I sensed it before I heard it. My ears pricked to the sound. Ulfvaldr and I looked up at once to see a massive boulder careening overhead. It crashed into a section of the wall above the gate. Stone flew and cracks spread.
“Get away from the gate!” I yelled.
Too late. A second boulder knocked an immense hole in the wall. A third twisted the iron and sent the gate falling forward.
“The gate is breached!” Ulfvaldr cried.
I looked to my sword. It was a borrowed weapon. My true sword was with my son. I allowed myself one last prayer that he would succeed. The enemy army poured into the castle yard through the hole on the gate. My men poured boiling oil on them and shot their slings and threw chunks of rock down but there were too many men of Yor. They kept on coming and coming.
“To me!” I called the men near me to my side.
“Wolves, we will die as wolves!” Ulfvaldr cried.
He transformed as did the wolves around us. The men brandished their weapons and waited for orders.
“To Valhalla!” I said and let my white wolf form overtake me.
They would meet their end with blood and teeth and fury.
Chapter 22
Ulfvaldr
Before my father was slain, he told me wolves die for love. And until I met Varghoss, I had never known the feeling that prompted him to say that, and that ultimately led him to go down fighting hand in hand with his lover. I never knew my birth father, another wolf long since dead.
And now, with the taste of blood in my mouth and the smell of ash and dust and fear and anguish and courage in my nose, time slowed.
Varghoss’s white coat was spattered with red. He fought with valor against three men with spears. It was not those I was worried for.
Yards away, men readied a long-bow that would have taken a giant to wield. As it was, they used four men to pull the string. The arrow was aimed for Varghoss.
And in that moment between heartbeats, I had no second thoughts. I leapt.
Varghoss howled when he saw the red that gushed from the wound. He rushed to my side and nuzzled my face. I barked at him, growled at him, hoped he would leave. The humans leveled another shot at him.
The bow pulled taught.
My vision grew cloudy.
And then there was a sudden hush and dust filled the air as weapons clattered to the ground where once men were. I faded into my human form, and Vargoss returned to his. He cradled my head in his arms.
My vision grew darker.
“What happened?”
“Our son won, Ulfvaldr. He has slain Yor. His men, his un-humans, are dust. It is over. Please hold on. We will get you a healer.”
I shook my head, “Just kiss me.”
I felt his lips on mine, and I smiled as my vision faded to black and the sounds around me faded to nothing.
And then I heard a horn, and I was standing. I was no longer naked and covered in blood, but wearing my finest armor, and a crown, with my sword at my side.
“That is some son you have King Ulfvaldr,” a voice boomed from beyond a great arch.
I walked forward and looked beneath my feet. It shocked a laugh out of me. There was a rainbow sparkling underfoot and nothing else. Far below, I could see Varghoss cradling my lifeless body.
“I wish I could tell him.” I said.
“Come, he will be here before long, and do not you have stories of kingdoms lost and kingdoms gained, battles fought and victories won, to tell this old wolf?”
I saw the speaker then. He stood on the bridge to greet me. No longer gray-haired as he had been when I was young, but with shining golden locks and beard as he must have been in his prime. His smile was the same.
“Father!” I ran forward and met him in an embrace.
“Come, my son. Your time is done and the rest must be left to the living. You have a hero’s place at our table. Come and drink and feast and we shall tell tales until the great battle at the end of time.”
“Until the end of time,” I smiled at my father. Before I crossed the gates, I took one last look over my shoulder and whispered to Varghoss, “I love you.”
He looked up for a second and looked around. It was as though he had heard. I smiled. My daughters and my son would be there for him. He was strong, and if the kingdom needed anyone in the rebuilding that was to follow, they would need the crown. The claw’s work was done.
“I will always love you,” I said again to Varghoss before crossing the threshold into that noisy, riotous, wonderful and endless feast.
Chapter 23
Hafporir
The first sacrifices to the nameless Wolf God that had been made in as long as anyone could remember burned on two pyres near the forest outside the castle. Just on the edge of the wood, the tomb of my father had been sealed only a day before. The mound of earth was sprinkled with fresh flowers, and the stone door sealed shut with molten iron and inscribed with his name. Varghoss wept still to see it.
The people prayed to the Wolf God. The humans thanked him for his mercy, and the wolves prayed for yet more strength. Slowly, the place was being pulled back together, piece by piece. The castle was being repaired and the fields replanted. There had been many deaths, but enough had survived, including my sisters who stood holding mh father, their eyes wet and red with crying.
I wondered if the Wolf God approved of the sacrifice. We had slaughtered spring calves and rolled barrels of mead over to burn for him. Future sacrifices would be less extravagant, but the winning of a war required something special.
Draugr prayed on behalf of us all in front of the burning pyres. Wolves and humans alike watched him with wide-eyed reverence. His healing magic had saved many lives that would have been lost to infection from wounds, and other slower casualties of war. The people had learned quickly of his power and his role in the defeat of Yor.
He did not know the plan I had spoken with my father, Varghoss about, but he would soon.
The fires burned low and we retired to what would be a great feast in the great hall of the castle. Torches and candles burned bright, our colors were proudly displayed, and mementos of the fallen men and women and wolves lined an entire wall. Table after table was being laden with food from the castle kitchens. Whole roast pigs and chickens. Pots of honey and bread and butter. Pitchers of mead and beer and bowls of fire-cooked roots. The place smelled delicious. It was a feast to celebrate our victory, and to honor the dead by mirroring their feast above us in Valhalla. I imagined Ulfvaldr up there, laughing away. I hoped he was proud of me. For a second, I thought I almost heard his laughter.
The feast began without much circumstance. We were all tired and hungry and ready for a moment of laughter. The mead flowed. Even Draugr, who was seated to my right as I was seated to my father’s seemed to let go of his thoughts for a moment. His cheeks flushed with the drink and his eyes sparkled. The she-wolves on my fatherr’s left kept him occupied with bawdy jokes and knife tossing and never let his cup go empty. Before I met Draugr, and I had been of a different mind, I had never seen how clever they truly were, how they knew the hearts of others, and how as much as they could cut a heart out, they could heal one, too,
Our table stood on a dias and was the only one without seats on both sides. Instead, the royal family, and Draugr, and a few of our top warriors who still lived, and at the end of the table, an old witch who Varghoss had instructed me never to insult and who was drinking cup after cup of mead, faced the multitude on the main floor below. It was not long after the first hour that a man stood and raised his cup. Others tried to pull him down. I had to laugh. Their king had yet to make the first toast, but they were so drunk they were forgetting.
“Father, I think you had better stand up or else you shall have a rebellion.”
“A rebellion of toasts?” Gilda tittered.
Grenda smiled and tossed her knlife into the air. She caught it perfectly in a piece of bread and used it to cut it and spread butter across.
“Very well,�
�� Varghoss stood and there was a roar.
Men and wolves alike stamped their feet and clapped and pounded the tables. Women wooped and danced and shouted his name. Children giggled and were lifted onto shoulders so they could see their king.
“To those who died!” He raised his cup.
“Here here!”
We drank.
“To those who fought and lived!”
“Huzzah!” The room cried and drank again.
“To those who healed!”
“Hurrah!”
“And to your fallen King!”
“May he feast forever in Valhalla!”
There was a long pause as glasses were drained and refilled. I filled Draugr’s and mine again. I was glad of what was coming.
“And to my son…”
My eyes widened. My father had not talked to me about this. I looked to him.
“Who saved us all.”
“Hail Prince Hafporir!”
I reddened at the attention. I do not think that anyone had ever toasted the spoiled brat of a prince before, not for anything I had done. This felt far different than any name-day toast I had ever received.
Then my father turned to Draugr whose eyes grew wide.
“There was one commoner who aided your prince in all this. He is an accomplished sorcerer and a brave warrior and a venerable teacher. And from this day forward, he will be known as Lord Draugr, High Sorcerer to the King.”
I splashed mead as I crashed my cup into Draugr’s. He was too stunned to take a drink. I pushed it to his face and everyone laughed as they cheered. He took a sip.
“You are a noble wolf now, and elgibile to wed a prince I should think,” I whispered in his ear.
“That is why you did this.”
I raised my hands, “I do not know what you mean. My father needs your services and has rewarded you for your services to the crown.”
He laughed into his cup, “I think you have had enough. We had better go upstairs.”
I flushed from my head to my toes. We had better go upstairs?
I excused us but I could not make it from the room without embraces and claps on the back and it was all too long before we were finally able to climb the winding stone steps, arm in arm, drunk and laughing.
I pushed open the door to my chambers and breathed in. I had not ventured inside during our first return. We left the castle without a moment’s notice. And now, it still looked so strange, so foreign after running through Yor’s barren land and sleeping on the dirt floor, albeit in a pile of furs, in Draugr’s cabin.
The bed posts were carved a hundred years ago by master human carpenters. The chairs and table were the same. Lush fabric and pillows stuffed with feathers made me suddenly conscious of my wealth compared to Draugr’s.
The last time I had lived in this place, it was with each of my fathers. Now, as certain as I was that Ulfvaldr lived on, my chest felt hollow with his loss. It sank with the pain I saw in my father, Varghoss’s eyes. It made me want to cling to Draugr, who I had thought I had lost. It made me want to bind him to me so he could never run into danger. It made me want to entangle myself in his arms and never leave. He was precious. I was well in my cups, and even so, I knew that to be a pure truth.
Draugr 24
He looked gorgeous. We stumbled into his chambers, his opulant, princely rooms, but against the carved wood and finery Hafporir stood out in sharp contrast.
The prince no longer looked like he belonged. His hands were calloused with true training, not just princely sparring. His body was muscled in a way that was just as attractive as it had always been, but the smoothe edges had been worn away by hunger and trial leaving him with a look that was harder.
That was, until one should see those blue eyes. His beard had been washed and braided for the affair. A cut across his cheek healed but would leave a scar, and his long white hair was swept back over his shoulders with braids and beads used to hold it in place. A few stray hairs, mussed by drunken reverie, fell over his forehead.
What made me pause, though, was his manner. He, too, moved through the place like a foreigner. He seemed in a space of contemplation and reflection, I imagined about his father. A war such as this, that was sudden, as perhaps many wars were, required time to recover from in both rebuilding of castles and the resettling of hearts.
I waited by the edge of the room, unsure if I should interrupt his thoughts. He went to the back of the room, where on a small table, a servant had placed a pitcher of mead and two horn cups. They had also stoked the fire in preparation for our coming. The room was warm and the air was punctuated by loud crackling. Hafporir slowly filled the two horn cups to the brim, but he did not turn around after.
With a swish of his hips, he unbelted his armor and laid it on a chair. I followed his every movement as he unfastened his cape and let fall. His shirt was next. He threw it overhead onto the floor. The sight of his flexing back made the leather of my pants seem to tighen. Suddenly, it seemed like I was wearing altogether too much clothing.
The wayhus buttocks peeked over the top of his pants filled me with a desire, not just to bed Hafporir, but to possess him. It filled me with an animal need that threatened to take over my mind.
Then he let the rest of his clothes drop to the floor and he kicked off his boots. Hafporir took a horn cup in each hand and turned around. I kept my face as stone, but it tried me to do so. He was hard and throbbing. With each pulse of his erect cock, a tiny drop of precum fell.
He stood in front of me and handed me a cup.
“To the High Sorcerer,” he raised his cup and looked into my eyes. I swear I felt them spark.
Heat grew between us as I raised my cup, “To you, the victorious prince.”
We drank deeply. He drained his cup and I did the same.
“But in these chambers, you are my prince.”
He smiled and sank to his knees in front of me, “And in my rooms, you are my king.”
Hafporir looked up at me with such submissive lust it twisted around all the perverse desires, the thoughts that would race across my mind at nights when he slept in my hut and I lay awake, hard and aching with need.
“Get me more mead,” I tossed him my cup.
He caught it. Even drunk Hafporir’s reflexes were impeccable. He made to rise.
“No, crawl.”
“Yes, my king,” he said with a crack in his voice that told me Inhad just given him what he wanted.
He took the cup in one hand and crawled with an awkard three-legged gait to the table. He stood on his knees to pour. It made his buttocks look exquisite. He returned with care across the floor. I accepted the cup. He bowed.
“I do not think I have ever seen you bow. I enjoy it.”
Hafporir 25
On my knees, with the air of the room around me sweeping across my body in warm waves from the fire, I waited. Draugr seemed like he was enjoying making me wait. He sipped his mead with leisure while regarding me from a leather stretched chair. He was fully clothed.
The cup met the ground with a hollow clink as Draugr set it down.
“Do you trust me?” His voice was soft but it echoed through the chamber still.
“With my life.”
He stood and grabbed me by the back of my hair in a motion so swift it was as though he had never been drinking at all, let alone had drunk nearly a small barrel of mead. My breath hitched. He threw me over the edge of my bed so I was face down and my legs dangled to the ground. Draugr shoved feather pillows under my hips with impatience until my hips were raised and my toes just grazed the floor.
It left me feeling more vulnerable than I had since we were beyond Yor’s wall. My head buzzed with the drink, but also with excitement. I wanted to know what Draugr would do as much as it filled me with a delightful dread.
He ran a hand down my thigh. The touch raised the hair on my legs.
“Stay still, and no matter what, stay silent, or your punishment shall be severe.”
I nodded to show I understood.
Then, I felt a kiss on my thigh. He made his way up to the small of my back and then started back down. I let the kisses warm my body. I longed to arch my back, to just rut against the pillows, but Draugr had said to stay still and it filled me with blind heat to obey him. I could lose myself, all my pain and despair, in obedience, at least in bed.
I felt a tongue on my hole, circling prodding, forcefully. It pushed in. My hands twitched. I wanted to clutch the furs on the bed, to wiggle and squirm, but I could not.
For an eternity, I existed only in the world of Draugr’s tongue. Every movement of his lips was my all.
“Mm,” he hummed and withdrew, sliding two fingers in to replace his tongue.
I bit my lip and hoped he did not see. Draugr worked the fingers around inside of me. I choked back a moan. He prodded until he found the spot. I felt myself tense around his fingers. When he stroked it again, I knew he had surmised that he had found my spot. He struck it again. I tasted blood where I bit my lip. He started to work me harder, hitting the spot again and again.
It was when he slid in a third finger and proceeded to do nothing but hammer my spot that I screamed.
He promptly withdrew his fingers. I gasped and groaned. Beneath me, the bed was wet where a puddle of my precum had pooled.
“I said stay silent,” he growled.
He walked to the other side of the room and returned. I could not see what Draugr was doing. He stood behind me and I dared not move.
“For as disobedient as you were as a pupil, I should have beaten you more. This punishment is for disobeying me now, and for each time you have disobeyed me in the past. Count the strokes aloud, and count your infractions.”
The air cracked. Leather, a belt, met my buttocks.
“Agh! One!” Pain flashed across my rear. It pushed my impending orgasm back. Too soon, the air cracked again.
“Hurgh! Two!”
He came down a dozen more times that I could count, and after that, I could only scream and writhe. When the air stilled, my ass stung and my cock was still hard as steel.
Claw and Crown Bundle: A Gay Viking Historical Fantasy Shifter Romance Series Page 23
