Her Scottish Wolf (Howls Romance): Loving World

by Theodora Taylor

  “And under the terms of this communication, you cannot insult your mate or make him feel he is not the one you want?”

  The mood had suddenly become very serious, and Chloe turned fully toward him. “No, you can’t. You also can’t make your mate feel like her feelings don’t matter to you because she’s a woman, and not the dominant in your relationship.”

  “And in this way I would know your thoughts, even when you wished not to give them to me.”

  “Yes,” she said. “In my time if both parties agree to communicate then the silent treatment—that’s what we call just flat-out not talking to each other—isn’t allowed.”

  He studied the sky for a few moments before reaching over and taking her hand, which he brought to rest on his chest. “Then yea, I will agree to a contract of communication.”

  Chloe grinned. To her great surprise, she had found out Vikings were huge fans of contracts. They used them for business transactions, wills, and even weddings.

  “You really want to make a contract of communication with me?” she asked.

  “If it means I will never have to let another three full moons pass without knowing the inside of you, then yea, yea indeed.”

  Chloe found herself unable to suppress her giggles. “Well, you know in my time after the birth of the baby, we let at least three full moons pass before we start having sex again.”

  “In your time, you may not use hot springs or drink mead or handle the bog iron in its liquid form or eat uncooked meat or ride upon horses. And now you do tell me there are also mating restrictions imposed after the birth. I would say your people make the coming of pups more difficult than need be.”

  She laughed. “You say that but we also have a much lower infant mortality rate than your wolves. For example if a woman went into labor early back in the day, there was a good chance both she and the baby would die, especially if it was breach and she needed something like a C-section. But in my time, Doc Fisher can deliver a healthy baby as early as seven full moons, and if it’s breach, he can give the she-wolf this numbing potion called ‘anesthetic,’ cut it out, then sew her back up. There are also way less miscarriages and even fertility treatments for when a she-wolf goes into heat but can’t make a pup.”

  “I stand corrected then,” he said, sounding a little bit sad. “’Tis fortunate to hear you have medicine for all that ails a mother in your time.”

  “Well, not everything…” she started to say.

  But before she could finish, he squeezed her hand. “Let us return to the subject of communication. Now we have made our contract, I would have your thoughts from before.”

  She smiled, allowing the obvious subject change though she was curious about where his mind had gone before.

  “I was just thinking it’s nice to be wanted for who I really am. Your family likes the recipes I come up with, your people don’t mind telling me all about their trades and how they do it. And you don’t find it embarrassing that I scream during sex.”

  “In truth, I will find it more embarrassing if I am not able to make you do so again,” he said.

  He then rolled toward her and claimed her lips with his. And by the time they were done beside the hot spring, he was definitely not embarrassed.

  Chapter 19

  IF Chloe thought the village might pretend that they hadn’t heard her screaming like a mad woman at the hot springs—twice—she was sorely mistaken. The Vikings, she discovered, were a bawdy lot, and many of the villagers called out to them as they made their way from the forest to Fenris’s longhouse.

  “Yea, I can see why you took her so far away. Many wolves might have lost their hearing this day if you had not. You are a true Fenris,” called one of the village’s lumberjacks.

  “I might try the fated mates spell myself if it wins me a she-wolf as beautiful and full of losti as your own, Fenris,” said one of his warriors.

  “Forget the fated mates spell,” cried another. “Let us set sail to Blaland now.”

  Unfortunately, Chloe had learned enough Old Norse by that point to pretty much understand everything they were saying.

  “Pay them no heed, my queen,” Fenris said beside her. “You shall see the fun of it when another she-wolf has her heat night. In these lands, people do enjoy a good jesting.”

  She might have taken some solace in his words if his family hadn’t turned out to be even worse than the villagers. They kept making strange variations on a joke she didn’t understand about Fenris losing his beard. “Surely, we should light the funeral pyre for your newborn beard, our Fenris” and “Do tell your beard to bid our ancestors good-meet when it does join them in Valhalla” and “Has a man ever wanted as much as our Fenris to see his beard not grow?”

  They also teased her mercilessly, on and on, until she found herself grumbling out loud in Old Norse to the family she had come to love during their supper, “I would have the full moon rise this day and not on the morrow if it would mean being rid of you.”

  Of course, this only caused them all to burst out laughing.

  “Me thinks you want rid of us, so you might have the longhouse to yourselves,” said Uncle Olafr. “You kept Fenris pent up so long, our queen, I have no doubt the only ones who will be getting sleep on the morrow’s eve will be we wolves.”

  “That is only if Fenris finds a way to quell the screaming,” said one of the cousins. “If not, we will all be kept awake until the sunrise.”

  Another yell of laughter.

  Unfortunately, her new family didn’t have stuff like television, and white collar jobs, and celebrity gossip to distract them, which meant they were back at it at breakfast, and still going when they all came back together for supper before the full moon.

  “Try kissing her when she does excite, our Fenris. Mayhap that will keep this night peaceful,” said Aunt Bera’s daughter.

  Then Uncle Olafr set into a rather physical retelling of how he had run for his battle axe, thinking their queen, who he held so dear, was being murdered in the distance—that is until he heard her cry out their king’s name. “And yea, then did I realize, nay, she was not being murdered, she was being stabbed!” He jerked his hips back and forth to drive home the message.

  This got the biggest laugh yet, with everyone, including the servants, cracking up so hard they had tears in their eyes.

  She looked down the table to the Viking, who was lazily picking at his plate of chicken.

  “Can’t you do anything to stop them?” she asked him mentally.

  “You have incited them by once again choosing to sit with my aunt as opposed to your king. They believe you are trying to distance yourself from what happened the day before. Embarrassment to Vikings be as blood to bears. It only incites them. Nay, the sole way to stop this is to be bold in action.”

  She narrowed her eyes, “And how exactly would I do that?”

  “A kiss might make for the effect you want.”

  “So you’re saying if I kiss you, and act like I really am full of losti for you, then they’ll stop teasing me?”

  “Yes.”

  That reasoning seemed a little backwards to her, but then again just about everything in this time and place was backwards from wolf society in Colorado. She took a deep breath and with her head held high, she strode to the head of the table, where Fenris was sitting.

  He in reply scooted back and offered his lap, which she gingerly took a seat upon. Then pretending she was someone else, some saucy she-wolf who didn’t get embarrassed at brazen public displays of affection, she hooked her hand behind his head, threading her fingers into his silky red hair before pulling his face down to hers for a passionate kiss that went on and on and on . . .

  And Fenris was right. The unexpected kiss completely silenced the room. She could practically feel the wide eyes of family and servants on them as their tongues mingled inside each other’s mouths and the scent of her arousal once again rose between them. Only knowing there were children present allowed her to cut it off,
tearing her lips from his just as his large arms wrapped around her to draw her closer.

  As soon as she stopped kissing him, a great cheer went up from the dinner table, and the catcalls and bawdy talk redoubled in size.

  She glared at him. “I thought you said kissing you would shut them up.”

  “It will,” he answered before slamming a hand on the table, loudly enough to get everyone’s attention.

  “From henceforth there is to be no more talk of this subject. You have said your part, leave it. And leave us now.” His eyes burned into Chloe’s. “I wish to start the eventide’s activities early.”

  Every wolf jumped to obey his command, with servants divesting the table of its dishes and exiting the house so quickly, it was hard to believe five minutes ago the house had been filled with bawdy laughter.

  “You said me kissing you would stop them,” she said.

  “And it did,” he answered, with a smile on his lips.

  “No, you telling them to stop made them stop.”

  “And I did tell them to stop because you lay your lips upon mine,” he answered. “You should try kissing me more oft, my queen, especially the tongue kissing. You might be surprised at what you gain.”

  Now it was her turn to smile, “So that’s what you call French kissing—tongue kissing?”

  “Yea, what have the Franks to do with tongue kissing?”

  She thought about it. “Actually, I have no idea. It’s like the oven, and the microwave, and the bathtub. In my time most of us have no idea how anything works or why we say the things we say.”

  He smiled, “Then ‘tis fortunate you are now in my land, in my time. If you doth wonder how a thing works or why a word is called as it is, you have only but to ask.”

  She licked her lips. “In that case, what exactly is considered bold here?” She pressed her hand into his crotch and squeezed. “For example, is this considered bold?”

  He drew in his breath at the unexpected move. “Yea, very bold.”

  “Feel free to tell me when I go too far.”

  “This I will,” he answered, his eyes hooding with desire. “And I can assure you now that you have not.”

  “In that case, if I ask you the Norse word for ‘dick,’ is that too bold?”

  She felt him harden even further under her hand.

  “No, it is not,” he answered. Then out loud said the word: “Boli.”

  “I see,” she said. “And what do you call blow jobs—or is that too bold of a question?”

  “I do not know the meaning of ‘blowjob.’”

  She bit her lip. “In that case, I might have to show you—but I don’t want to be too bold.”

  “I do not believe this to be possible,” he said. “Especially considering the depth of my desire for you right now.”

  “Are you sure?” she asked, even as she slipped to her knees and started tugging down his pants for him. The rush of power she felt from being able to turn the Viking on with just her words and her hand covering his cock, had her own pussy clenching in and out with desire.

  He lifted his hips to help her help him out of his pants. “Verily, am I sure. I have enjoyed teaching you the ways of my land over the last weeks. Now I would have you teach me the ways of your land.”

  “In that case,” she said, “There or two ways to play with your boli where I come from. The first is I take you in my hand.”

  She wrapped her hand around his dick and stroked him up and down, just hoping she was doing it right, since her only real lesson in this stuff was from reading erotica and watching a few porn movies in the hopes of jumpstarting her heat.

  But she must have definitely been doing something right, because she heard Fenris’s breath catch above her, and soon the bulbous head of his cock was shiny with the pre-cum spilling from its narrow slit.

  “Too bold?” she asked.

  “None too bold,” he answered, his voice husky. “See how my cock does water for you. You will unman me in a few more pulls.”

  “In that case, let’s move on to the second form of boli play.”

  When her mouth closed around his cock, taking it as far down into her throat as she could before pulling back to suck hard on the tip, Fenris clenched his teeth and started inhaling sharply through his mouth.

  He was so large it was impossible to fit all of him in her mouth, so she decided to try tugging and sucking at the same time.

  This time Fenris bucked his hips, throwing his head back and yelling something in up to his Norse gods.

  He compulsively grabbed the back of her head holding her there while she fucked him with her lips and hand until he released into her mouth with his third and loudest yell.

  She grinned after she finished swallowing. “Tomorrow, you’ll be the one who will have to put up with everybody’s teasing.” Then: “So how do you say blowjob and handjob in Old Norse?”

  Lying in the bed closet that night, she once again found herself thinking about the carving on the ceiling of the bed closet. Two nights ago she still wasn’t technically talking to Fenris and the night before she’d been too embarrassed by the continuous catcalls of his family right outside the closet to engage in any real conversation. But that night they lie blessedly alone and completely sated by what had happened in the chair and then on the table and then again on the benches, and then finally one last glorious time in the bed closet, with Fenris grinding into her slow and hard, until he pulled an orgasm out of her that made it feel like her world was coming apart, that she was shattering and reforming with every stroke.

  “What does this carving on the bed closet ceiling mean?” she asked him as they lie there, listening to the howls of wolves outside the longhouse doors.

  She felt him stiffen beside her. “’Tis my mother and father,” he answered.

  “On their wedding day?” she asked.

  “Yea, wolves did come from far and wide to celebrate the marriage, for it united two long time warring clans. The father of my father did manage to unite most of the wolves of the Northern wolves under one king. But in my father’s time of rule, there did be one chieftain to the north of us who would not bend. He insisted on keeping his pack separate and said he would never pay tribute to any king. It was a stalemate, yea, that could only end with the blood of the king or the chieftain.

  “My father would be an honorable man and did refuse to attack such a small village with his warrior force. He offered to the old alpha that they would fight, wolf to wolf, as it did go in the days of old before the time of long boats and Viking warriors. This to us is still the most honorable way. And the chieftain he did accept, much to the upset of his eldest daughter, who loved her father as a daughter is wont to do and did not wish to lose him even though he did stand a wolf of many years.

  “The eve of the fight, my father lay in a nearby meadow with his men, and they all fell asleep as the quarter moon did rise. But when they woke up, my father, the king was disappeared. Immediately did they suspect foul play from my mother’s village and raise up in arms to either find or avenge their king.

  “But when they did come roaring into the village, they found its people gathered outside the old chieftain’s longhouse, including the chieftain himself. From inside could be heard the sound of two wolves laying together. It did be my father and the daughter of the old chieftain. She had gone into heat the night before and my father could smell her to be his fated mate all the way from his camp. He did walk from his warriors, past the sleeping guard with none the wiser. So what was to have been a final and grievous battle became a mating that went on for five moons before the lovers did emerge. And thus did my mother become a peace pledge. After their mating, it was contracted that the chieftain’s village would remain free in exchange for the hand of his daughter. To this day my mother’s village calls no wolf king, and once a season I travel there to hear cases from wolves from all around the Northern lands. It is considered a land of peace, where judgment may be given without battle.”

  “Th
ey’re neutral. Kind of like Switzerland,” she said.

  “I do not know the region of which you speak.”

  “Um, you know what, never mind. It would take way too long to explain,” she said, laughing.

  But when her laughter died down, she felt compelled to ask. “What happened to your parents? Why aren’t they here with you?”

  “My mother did die a few full moons after the day depicted here,” he said. He took her hand and laid it on his chest before covering it with his own. “Twas her misfortune that the childbirth of our time ‘tis not the childbirth of your time. I survived my birth, but she did not.”

  Guilt erupted inside of her, thinking about how much pain it must have caused him to have her tell him how much better pregnancy was in her time than his. “I’m sorry about your mom.”

  “As was my father. He did become a king in name only after the lost of his fated mate. He partook of too much mead and would solve all disputes with items from our coffers rather than battle. I was left to my Aunt Bera to raise, and any greatness I learned of him did come through stories of his past. The only contact he had with me was to watch me practice at sword. I will confess this did make me work at my sword art that much harder, and did I spend much of my time dreaming up new sword tricks to impress my father. But then one morning tide, when I was but fourteen winters, he did come with one of his largest warriors to the place where I practiced the sword with the old warrior he had set to tutor me in weapons.

  “My father did push the man into the circle. Then did he put a call to the village to come see us fight. At first I thought this meant to be a display of my skills. And I confess I beamed with the pride of a boy to have my father expect so much of me. But then my father spake the words, ‘to the death.’ And before I could comprehend, he spake the words of battle start, and the warrior, who did not want to lose his life to a young boy, did come at me.”

  She clapped her free hand over her mouth, horrified by this turn in the story. “Then what happened?”