by Berinn Rae
“She’s licking me to death.”
“She’s a terrible flirt. See how she looks at Garnet before licking you. Trying to get him jealous.”
“And if she succeeds, what does he do, rip my throat out?”
Jelena laughed again. “No, the worst he would do is nip her, not you. But he’s too much of a sweetheart to even do that. Now I mean it, lean in close, wrap yourself around a wolf.” She suited the action to the word. Reluctantly, he followed suit. He saw Jelena smile when Emerald slurped a long lick up the side of his face.
He pressed his face against the wolf’s neck, feeling the silky fur against the unprotected parts of his face. He could feel Emerald’s chest move in and out as she breathed, the steady thrum of her heart, the pungent animal smell of wolf that was curiously relaxing and calming. He inhaled more deeply and felt the tension leaving his shoulders.
He tried to remember if he had ever heard Jelena’s laughter before. Had she ever done so when she was under his protection? For surely she hadn’t afterwards.
It was a sign, a good start. They had many miles to go, and a perilous journey to undertake, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t use the opportunity to persuade her.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Though they couldn’t speak much while they traveled on the sled, Michael heard Jelena’s story during the meal breaks they took and at night, after the fire died down but before they curled together with the wolves to sleep.
The first night, he’d cleared a spot on the ground away from Jelena’s blanket, though near the dying fire that still threw off sufficient heat to keep him warm enough to fall asleep. Then the night chill had taken hold and he’d woken up, shivering. Remembering Jelena’s counsel earlier in the day, he turned to find a wolf to burrow with but found Jelena instead, warm and soft and sleepy. She didn’t protest when he wrapped his arms around her, and though he attempted no greater intimacy, the act of simply holding her in his arms satisfied something deep inside him.
The next night he put his blanket beside hers and she came into his arms without speaking. He closed his eyes at the gentle pleasure, ignoring his body’s demand to explore her sweetness further. This was enough for now.
The days passed quickly with hard travel and quiet nights, and he learned all that Jelena had done and marveled at her strength and wondered how he would ever convince her to return. The weather held crisply cold but clear, the sky blue and unclouded overhead.
He sensed the tension in Jelena’s shoulders as they drew closer to Wudu-faesten territory and wished the travel could go on forever, just he and Jelena and the wolves, endless and eternal.
The empty stretches of prairie gave way to the scrublands that surrounded the forest where the people lived. He noticed Jelena went slower now but he didn’t remark on it.
That evening, Jelena called a halt for the night a little earlier than usual.
“The twilight makes it difficult to see,” she explained.
He nodded; the twilight hadn’t been a sufficient excuse to stop before, but he didn’t challenge her. He understood her reluctance to return to the village. He shared some of it. He tried to imagine this Jelena, back among the people, and failed utterly. And yet he couldn’t leave the people. They needed him more than ever.
Could he let Jelena go again, after these days of such deep, satisfying companionship?
Jelena untied the wolves from the sled and watched them tumble in the brush. Almost no snow had fallen here and the weather was a little warmer, though there was no doubt it was the middle of winter.
She turned back to the sled, but Michael had already unhooked the water dish and was filling it from the skin. She smiled and went to the pack instead, to pull out the dried deer meat that she’d feed the wolves later, once they’d relieved themselves and recovered from the tiring day’s travel.
“May I?” he asked, turning his palm up.
Jelena hesitated for a moment, then gave him the meat.
“Thank you.” He knew feeding the wolves would increase their trust of — and affection for — him, and yet he didn’t know why it mattered to him to have it. He could make Jelena no promises. His shoulders slumped. He could no more make her promises now than ever.
He turned and offered the meat to the wolves, who eagerly awaited the food, licking his fingers and bumping against each other, twining around his ankles. When he held up his hands to show he had no more food, they lost interest in him and curled into piles of warm fur on the ground.
Jelena had started the fire though they probably didn’t have to have one tonight. They shared a silent meal then, though Michael would have given anything to say what was in his heart.
Jelena packed away the leftovers, then spread her blanket on the ground. He put his next to hers, as he had done on all the other nights.
“We’ll be there tomorrow,” he said and without thinking, reached for her hand and clasped it in his. To his surprise, she leaned into him, putting her cheek against his chest, as if to seek his comfort. His breath caught at the movement and then he brought his hand to her head and stroked his fingers through the long silky strands of her hair.
His heart thudded faster and he knew Jelena could feel the quickened pace against her cheek, and must know what it meant. And still she didn’t draw away.
His hand slipped from her hair to touch her cheek and then to tilt her chin up so he could look into her dark eyes. When he did, he couldn’t remember any reason why he should not have her and be her partner for the rest of their lives, even if it meant they must live as exiles from their own people.
He lowered his head and touched her lips with his, as he had wanted to do for all these years, and never had and only a foolish, foolish man never would.
Her lips were soft and gentle beneath his, and she made no protest, no movement to stop his kiss and so he deepened it, and her mouth opened beneath his and he kissed her like a man, not like a friend or a protector, tangling his hands in her hair to pull her closer.
She gave a soft sound of encouragement and he took the encouragement and shifted until she was on her back on the blanket and he could settle his body against hers. He groaned at the pleasure; her body soft but firm with muscles against his. Her arms went around his neck and she whispered his name against his lips and he knew she wanted this — him — as much as he wanted her.
His hand stroked down her face to her breast, so soft and warm in his hand and then she gasped and put her hand on his, pushing him away. He dropped his hand to the blanket but didn’t move, couldn’t move.
“Jelena,” he whispered, and then the words spilled out. “I want this. I want to touch you. I have wanted it for so long — ”
She kept her gaze on his, her eyes warm and full of longing, the same longing he felt, so why must she stop him?
She reached up and touched his check. “Then what, Michael?”
“I want to be with you,” he said. “I want you to come back home. I want to see you in the days and have you in my arms in the nights.”
She didn’t say anything for a long time but he could see her blink back tears, the same tears that stung his own eyes. Then she swallowed hard and whispered, “Michael, there was a time when that was all I wanted to hear from you.”
The words splashed like cold water on his face. “There was a time?” He rolled away from her, trying to breathe but it was hard because a fist crushed his chest. “That time has passed?”
“I can’t go back there. And I don’t believe for a moment that you will leave.”
“They need me,” he said, though the argument wasn’t as convincing to his heart as it had once been.
“You are who you are, Michael,” she said.
At the moment he wished he was someone different. “Jelena — ”
The sound of a large body crashing through the underbrush stopped his words. He jerked to a sitting position, then heard the grunting call of a wild boar. Jelena jumped to her feet, kicking one of the small logs free of th
e fire. She lifted it, like a torch, peering into the darkness as Michael grabbed for the broadsword next to him.
One of the wolves rushed by him, snarling, and then the crash of tough animal bodies rolling through the brush, tearing and ripping and growling. He couldn’t see what was happening but knew that other wolves had joined the first.
Jelena ran forward with the torch, calling for the wolves. Michael was at her side, sword held at ready. The bloodied board snorted and charged at him, razor sharp tusks slashing upward. Michael danced out of the way, slamming the sword into the boar’s side. It grunted, then wheeled and charged him again. Michael thrust the sword the moment it lifted its head, piercing its throat. The animal squealed and fell heavily, panting, then stopped breathing at all.
Michael took a deep breath and wrenched the sword free. He made sure the animal was dead, then turned to Jelena, who was on her knees, the torch burning unheeded by her leg.
She had a wolf in her arms. He didn’t need to see the tears on her face, illuminated by the glow of the torch, to know the animal she held was lifeless.
He fell to his knees next to her. “Oh, Jelena,” he said. “I’m so sorry.”
“Garnet,” she whispered and buried her face in the animal’s fur. Michael put an arm around her shoulders but he didn’t think she noticed.
After a while, he built the campfire flames higher, and said the words he had never said for an animal before, and Jelena put Garnet on the flames, as if the animal could go beyond self and reach enlightenment, and Michael didn’t say it could not.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“Why don’t you go ahead? Let the sentries know that they don’t need to worry about the wolves.”
Michael nodded as he stepped off the sled. He had been as quiet as she since the boar had killed Garnet last night, but she knew Michael didn’t grieve the wolf.
She watched him walk towards the sentries, never looking over his shoulder at her. Last night he had revealed more to her than she’d ever dreamed and yet it was just that — a dream. She couldn’t live here; not after what she’d done and who she’d become. It would destroy her. And Michael couldn’t leave the tribe. All that he was had become bound up in his service to them.
Though he seemed calm and confident as he hailed the sentries, Jelena knew he was anxious about returning to the tribe; he had much to explain. He had told her of the ruse with Rodrigo; that would not go well with the elders — or Teresa.
She clicked her tongue at the wolves and they settled back on their haunches to wait for his return. The snow had stopped falling and the sun shone on a crisp, cold day. She watched as Michael spoke to one of the sentries and gesticulated in her direction. Finally, he turned and waved her forward. She stepped down from the sled. She planned to lead the wolves and make sure there weren’t any ill-considered actions on anyone’s part.
The sentries seemed surprised to see her — she supposed everyone expected she’d be dead by now, but all they did was murmur her name in greeting. They stepped back as the wolves moved into the main compound.
Just inside the fence, she paused and turned to Michael. Stepping inside the gate felt oppressive, like a heavy weight had settled on her shoulders. She tried to shrug it off and when she spoke gave no sign of her discomfort.
“Why don’t you bring the saddlebags in? I’ll give the wolves a rest. Okay to use Isolde’s cabin? I’ll get them bedded down, then join you in the main hall.”
Michael agreed, then thanked her and grabbed up the saddlebags. He walked into the main hall as Jelena brought the wolves around to Isolde’s cabin. She made sure they were comfortable in their old den, then fed them from the pack on the sled. She’d get them a special treat from Bertha’s kitchen tonight.
She gave them each a long expression of appreciation, which required a great deal of petting, rolling around on the floor, licking (on the part of the wolves) and scratching of bellies. Satisfied that they would be reasonably safe in the cabin, she took her leave, pulling the front door shut behind her.
With a lighter heart, she set out for the main hall. At first, she thought she might go in the kitchen door to say hello to Bertha but the imp of perversity made her decide to make her entrance in style — front door and all.
The elders had gathered around a long table in the dining hall. Michael had dropped the saddlebags in a corner of the room and was explaining what had happened, describing Rodrigo’s death and mentioning about the map that might show them where to find the caves they sought. Jelena approached and Michael looked up, his jaw relaxing as he saw her.
“Without Jelena and her animals, I wouldn’t be here now,” he said.
The elders regarded her coldly. Finally Cara spoke up. “We thank you for your — kindness. And of course we will repay you for your consideration.” Then she turned her back on Jelena.
“Jelena deserves more appreciation than that,” Michael said softly. “She lost one of her beloved animals bringing me home. I was the one who made the error of judgment that cost Rodrigo his life.”
The front door slammed open and Teresa stalked into the dining hall.
“Where is Rodrigo?” she demanded shrilly. She stormed over to where Michael stood and grabbed his shoulder to make him face her. He resisted the effort, calmly pushing her hand away. “You lying, treacherous swine!” she shrieked. “What have you done?”
“We were attacked a few days north of here,” Michael said. “Rodrigo was killed.”
“No,” Teresa said, the color draining from her face. “You wouldn’t — you didn’t — you killed him, Michael! You killed him!”
“Teresa, I’m sorry about what happened. And it is my responsibility for bringing him with me. But I didn’t want to leave the tribe unprotected. That was why I convinced Rufus to stay. I knew Rodrigo wasn’t ready to lead the riders. Putting him in command would risk not just his life but the lives of everyone in the tribe.”
Jelena saw the lines of fatigue on his face, the deep lines of care and worry, the distress and despair in his blue eyes. Did no one else see what she saw? Why did they let Teresa abuse him so?
“You killed him,” Teresa said.
“Teresa, you — none of you — understand what it means to fight, to defend — ”
“You killed him,” Teresa repeated. “And you dare to bring this traitor into our midst!” Teresa flung an accusing hand at Jelena.
Jelena couldn’t even imagine what the other woman was talking about. She glanced at Michael. His jaw tightened and he narrowed his eyes at Teresa. What had Jelena ever done to earn her hatred, to be called a traitor?
“Don’t you think,” Teresa said, speaking to the elders, “that it was quite a coincidence that she ran away — forcing Michael to follow her? And that we then heard rumors about her — rumors that lured the riders away from the village?”
“Teresa, you cannot make these accusations — ”
“And you!” Teresa exclaimed. “You just happen to be traveling north with Rodrigo and look! You meet up with Jelena, who has somehow miraculously survived what no one else ever has.”
“Michael,” Maurice said, leaning forward, his brow furrowed, his eyes troubled. “Michael, you would not betray us?” But the question in his voice belied his words.
“He might — for the sake of that woman!” Teresa was nearly screaming now. “Don’t you see? Rodrigo is dead. Our warrior is dead. How was that accomplished, I ask you? It is because Michael was jealous. Eaten with jealousy, that Rodrigo would be everything he was not!”
Jelena stared. The elders didn’t try to contradict Teresa. And yet they’d known Michael all these years, known who he was and how he sacrificed for the tribe. She looked at Michael, whose face was ashen, to Teresa, triumph etched in every line of her body. The council members gathered around the table were listening to Teresa. Jelena opened her mouth to correct Teresa about Rodrigo’s true calling, and then closed it again when Maurice spoke.
“Michael, she makes serious and cred
ible accusations,” Maurice said.
“If, after all these years, you believe me capable of that kind of treachery, then there is nothing I can say to dissuade you,” Michael said.
Maurice drummed his fingers on the table. “Yes, that is true. Many years of service. And I don’t believe you are … err … a bad man,” he said, looking around at the other elders to see if they agreed with him. “But perhaps — misguided. Led astray.”
“What?” Jelena demanded. “I don’t understand why you let Teresa sit here and fill your ears full of bile and spite — ”
“Teresa has never been anything but a good, productive citizen,” Maurice flared. “I’ll not have you say anything against her.”
“Are you formally accusing me — ” Michael interjected.
“Of course not,” Cara snapped. “We believe you are at heart a good man. We merely believe you have been seduced from the Way.”
“They mean me,” Jelena said. “They’re blaming all of this on me. Michael, this is just as before, with the wolves. They must take the easy explanation — ”
“You will be silent!” Maurice thundered. “You will not address the council in that tone!”
“I don’t recognize the authority of the council,” Jelena said, and turned to leave. She was seized from behind before she could take a step. She looked up, startled to see that the sentries had come in. One blocked the door. The other had her by the arm and forced her to face the council.
“The council recognizes their authority over you,” Cara sneered. “And we have just discovered that owing to you, we are under constant threat and have been attacked.”
Jelena didn’t even know what to say to that accusation. “I’m even more competent than I thought. Traveling all of that distance, fending off the Jackals and starvation — and, according you, plotting treachery against the Wudu-faesten. I’ve been quite busy.”
