by Jan Delima
Rosa inhaled deeply, savoring the taste of life and power that clung to her skin and rolled over her tongue.
Could it be this way for Avon? she wondered.
Could this arrangement heal her home? Could it mend poisoned ground and broken hearts, and bring strength to those who have forgotten how to breathe?
She dared not hope for such things, for hope was a dangerous seed, and once planted it could tangle hardened souls with false dreams.
Even so, the magic of the night beckoned her, and humbled her as well, for Sophie and Elen had gone to great trouble to make this ceremony more special than it was.
Lanterns hung from branches, and white candles lined the moss-covered trail, glowing like soft orbs in emerald silhouettes. She held a bouquet of pink roses and white peonies that had bloomed by the touch of an enchanted hand. Twin torches awaited her ahead, placed on either side of the trail, made of stone and topped by fire.
Luc stood between the two flames—the Beast in the flesh, cloaked in human trappings and modern clothes. Ink-black hair hung around his shoulders, wild like the wolf she sensed within.
His family watched from the outskirts, following her approach with wary eyes and a few forced smiles; Dylan, Sophie, and Joshua, their son. Elen was there, Porter as well, and of course, Taliesin would not have missed the show. He had cursed her first wedding with his presence; why not her second?
Other guards lined the trail as she walked, while her gaze remained on Luc, drawn like a night creature to darkness and forbidden things. He wore jeans and a black shirt, with serviceable boots, an insult to tradition, and to her.
He should have been awaiting her nude.
Honor called her to shift, to give witness to her gift, and to stand unclothed before him in the pure form in which she was born. She dared not shift, not here among other unmated men, but the other allowance may make this whole event seem less doomed.
She stopped a good eight paces before Luc and set her bouquet gently on the ground. He frowned at her, impatient to be done, or so she assumed.
He would have to wait, for respect deserved a small measure. And with that thought in mind, she pulled her sweater over her head and let it mingle with overwintered leaves by her feet.
Luc froze . . . surprised?
As a child, Rosa had lived during the reign of Queen Anne, when propriety had taken root and nudity was scorned. She’d been raised among humans; men and women who had strutted about in wigs and velvet trimmings, and did their debauchery behind closed doors.
As a result, she felt exposed when unclothed, but Luc was Pagan born and mustn’t be allowed to know her insecurities. Kicking off her boots, she shimmied out of her pants and tossed them next to her sweater.
Her underthings followed.
“Okay, then,” a young male voice murmured. Joshua, she guessed. “I think I’m going to like this wedding.”
With a mortified groan, Sophie slashed her arm through the air in a silent command to stay quiet.
Ignoring the exchange, Rosa reached behind her head and undid her plait, shaking her hair loose to fall around her waist. She looked to the man who was about to become her husband, in name if not in heart. His eyes glinted silver, kissed by fire and cursed by shadows, and dared her to run if only to sweeten the hunt.
“It seems,” Luc said as she stepped beside him, “that I’ve come overdressed.”
“That is your choice . . . and this is mine.” An evening breeze kissed her naked skin. She felt her nipples tighten in response and willed him not to look down, but to no avail.
His voice took on a husky tone. “Does my being clothed bother you?”
Yes, but more so that he’d asked. “No,” she lied. “And if your vows are short then this will be over with soon.”
His jaw tightened. “If that is your wish.” He placed his hands forward, palms down, and waited until she covered them with hers. “Rosa, Penteulu of Avon, I offer you respect, loyalty and protection, as long as you offer the same in return.”
She repeated similar vows back to him, simple and uncommitted to love. Blessings were given by their local holy man, and a few in their ancient tongue from Elen as she placed strips of cloth over their joined hands.
Rings were not worn by their kind nor exchanged at ceremonies. However, the assurance in Luc’s voice held more meaning than circles of gold. “I enter our marriage by my own choosing. I accept your vows and will honor mine.”
“I enter our marriage by my own choosing,” Rosa repeated, taking solace in the fact that this time her words were not forced. “I accept your vows and will honor mine.”
It was not the most romantic wedding in history, but not the worst, and if kept true, it would serve her far better than her first.
As if he sensed her thoughts, Luc gently tugged her forward and searched her face. Stark eyes simmered with haunted specks of black and iridescent silver. “I won’t be unkind to you, Rosa.” The kiss he gave her was chaste, hardly a kiss at all, but firm, and warm, and gracious.
She much preferred his kiss over Math’s, who had used his tongue to slime her face and to put on a show for their guests.
The moment was disturbed by a mechanical click. An unnatural burst of light followed; they both turned and squinted into the shadows.
Taliesin stood off to the side, sporting a camera and a satisfied grin. “For proof.” But why would he need proof, when all the man needed to do was speak and the Guardians listened? No doubt, there were amusements afoot, because Taliesin liked to play games with the people who’d raised him, and she was their favorite pawn.
Afterward, Rosa dressed quickly, picking leaves from the front of her sweater if only to occupy her hands while Luc said his farewells. A few guards offered polite regards, but most spoke of the upcoming battle, for which she was glad. Gareth’s truck remained parked on a dirt road just off the trail, the vehicle that would return them to Avon.
Before they climbed into the cab to be on their way, Dylan followed with a final cryptic message. “Be considerate to my brother,” he said with an underlying threat, “and you’ll be welcomed in our home, with our protection. But if you betray him—”
Clutching the handle of the door, Rosa said, “He would have to betray me first.”
Sophie stepped beside her husband. “Her intentions are pure.” A loose jacket hung below her waist, but a glint of gold sneaked out to rest on her hip. She wore the Serpent of Cernunnos on her person, a weapon honed in the Otherworld for Taliesin in the form of a whip. Taliesin had given it to her, to Math’s utter disbelief. Her late husband’s arrogance had cost Avon a few Guardians and several more guards.
Dylan frowned down at his wife. “Did you come to that assumption from instinct, or something more?”
“Both,” she replied in a clipped tone.
Having heard stories of the weapon since childhood, Rosa was too curious not to ask, “Does the Serpent speak to you?”
Sophie ignored the question. “Luc is not like your first husband, Rosa. You may find this arrangement could be something more . . . if you open your heart to the possibility.”
No, Luc was not Math, but neither was she the innocent girl who’d once believed in love. “Open my heart?” She fought the urge to laugh. “How can I, when I’m not entirely certain I have one anymore?”
“Now, that’s not true.” Sophie shook her head. “You wouldn’t be here now if it were.”
“It’s time to go,” Luc announced, resting his hand on his brother’s shoulder. “I’ll call you when it’s done.”
“I should be there with you,” Dylan said, his voice laden with concern. “If it weren’t for Arnulf’s arrival—”
“You must trust me to succeed in Avon,” Luc cut him off as if they’d already had this argument and he didn’t care to repeat it. “With Daran and Isabeau joining us, I’ll have enough shifters b
acking this siege.”
“Arnulf of Salzburg?” Rosa asked. Known for his affinity for reclusion, the Austrian leader’s territory was old and powerful.
Dylan turned his heated glare back on her. His look produced a memory, poignant but not unwelcomed. Her father had often worn a similar expression, bleak with concern and troubled with doubts, as if contemplating whether or not to share dangerous information, or run away with everyone he loved.
“Rumors of our alliance are spreading,” Dylan said with some hesitation. “The Council has created more enemies than even I was aware of. Arnulf has requested a meeting.”
“I know he answers to the Council when they call,” she warned.
“As do you.”
Point taken. “I pretend my enemies are my friends, and my friends are my enemies, and I never expect either to be true.”
“That’s sad,” Sophie whispered.
“No, that’s survival.” Luc held out his hand. When Rosa simply stared at it, he prompted, “Keys.”
“I’ll drive.” She ignored his scowl. Having betrayed Gareth enough for one night, there was no need to add insult to injury and let her new husband drive his truck. Gareth was a true friend, the person who had taught her how to drive in the first place—who had convinced Math to let him. He had also procured her a fake license, among other things. He deserved more than what she’d given him in return.
“Fine, you drive.” His lips thinned. “I’ll give you directions.”
“I know my way home,” she returned. They both settled into the truck while Luc adjusted the passenger seat to accommodate his height.
“We’re not going straight to Avon,” he informed her. “My guards are meeting us by the church at midnight. Daran and Isabeau will join us near Salmon Mountain at four in the morning.”
Salmon Mountain sat on the tri-border of Maine, New Hampshire and Canada. She looked to the truck’s clock on the dashboard. Fourteen minutes past seven o’clock—almost five wasted hours.
“I had hoped to be there sooner.” She gripped the steering wheel, biting back her frustration. Imagining Aunt Neira had reached her volatile point by now. None of this sat well, but beggars couldn’t be organizers of other leaders’ forces.
“I understand your concern, but Daran and Isabeau needed travel time, and their help is necessary for our strike to be successful. There’s nothing you can do for your friends until then, so put it from your mind and prepare for the morning. You’ll be arriving in Avon with three armies on your side.”
“And a husband.” Mustn’t forget the husband. Of course, acceptance helped dissolve her bitterness. There was no point in regretting what had already been done, or what couldn’t be helped. For now, she would follow Luc’s lead, at least on this matter—a small forfeit to reclaim her home.
“Take a right up ahead.” He pointed to a turn in the road. “We’re going to my brother’s lake house.”
“Why?” Suddenly her concern became selfish. She’d known this was coming, but did it have to happen so soon?
“You know why, Rosa.” His low, slightly rough voice was riddled with more guilt than promise. “I’ll make sure it’s pleasurable for you.”
For me . . . but not for himself.
Unsure why that annoyed her so, she blurted out a petty comment. “I don’t think I’m built for pleasure.”
Seven
The lake house was constructed of fieldstone and mortar, and supported by large pine beams. Propane lanterns hung from the rafters and braided rugs covered wooden floors. Luc busied himself setting a fire in the cast iron woodstove, while Rosa huddled in a cushioned chair.
I don’t think I’m built for pleasure.
The memory of her biting words continued to taunt him, too much of a challenge to ignore. He’d seen her nude, an image he wouldn’t be forgetting anytime soon, if ever, curved like a goddess in just the right places, and highly responsive to touch, even if it were only from a brisk breeze.
When the fire blazed high, he shut the grate and turned to face his new wife. She watched him over raised knees; the added warmth in the room did little to lessen the chill in her multicolored eyes.
He could not help but give a weary sigh. “Come, now, Rosa . . . Is the thought of lying with me that distasteful?”
“It’s not you I have issue with, per se,” she informed him with bored acceptance, “but your aversion to me. I’ve been with one husband who found me repulsive, and it’s just so, I don’t know”—her shoulders lifted in a slight shrug, searching for the right term—“tedious to find myself stuck with another.”
Taken aback, he could only stare. “I have no such inclination.” He needed only to remember her bared breasts, perfectly rounded with fat, erect nipples that begged for his mouth, and was prepared to show her how little aversion he had.
“But you don’t want me either.” Her eyes took on a violet tone, softened by the overhead lanterns. “Not in that way.”
A bitter laugh escaped before he could contain it. “That’s not true.”
His conscience may not embrace this woman, but his cock had no such qualms. It pressed against his jeans in eager anticipation of more than seventy years denied. Koko had been frail in her last decade of life and he had refused to force his needs on her—or look to another to serve them. Even after her death, no other woman had tempted unfaithfulness to her memory.
Until now.
Rosa made a soft sound too feminine to be called a snort but close enough. “I know when a man wishes I were someone else.”
Insulted by the comparison, he said, “I’ll only ask you this once, and then there’ll be no need to discuss it again. Is your hesitation because of your experience with Math?”
She dismissed his concern with an absent wave of her hand. “He was cruel but not in that way. It wasn’t pleasant, mind you, but there were many times Math couldn’t . . . er, perform. He didn’t like being around me. Eventually he stopped trying. It’s been several years since . . .”
Much longer for him, but he’d be damned if he’d share that with her now. “We’ll consummate this arrangement, but it only need be this once.”
His beast growled in silent outrage, too enamored of this woman to think straight. Only need be this once? Only in your delusions!
From the moment she’d stripped to honor the old ways, his wolf had found its voice. Not even Koko had inspired such mental outbursts.
And that angered Luc as much as it fed his lust.
“Truly?” Her relief was palpable. “Don’t promise such things unless you mean to respect it. Otherwise, it’s just petty.”
“I’ll never force you.” An oath given with confidence, knowing he wouldn’t have to. “Not even now.”
This arrangement would be sealed with seed and flesh at least once so as not to be refutable later on—by her or anyone else. He had little doubt, like Sarah had mentioned earlier, that she had other men who wanted his role. And that didn’t include the Guardians planning a fertility ritual with his new wife.
All the same, a bad taste settled in his mouth. “If you require more time—”
“No, let’s just do this.” She expelled a defeated breath. “I’ve always found the interval of expectation to be worse than the actual event. And since it only need be this once, I would rather just get it over with now.”
“If there is a child . . .” He let the possibility hang in the air, his crowning betrayal to Koko this night. Simply admitting to the prospect with another woman rejected her as his mate.
“Then the fertility ritual will be good and truly thwarted.” Her smile was too practiced, too . . . amiable. Not entirely a lie but not the full truth either.
He was beginning to learn her cues. “If it were to happen,” he pressed, “would you accept my child, even if it were born a Bleidd?” A human trapped in wolf form, as he had been for almo
st six hundred years, until Dylan had smuggled him across an ocean to a wilderness so wild his beast had felt confident enough to recede.
Her guise slipped to reveal compassion of all things. Remarkable that she still had the capacity, considering her life up until now. She must know his history, after all, and the real motivation behind this inquiry.
“I highly doubt there’s even a small chance of pregnancy.” Her voice turned serious with respect for the topic. “But if you must know my views on the subject, then rest assured that I would protect my child in the unlikely event, and teach him or her to face any challenge they were born with.”
Satisfied, he strode toward her and held out his hand. She eyed it as a hound would a piece of grass, something to chew on for digestion purposes.
“Only this once,” she prompted again for reassurance.
“Only this once,” he returned. To demand more of her went beyond what was necessary to complete this arrangement. Likewise, it would equal his motivations to that of her former husband’s, a comparison too vile to consider further. “The next time,” he felt obliged to add, as hunger, decency, and a too-infatuated wolf battled a silent war within his gut, “you’ll have to come to me.”
And I’ll make you beg!
Did she sense his other half? he wondered when she unfolded from the chair to stand, brushing aside his offered hand. Did she know his beast howled in joy while the man watched her hair cascade down her back, picturing his face buried in all those damn silken curls?
“Then it will only be this once,” she said without thought, “because I’ll never come to you for this.”
“One day you’ll learn it’s not wise to challenge me.” More important, however, was her continued hesitation; he wondered whether it might ease her qualms if she were to control this first time.
“It wasn’t meant as a challenge,” she said.
