go.” Crea bowed.
Mirella didn’t want her lady’s maid to be privy of her reading choices, especially when the book she wanted to check out contained detailed pictures of couples enjoying the wilder side of lovemaking. Not so long ago, Valentine had suggested she continue her sexual education, and she intended to keep him interested in her long after she gave him the heir he needed, but she didn’t want the rest of Lobo Mansion to know how she planned to do that. Although, if he kept avoiding her, her plans of seduction would be pointless.
With the corner of her eye, she noticed that Valentine and Dragon were flying back. She would talk to her husband and end their estrangement today. “Very well, accompany me to Master Lobo’s study,” she said once she finished her roll and drank her tea.
Crea helped Mirella change into a lunch dress, a simple gown in aquamarine silk with cream lace inserts at the sleeves and bodice. Then the girl refreshed Mirella’s makeup and combed her long curls. Half an hour later, the Blessed Bride and her lady’s maid finally left the right wing.
It was the first time Mirella had left her apartments after the duel, and she hoped to meet only mechanical workers on her stroll through the mansion. Although her innocence had been proved beyond doubt, she had been found in a compromising position inside the dragon shifter’s chambers, and she knew rumors had a longer life than the truth.
If there was something her mother had drilled into her head since she was a little girl, it was to never, under any circumstance, let the staff know of any squabble between the lady of the house and her consort. Too late for that, Mirella thought when she entered the first hallway and came across a few servants. She felt the men and women’s curious stares even from behind their low bows. Her cheeks burned, but she raised her chin and slowed her pace. She had done nothing wrong.
At the second-floor foyer, Mirella’s procession was halted by an unfortunate encounter. Ronda, Valentine’s head courtesan, was leaving the left wing where
the harem was located and heading toward the staircase.
The redhead stopped before them and gave Mirella a long stare before remembering to bow before the Blessed Bride. Hiding behind a fake smile, the woman radiated contempt and straightened herself in haste without following etiquette. “Blessed Bride,” Ronda said.
Mirella’s blood boiled inside her veins, but she said nothing, doing her best to ignore the woman and her insolence. One day, hopefully soon, she would get rid of Ronda and the rest of the harem. She didn’t care that Valentine had lived for a long time before marrying her and that courtesans were the norm in Lupine society. If she kept living at Lobo Mansion, she wouldn’t tolerate their presence longer than necessary.
The whole foyer stood still. Even the mechanical servants seemed to have stopped working all at once, their copper gears coming to a halt inside their glass bodies. Followed by Crea, Mirella took the stairs and descended amidst a silence that was unsettling. Once again, she was reminded of how lonely she was in a house filled with people. She missed her rambunctious sisters, Vera and Lucilla, more than ever.
After what felt like an eternity, she reached the first-floor landing and was surprised to see a large painting in place of the one now gracing her bedroom’s walls. When she first arrived at the mansion, she expressed her liking of the landscape portraying a Terran ocean. Valentine had the piece of art moved to her room a few days later. The new painting was a cityscape, but the architecture was like nothing Mirella had ever seen. Red-tiled roofs and brick walls framed by a clear blue sky towered over orchards and gardens. The placid waters of a lake lapped at the foothill of the city rooked on a verdant ridge.
Standing behind Mirella, Ronda commented, “Master Lobo has a penchant for painting Terran subjects and women.”
Mirella was taken by surprise and turned to face the triumphant courtesan who regaled her with a smirk. No wonder she had noticed the similarities between the paintings. Of course, her husband hadn’t seen fit to mention to her he was the artist. Mirella had to find out from that redheaded viper who knew Valentine better than she did. What hurt the most was that the courtesan had done it in front of the rest of the staff.
“He’s very talented,” Ronda said, before curtseying.
The harlot’s plan to ruin Mirella’s composure had worked, but she would be damned if she let the other woman win. With a smile, she tilted her head toward Crea. “Let’s go for a stroll through the hanging gardens.”
Mirella wasn’t in the mood to see her husband anymore.
Chapter Two
The brand on Valentine’s arm burned as if Gabriel had just pressed the iron rod to his skin. It was only in his mind, but it pained him all the same.
Attempting to direct his thoughts somewhere else, he let his eyes roam the length of his studio. His addled senses played tricks on him. The walls and the furniture moved. The Fifth Moon was high in the purple sky, and it too swam as if rocked by long waves. He felt like a gravelly shore crushed by a violent tide, drowning in regret and longing. Memories of a sweet, fruity scent and soft embraces followed by fulfilling pleasure played for him. The foreign notion of giving in to despair entered his mind. Laughter mixed with noises that resembled sobs, but they couldn’t be. He was drunk. Quite a feat for a werewolf as big as he was.
He couldn’t remember the last time he had drunk to the point of blacking out. As far as he tried to recollect the memory, it might’ve never happened before.
What had started as a late night cup with Dragon and Gabriel soon transformed into a drinking contest where the only participant was Valentine. The Solarian and the vampire had left him alone a few hours later, heading for the harem to assuage a different kind of thirst. More than anything else, Valentine wanted to follow their example and burst into Mirella’s bedroom to claim what was his by law. But he had sworn an oath, and he would never break his own word.
His hand raised the crystal goblet to his lips, only to find it empty. The barrel of Laurum lay sideways on the marble floor, empty as well. A small amount of the nectar had pooled under the cask and colored the floral pattern of the tiles with a ruby tint. Absentmindedly, Valentine ran his fingers through the puddle. If he wanted to drink more, he would have to ring the bell and ask one of the servants to run to the cellars, but he didn’t want anyone to see him disheveled and out of control. He had taken off his shirt and trousers earlier. His riding boots lay in the middle of the room, a trail of mud and dust all around them.
Pressing his naked feet on the cold marble tiles, he pushed himself up, and his legs refused to cooperate. One moment he was looking at the mirror behind his desk, the next he was staring at the fireplace. The coals that had been incandescent at the beginning of the night were now black and cold.
The goblet dropped from his hand when he fell, and the crystal shattered on the floor in a multitude of shards. In a pleasant stupor, Valentine observed the blood spilling out of minuscule cuts on his palm. His wolf pawed at the walls of his mind, its frustration mounting when Valentine didn’t acknowledge its demands. He would not go to Mirella.
His Blessed Bride was his only shot at having an heir, but he would not sentence her to death by getting her with child. In the history of Lupine, none of the werewolves’ consorts had ever survived childbirth. It was said that the cub killed his mother by lacerating her from the inside, but Valentine didn’t know for sure. The knowledge of what happened during the Blessed Bride’s labor was kept secret by the High Priest, and he was sworn to secrecy.
When Valentine was a green pup, he had heard his father once talk about his bride’s death. Marcellus was high in his cups and accused Valentine of having killed his mother. Valentine watched the majestic werewolf who everyone feared and respected collapse on his knees and cry. Since that day, he had carried the burden in silence and never talked with his father about that conversation. It hadn’t taken much effort from his side, because Marcellus rarely visited the right wing where he had relegated his son. The few occasions when the former Master Lobo was forced to face Valentine, Marcellus barely interacted with him.
With time, Valentine had learned to compartmentalize the guilt, but the sentiment was always present.
When the High Priest had called him to announce that his bride had reached her twenty-fifth birthday and she was ready to carry his child, Valentine had tried to come to peace with his biological need to procreate. In the last few years, his wolf had been acting out and was more demanding than usual.
As if acting of their own accord, his eyes went to the mirror on the wall. The surface reflected only darkness, but he knew someone was watching and judging him from beyond the veil.
From the safe haven of Sidera Prime, the Brotherhood of the Wolf was forever meddling with Valentine’s life. His brethren no longer walked the earth and yet were still too present for his tastes. Preserved as a hivemind, the werewolves who had come before him existed as metal entities, inhabiting a water tank in the space station. All but Marcellus had chosen to leave their bodies behind when their time had come.
The mirror stirred. Valentine sneered, expecting a lecture from one of the brothers. Usually, it was Aretius who voiced the brethren’s disappointment with him. His present drunkenness deserved a vigorous tongue-lashing. He couldn’t wait to listen to the decrepit werewolf berate him and remind him in how many ways he wasn’t like his father.
A face formed at the center of the bubbling surface and slowly emerged, breaking the physical confines of the glass. As Aretius blinked, his mouth opened in a greeting, the door opened.
“Later,” the ancient brother said, sinking back into the mirror and disappearing.
Valentine’s relief was short-lived. Clicking heels stomped the hard floor in a familiar tick-tick. His heartbeats quickened.
“Go away.” He waved his hand in the general direction of the door, refusing to look up.
“I won’t leave without speaking to you first,” Mirella said, her voice betraying her anger.
His wolf rea
red up, pacing its invisible cage in fast strides. “Not tonight.” His bride’s scent invaded his nostrils and stirred him. Too long had passed since the last time he had sunk into her warmth. Mirella’s nearness drove him crazy.
“Yes, tonight.” Pointed slippers entered his line of sight. “Are you drunk?”
Valentine raised an eyebrow and scoffed. “What makes you say so?” With great effort, he kept his palms against the floor, but all he wanted was to lower her down to him.
The slippers changed direction, pointing toward the rest of the room. “What happened here?”
His wolf slashed and growled, demanding Valentine grab Mirella and tear her gown. “Not your business.” It was difficult to keep the beast at bay when Valentine’s lust was a living, pulsing presence, commanding his senses as well. His hardness throbbed painfully. He had never gone without a woman for so long.
If only he could take his release like his guests, in the welcoming arms of a willing courtesan. Earlier in the week, he had walked to the harem resolved to ease his constant state of arousal with a good tumble. Once at the door, he found that the mere idea repulsed him.
“Why are you avoiding me?” Her small hand touched his naked shoulder.
The mere pressure of her delicate fingers on his overheated skin sent Valentine to his feet. Primal hunger possessed him, and his canines lowered. Images of her back arched and her soft rump in the air formed before his eyes. The need to bend her over the desk and possess her almost won. “Leave!”
His wolf snarled, and his sweet bride recoiled. Her eyes were wide as she took in his arousal.
Valentine lurched forward, towering over her. He wanted to fill her with his Vital Essence. No—his wolf wanted that. He wanted to lose himself inside her and to hear her sing his name at the height of her unbridled passion. He would stroke her and lick her. His hands would cup her breasts and mound as he positioned himself behind her and took her deep, thrusting in and...
The Fifth Moon's Wife (The Fifth Moon Tales Book 2) Page 1
