Highland Wolf Pact

by Selena Kitt

  “Aye, he stopped me.” Darrow shook his head at her. “But he’s agreed t’keep ye wit’ us, let ye live in our den. Sibyl, if MacFalon knew we had ye…”

  Just like Darrow had wanted vengeance, she knew how Alistair would react if he discovered her held “captive” by the wulvers.

  “It would surely mean war,” she whispered. And that was why Darrow said it was dangerous for Sibyl to be living amongst them. She was putting everyone at risk. Darrow. His wife, Laina. Their new baby. And Raife. She was putting Raife in danger, just by being with him. And he was putting his entire pack at risk by letting her stay.

  “Aye,” Darrow agreed softly.

  “So why don’t you tell the MacFalons?” she asked. She had fleetingly thought, mayhaps, Darrow wanted to take her into the woods to be rid of her. But she’d risked it, because of the way he looked at Laina. Any man who loved his wife that much couldn’t be bad, not truly. But it hadn’t crossed her mind until then that mayhaps he had another solution on his mind. Mayhaps those men in the woods were Alistair’s men after all? “Why don’t you take me to him right now?”

  The thought made her physically ill. She had to clutch at the tree beside her to keep from collapsing. But she realized it wasn’t so much the thought of having to face Alistair again that made her feel dizzy and sick.

  It was the thought of never seeing Raife again.

  Sibyl met Darrow’s eyes and saw how torn he felt. Maybe it wasn’t personal after all.

  “Because I fear a war a’tween wulver brothers more’n I want one wit’ clan MacFalon,” Darrow replied finally, his gaze never leaving her.

  Sibyl nodded, understanding. So she was safe with Darrow after all. Raife had been right. Darrow wouldn’t defy his brother. He wouldn’t kill her or take her to the MacFalons. He would respect Raife’s wishes. And mayhaps, she thought, as they started walking through the woods again, he now had another, more ulterior motive.

  And then he came right out and said what she’d been thinking.

  “And I hope ye really can find the tree me Laina’s been searchin’ fer.”

  “I hope so, too.” Sibyl couldn’t help laughing.

  They spent hours looking for the huluppa tree. Darrow changed several times, in order to carry her further, faster, than the two of them could travel on foot. But their search ended before Sibyl found what they were looking for. Darrow glanced at the sun, telling her they must head home, although she’d wanted to continue on.

  When they returned, Sibyl and Darrow were both surprised to find that Raife had taken the place of the sentry, pacing back and forth at the entrance of the mountain, waiting for them both. Darrow faced his brother defiantly. Sibyl tried to slink by like a dog with its tail between its legs, but Raife caught her around the waist, pulling her to him and growling, “Wait fer me in yer room,” before sending her on her way.

  She heard them snarling at each other as she hurried back to her room. Raife came to her a short time later, his back and side scratched and bleeding, face smeared dark red, and she was terrified to ask what had happened. She instantly wanted to apologize, to beg his forgiveness, but she did neither.

  Instead, she went to the fire to heat water to treat his wounds. He let her, watching as she washed the blood away with a warm cloth, seeing the wonder in her eyes as the gouges in his flesh healed all by themselves in no time at all. More wulver magic, she learned. Their strength made them great warriors, but their healing capacity made them near unbeatable.

  “Me brother says ye were out helpin’ him find huluppa?” Those were the first words he said.

  “Yes,” Sibyl replied honestly, still stunned at the way his skin pulled itself together right in front of her eyes without even leaving a scar. “For Laina.”

  Raife gave a slow, curt nod, those disarming blue eyes studying her face.

  She stopped and looked up at him, puzzled.

  “What did you think I was doing out there with him?” she finally asked and hid a smile when he scowled and wouldn’t answer her.

  Sibyl had been ready to call Kirstin for bandages, a needle and thread, but there were now no wounds to stitch up. Raife’s skin was as clear and smooth as it had been before his altercation with Darrow. She knew it was some sort of magic and knew, too, she should have been afraid, but she wasn’t. She’d spent her life being trained by men and women who lived in fear of being hunted down and hung for practicing witchcraft. But the knowledge of herbs and other healing techniques weren’t devilry, she knew. And this—the way this man changed from animal to human and back, the way his skin healed, this wasn’t the devil either.

  We are what we are. That’s what Raife said and it was true. They simply were. Animals were animals, humans were humans and wulvers were… wulvers. They were all God’s creatures.

  Sibyl’s fingers moved over Raife’s skin where the wound had been, feeling the muscle tighten underneath. Her hand smoothed the hot, corded terrain of the man’s neck, brushing his hair aside to inspect the place where blood had been spilled. She had wiped it all away. He was completely healed.

  “Sibyl…” He spoke her name and she lifted her eyes to meet his. They sat close on the bed, her bare leg grazing his, their plaids pulled to mid-thigh, his face swimming in her vision. “Do’na defy me, lass.”

  “I didn’t ask your permission.” She felt her spine straighten as she glared at him.

  “Aye, ye did’na.” He clasped her hands in his, bringing them down to his lap. “But ye’re me charge and if’n I’m t’keep ye safe…”

  “Your brother kept me safe.” She stuck out her chin, defiant. “Were you worried he might turn me over to the MacFalons? Or mayhaps just kill me himself?”

  “Were ye worried ’bout it?” Raife chuckled. He lifted Sibyl’s hands, turning them both over and placing a kiss in each palm. His mouth was so soft, lips warm, and the feel of his breath made her chest tighten. “Darrow would’na hurt a hair on ye head. He knows how I feel ’bout ye.”

  “How do you… feel?” Sibyl swallowed, her words broken. She’d asked, but did she really want to know?

  “I’ve said too much.” He dropped her hands, moving to stand, but Sibyl couldn’t let him.

  So she did the only thing she could think of to stop him.

  She climbed into the man’s lap and pressed her lips to his.

  Raife’s big arms encircled her, enfolded her, completely enveloped her. Sibyl disappeared against him and she liked it. Being with him always made her feel safe but this was different. Something stirred in her, something deep, dark, primal. Raife groaned like a man being tortured when she turned her head and gasped for breath, opening her mouth to his, and he took it, tongue probing, hands roaming through the thick, red mass of her hair.

  “Oh Raife,” she whispered against his lips, her own hands roaming all on their own, down the hard, muscled planes of his chest, feeling the ridges of his abdomen under her fingers. “Please tell me… please… how do you feel?”

  “I can’na.” His voice was hoarse, pained. “Sibyl, do’na ask this of me.”

  “Because it’s too dangerous?” she frowned, remembering Darrow’s words. “Because you’re protecting the pack?”

  Raife nodded, slowly, that tortured look in his eyes like a knife in her heart.

  “Your brother wants a war,” she mused, touching a finger to that sweet dent in his chin. “But you want peace.”

  “We’ve sacrificed e’erythin’ for peace.” He sighed. “I can’na risk it all fer me own…”

  “Your own what?” she whispered. She’d seen the way he looked at her, the way his gaze followed her wherever she went. She’d heard the way the wulver women whispered about it. That look. The same look Darrow gave his wife. The look a wulver gave his mate. “What am I, Raife? Am I anything at all?”

  “Ye’re e’erythin’, Sibyl,” he said honestly, his big heart in his eyes. “Ye’re more’n I e’er dreamed of, mor’n I e’er hoped t’have. And still… I can’na…”


  Sibyl nodded, feeling a lump in her throat, her lips trembling as she rose from his lap.

  “Then I’ll go,” she said. Darrow had convinced her of the danger, and Raife had confirmed it. Just her presence here was putting them all at risk. “It’s better if I go.”

  Of course it was better. She would find her way back to the village where they’d left Rose. The woman would be big with child by now. Sibyl could help. She could make her own way in the world, somehow. And if she carried a weight in her heart for the rest of this life, the heaviness of loss, the possibility of what might have been between her and this man, she could bear it. She would have to.

  “Nuh, lass.” Raife stood too, looking down at her in the firelight. “Ye’re safe ’ere. I said I’d keep ye safe, and I will.”

  “You’ll keep me…” She turned her brimming eyes up to him, everything inside her aching. “But you won’t… take me?”

  “I can’na.” He caught her tear with his lips, kissing her cheek before leaving her, closing the door behind him.

  She didn’t ask Raife’s permission when Darrow asked her to go again, and Raife never gave it. But he was always there, waiting, when they returned with a good supply of useful herbs and sometimes wild berries or some other treat. Every time they came back, she thought Raife would rail at them, tell her she couldn’t go off gallivanting in the woods with his brother, but he didn’t.

  He would glare at Darrow as the wolf changed back into his human form. The brothers wouldn’t say a word to each other as Darrow started into the tunnel to go see his bride, and Raife pulled Sibyl close, his arms tight around her, hands checking to see if she was whole and unbroken, as if he believed just stepping out of his sight would instantly cause her harm.

  “I’m fine, Raife!” She would laugh and take his hand as they walked through the tunnels toward the smell of dinner cooking. And then she would tell him all about their trip, and show him what she found, and he would listen as if it was the most interesting thing he’d ever heard tell about.

  Then, one day, she found it.

  He had known instantly, just by the look on her face, that their trip had finally been a success. Raife had swept her into his arms, his embrace much tighter than usual, his face buried against her neck, his whispered words, “Thank God. Ye do’na hafta go back out again,” sending a shiver through her.

  But now…

  The willow Sibyl had found and transplanted was dying.

  She’d found the plant Laina could not, much to Darrow’s relief, and she had transplanted it here near the stream. There was plenty of light, plenty of water, and yet the plant did not thrive. There was no reason for it and she could not figure it out.

  “Tis the curse,” Laina told her simply when Sibyl went to visit her and the baby, bringing her broth to sip.

  Sibyl once would have said she didn’t believe in curses, but she had seen things now most human beings would never witness. The sight of a half-man, half-wolf carrying a sword and riding a horse was something you would never forget as long as you lived. It made you doubt and believe everything at once, including all the fairy stories and legends she had heard tell over the years.

  “Mayhaps,” Sibyl would say, whenever Laina blamed the willow’s slow death on the curse. But if it was the curse, and the willow was actually the cure for the change, as Laina and Darrow believed, then why would it not live here, in the place the wulvers called home?

  Laina had an explanation for that too.

  “It only grows in the borderland,” Laina told her, when Sibyl explained where she had found the plant. It had been too close to Alistair’s lands for comfort, and Raife had protested, but Darrow had been the one who agreed to take her out that far, to protect her if need be. “T’will not live on one side or th’other.”

  This seemed ridiculous to Sibyl, and she was determined to prove Laina wrong, but so far, the frustrating plant had done just the opposite. She wanted one of the wulver women to try eating the leaves before the plant died, but Laina was insistent she be the one to try it first.

  “I’ll pay the consequences, whatever they may be,” Laina told her. “I do’na want anyone else t’suffer any ill effects. I’ll try it first.”

  Laina had been doing so herself all along, harvesting and drying various species of willow, from roots to leaves to bark, and taking them to test their effects. That was how she ended up nearly bleeding to death during the birth of her son. She had lived through the ordeal, but just barely. It had taken her weeks to recover from something Kirstin said wulver women usually bounced back from right away.

  And in the time Sibyl had spent with them, she’d seen this for herself. Wulver women changed when it was time to give birth. They had one pup, two at the most, and their births were short and painless. They changed back immediately, as did the male pups. The girls took a little longer to change into human form, but babies, regardless of gender, stayed human until they came of age. Girls changed when they began to bleed, and they would continue to do so for the rest of their lives, until their moon time was done. Boys could not only control when they changed, they could also transform into halflings, half-man, half-wolf. Female wulvers were either human or wolf. There was no in between.

  It was Laina’s desire to stop the change, so that female wulvers weren’t slaves to their own bodies. Wulver traditions were oral, passed down from generation to generation, but there was one text they considered their “bible” of sorts, and Sibyl had spent time going over it herself since she’d come to live with them. It was told in pictures with only some words—human wulvers were incredibly deft with their hands and could draw anything, their mountain walls were covered with beautiful drawings—but Sibyl’s father had taught her to read.

  While most wulvers did not read, Sibyl understood the words in the book. Laina had been excited to learn this, and wanted Sibyl to pour over the text, to find the things Laina could not. Sibyl understood the woman’s urgency, at least to some degree. She, herself, felt trapped by her own gender. All of the things her father had taught her—to ride, to hunt, to shoot, to track—were useless to her sex. She understood Laina’s anger at feeling trapped in her body, unable to change what nature had made her.

  But she didn’t fully understand until, one early morning while she helped wash clothes in the stream with Kirstin, she was told the story of Laina’s mother and how she had died. It was so eerily similar to how Laina had been caught, Sibyl found herself getting goose flesh at the telling of the tale.

  The women took turns telling it, each of them bringing something new to the story as they went on. They told of a time when wulvers and wolves were trapped, hunted and killed. It had been just twenty years ago when “the MacFalon” and his bloodlust for wolves drove the wulvers underground. He would capture them in cages, torture and kill them. There was even a mandate from the Scottish king that wolves must be hunted at certain times of the year.

  Sibyl wondered if this man they called “the MacFalon” was Alistair’s grandfather, a man whose reputation had been far worse than his son’s. Alistair’s father, according to Donal and everyone who spoke of him, hadn’t been the type of man who would shoot an animal for sport. She couldn’t imagine he had done what these women described “the MacFalon” doing.

  The tale took another turn when the women told of two young female wulvers becoming trapped in a MacFalon cage. One was in estrus, they said—in heat. The other was heavy with pup and the trauma of the cage had forced her into labor. Neither female could change back to free themselves, and they had been separated from their men folk.

  In the morning, the MacFalon himself had come to see what he had trapped in his cage. He found both of the wolves, the one in heat snarling at him, the other just birthing her pup. The young wolf pup, eyes hardly open, slipped out of the bars of its cage and ran.

  “I thought wolf pups change when they’re born?” Sibyl had asked, pounding cloth against the rocks.

  “Boys do, right away,” Kirstin explain
ed. “Girls, they take longer. It can be up to a day afore they turn human.”

  So it had been a girl who had escaped that day. A young wolf girl who would later be called Laina, a name her own mother, the wolf the MacFalon had shot through with an arrow while still in the cage, had chosen before she was born. He would have shot the other wolf as well, if she hadn’t changed. Her heat was nearly over, so mayhaps it was time, the women said. Or mayhaps it was the shock of seeing her friend murdered.

  But the MacFalon, suddenly faced with a dead wolf and a very alive, nude woman, decided to drag his wolf kill behind his horse and throw the other woman across his saddle—after he restrained her, of course.

  “T’would’ve been war then,” Beitris, the old wulver midwife, had told her with a nod. “Once the wolfen warriors heard wha’happened, they took to their horses and went ridin’ after the MacFalon armed wit’ claymores.”

  “What happened?” Sibyl had asked, glancing down into the valley where the wulver men practiced the art of warfare every day, keeping their bodies in condition, just in case.

  “King Henry.”

  Sibyl had stared at them in disbelief, but they weren’t jesting. Not even a little.

  “He was’na the king then,” the wulver women explained. “Nuh yet.”

  “He came ta Scotland seekin’ warriors t’win the crown.”

  She knew King Henry VII had been in Brittany, recruiting the French troops, when this incident was supposed to have happened. Had he really come to Scotland in hopes of finding more?

  “And got ’em, he did!” One of the other older wulver women cackled, her rheumy blue eyes flashing.

  “He came lookin’ for the wulver warriors,” Kirstin explained. “King Henry wanted ’em t’fight for ’im. Dis was all before I’s born, a’course.”

  “King Henry fell in love wit’ Avril,” the wulver women told her. Sibyl listened to this tall tale with big eyes. She knew the name Avril belonged to Raife’s mother. “She was wit’ child when he rode back t’England.”