The Enchantment

by Betina Krahn

  It was in just such an admiring mood that he sat on a log at the edge of the meadow, watching her on a stump nearby. They had ventured outdoors to take advantage of the bright light of the midday sun for a bit of fine handwork, and their faces were now cold-blushed and their fingers clumsy.

  Her nearness distracted him. He savored the tense rise of her shoulders, the dent her frown made between her eyes, and the erotic, pink roundness of her tongue as it crept out to lave her lips. As his admiration grew, so did his desire, and he couldn’t help but make a bid for her attention.

  “Have I told you today how lovely you look?” When she nodded and continued on with her work, he put down his knife and chuckled. “What a sight you make—just like a little girl learning her stitches.” Still, she gave him only a glance. “If only Freeholder could see my she-wolf now . . .”

  Her head snapped up and her eyes focused intently on him.

  “So gentle, so womanly. I doubt anyone in the village would recognize you.”

  A genuine trill of panic raced through her heart. Would they not know her? Was she so changed? The combination of Freeholder and she-wolf in the same breath suddenly brought to mind the warrior’s ugly comments about tamed she-wolves and lost teeth. Her spine straightened and her dozing warrior-pride roused instantly. Feral instincts sprang into play.

  “Ohhh. So you think you’ve tamed Odin’s She-wolf, do you?” She emptied her hands and stood up, fastening a look of quiet ferocity on him. “Think again, Wolf-tamer.”

  She moved closer, her features smoothing with determination and her eyes taking on a dangerous, wolflike glow. The sight of her moving toward him with such intensity sent a quick frisson of excitement down his spine. He thrust to his feet and took a step back. Still she came, moving with hypnotic grace . . . her hair whipping around her shoulders, her feet caressing the ground. He took another step back, then another. He’d never seen her quite like this. She was stalking him!

  Then he realized he had seen her like this . . . when he watched her fight in front of the women’s house and then again in the long hall. There was that same air of danger about her that had tantalized him the first time he’d set eyes on her. Only now that sensual menace was trained on him. . . . Every fierce male instinct he possessed was suddenly hurtling into his blood, setting his heart pounding and his body heating.

  By the time he could tear his gaze from her, he was all the way across the meadow, near the slope leading to the lodge. In the instant it took him to cast a look around, then behind him as he started back up the grassy rise, she launched herself at him, swept one foot from beneath him, and pounced, knocking him down.

  The shock of his fall allowed her to seize his arms and pin them to the sides of his head while she straddled his stomach. Recovering his breath and vision, he struggled for a moment until he realized, with some shock, that she did indeed have him pinned. And when he looked up into her fierce amber eyes and wicked little smile, he felt his blood ignite in his veins.

  “You now have a wolf at your throat, Borgerson,” she said in a half growl, sliding back on his stomach just enough to lower her face to his. She arched her body deliberately, rubbing feminine-heat against him and watching the jolt of desire that her movement caused in his eyes. “Beg for mercy . . . and she may not eat you.”

  “And if I don’t?” he demanded, his voice a bit choked. By the Norns—he’d never been at a woman’s mercy before in his life! And he’d certainly never had a woman use physical force against him in a sexual way. His loins were on fire!

  “Then face the consequences,” she said, tightening her thighs against his sides and wringing a moan of pleasure from him.

  “I’ve never been eaten by a wolf before,” he said thickly, his gaze filling with the smoke of internal fires. “Is it terrible?”

  “You’re about to find out,” she said in a husky, sexual purr that strummed his very nerves. Then she slid lower on him and bent her head to nuzzle open the tie placket of his tunic and bare his neck. And she bit him. Slowly, softly . . . with exquisite restraint . . . her teeth raked his skin. His whole body convulsed with pleasure beneath her.

  She paused and released his hands, drawing back to search his face. His skin was bronzed, his eyes burned, and his lips were hot.

  “Do it again,” he said from deep in his chest.

  The vibrations rumbled up through her thighs, magnified by her own desires. After a long moment, she suddenly pushed to her feet and stood astride him, looking down at his sprawled body. Then she stepped over him and climbed slowly up the slope, while watching him over her shoulder.

  He was up on his knees in a flash, staring hungrily after her. The angle of her chin and the sinuous movement of her hips made it clear the game would continue . . . but that the rules were about to change. “Wait!” he called out, and she halted.

  “One bite?” he demanded with a growl. “That’s all I get? One wretched bite?”

  She turned back halfway and raked him with a look that all but shredded his garments.

  “If you want more, Borgerson . . . you’ll have to work for it.”

  Her challenge struck him right between his male pride and passion. He shot to his feet, and with his next heartbeat he was charging up the slope. She gave a triumphant laugh and bolted up the path ahead of him.

  “I’ll get you, She-wolf!” he called, racing after her. She darted toward the cabin door, then feinted at the last moment and went running farther up the slope toward the horse shed.

  “And what will you do with me if you catch me?” she called out, ducking between the horses and scaring them so that they reared. When Jorund arrived, the nervous animals kept him at bay long enough for her to skitter along the stone trough and out the other side. In a flash, she was racing at breakneck speed down the slope again . . . and he had to untangle himself from the horses to follow.

  “I’ll have you at my mercy, She-wolf!” he roared. “And I’ll make you into a wolf-skin to warm my bones at night!”

  She laughed as she dodged and ran like the wind ahead of him, crisscrossing the meadow and snaking in and out of the trees. Her long legs stretched out powerfully when she needed to cover open ground, then danced effortlessly through mazes of downed branches and underbrush when she flew through the woods. He charged after her in a wild rush, cutting corners wherever he could and using brute strength to plow through the underbrush instead of darting over it. Their mad chase slowed as she darted back across the meadow and up the slope, then ended abruptly when she ducked into the lodge and slammed and barred the door behind her.

  “Aaren!” Jorund pounced to a stop before the door, panting and burning with unspent heat. “Open up!” When there was no answer, he set his fist to the planks. “I’m coming to get you, She-wolf!”

  The door trembled under his mighty blows, but the bar held and after a while all went silent. Aaren crept to the door with her hand over her thudding heart, quieting it so she could listen. There was no sound. She scowled, thinking that he wouldn’t have given up so easily.

  Timber groaned against wooden timber at the top of one wall, and the roof beams suddenly creaked. A scraping noise across the roof made her look up and her jaw went slack as Jorund’s boots plunged through the smoke hole at the peak of the roof. With a twist of his body he lowered himself through the opening and dropped onto the cooled hearth, raising a cloud of ashes.

  “Oh, you—” She scrambled for the door.

  “Prepare to surrender,” he ordered as he pounced down from the hearth and bounded across the lodge to slam the bar back in place. She dashed back across the chamber and stood with her chin high and her eyes defiant.

  “If you taunt a she-wolf, you’re likely to get bitten,” she warned, suffering a wild shiver of excitement at the raw hunger in his face.

  “Is that a threat or a promise?”

  She could tell a move was imminent in the twitches of his muscles, and when he lunged for her, she raced for the door again. But he had read h
er intentions in the barely perceptible flicker of her eyes and had her in his arms before she reached the door. She braced and shoved, to no avail, then tried twisting her body around and down . . . slipping out of his arms. But he slid down with her, maintaining his grip, and she quickly found herself toppled and lying on the hard-packed floor with him atop her.

  She twisted and bowed her back, arched and rolled her body, using every wrestling move Serrick had taught her to try to throw him off or to escape. But he was massively strong and—worse—knew exactly how to counter her moves. Using his legs for leverage and his full weight to advantage, he trapped her again and again, corralling her legs with his and finally pinning her on her back.

  “What are you going to do with me, Borgerson? Skin me or tame me?” she challenged, panting softly, her eyes bright with excitement.

  “Tame you . . . first,” he said hoarsely, catching his breath. Then he captured her mouth in a wild, searing ravishment of a kiss that left them both air starved and reeling. When that kiss ended, another sweeter one took its place . . . then another, deeper and more pleasurable still. His towering heat melted her resistance and her body softened beneath his. When he pushed up on his elbows above her, she realized that her arms had somehow wound themselves around his ribs.

  “Now, I skin you.” He sat up, astride her, and proceeded to strip her garments, flinging them aside in his eagerness to claim the treasures they concealed. Scooping her up, he carried her to the great pallet of furs on the sleeping shelf and deposited her in the middle of them.

  She wriggled sinuously against the silver fox pelts, luxuriating in their silky slide against her bare buttocks and seeking their delicate rasp against her sensitive nipples. She bowed and arched with a feline awareness of every part of her long, exquisitely muscled body. Then she pushed up onto her hands and knees, and turned her tawny, golden eyes on him, looking exactly like her fierce namesake.

  “I’m waiting, Wolf-tamer.”

  Within heartbeats, Jorund’s garments lay on the floor and she had pulled him into the furs with her, stretching her long, soft-skinned body over his like a big, sleek pelt. She teased his lips with hers and slid her mouth down his chin, then down his neck. His flesh was so firm, so warm, with a slightly salty taste. When she fastened her teeth gently on the side of his neck, he jerked reflexively and groaned one word: “More.”

  Lavishing long, sinuous licks and soft, voluptuous bites on his neck and shoulders, she began to work her way down his chest, then his belly. Over and over she raked him gently with her teeth, nipping then releasing him. He shuddered and twitched and arched in a sublime agony of arousal. He was slowly being consumed . . . mind, body, and self-control. With each kiss, each slow, erotic flick of her tongue, each hot, delicious bite, he could feel the hungry beast in him prowling and clawing his insides, coming closer and closer to the surface.

  When she reached his maleflesh and caressed him, he opened his eyes and raised his head . . . and saw her face rubbing against his shaft . . . saw her kiss-swollen lips parting . . . coming nearer . . . The sensual beast in him tore free of its constraints, and he reached for her and dragged her beneath him, plunging his tongue into her soft, pleasurable mouth and sinking his hands into the wild torrent of her hair. Through the blood-heat in his senses, he felt her surprise and then her powerful response rising swiftly.

  She suddenly writhed and arched beneath him, challenging his control, testing his mastery of her with every bit of her formidable strength. The physical contest between them fired his senses in ways he hadn’t realized were possible. Every nerve and sinew in his body vibrated with the strain of containing her. It was like riding a lightning bolt down from the sky . . . or trying to kiss a tigress . . . or mate a she-wolf.

  The primal, surging rhythm of their blood permeated their bodies, slowing their responses and gradually blending them. Their wild straining ceased and their bodies began to move in concert, thigh to thigh . . . breast to breast . . . his hardness against her softness. Her arms now wrapped around his shoulders and her body sought his. She lifted his face between her hands and looked into his white-hot eyes.

  “Now, Jorund.”

  With one heart-stopping thrust, he joined their bodies, and for a moment, neither had possession of their senses. Slowly, that earthy and vital connection between them brought them back to reality, and they began to move together, arching and undulating, heated flesh surging against heated flesh. Their fever mounted, even as their motions slowed. The tension drained from their limbs to coil tightly in their loins. With each stroke, each caress, the delicious strain mounted like volatile vapor in their blood, until just one heated spark escaped and sent a blinding explosion of pleasure through her . . . igniting him, as well.

  Together they peaked and soared . . . like flame spread upon the searing winds of pleasure. And for a time neither could see or feel or hear . . . could only be.

  The pace of Aaren’s heart slowly returned to normal. When he called her name, she had to fight an overwhelming lethargy in order to turn onto her side facing him.

  “Are you all right? I never meant to be so—” He choked off the rest, frantic with the thought that he might have hurt her. He sat up partway and examined her both visually and with his hands, starting with the half-healed cut on her shoulder and working his way gently down her body.

  “More than all right,” she murmured, rippling under his touch. A pleasure-filled smile curled the ends of her mouth. “I feel . . . wonderful.”

  He had to admit, she looked wonderful. Her skin glowed in the dim light and she had a languorous, sated look, like a cat gorged with fresh cream. Her obvious good health reassured him and the tension finally flowed from his exhausted frame.

  “I think I just met the he-wolf in you, Borgerson,” she teased, her eyes half closed. “And I think I like him.” With that, she let her eyes drift shut and was instantly asleep, leaving him staring at her in complete bewilderment.

  He had never, not in his entire manly life, unleashed the full force of his passion-fury on a woman before. Mindful of his size and strength, he had always held back when taking his release, always considered the woman’s smaller, more fragile frame. But just now, he’d been roused enough to erupt through his long-practiced restraint and plunge into Aaren like some wild animal. Like the he-wolf she had just named him.

  He’d never imagined lovemaking could be like that . . . so furious, so wild and thrilling. And he understood instantly that it would only be so with Aaren. She matched him passion for passion, strength for strength, absorbing all of his intensity and returning it in kind. She not only withstood his overpowering strength, she wanted it, sought it. She was indeed the mate to his body and his soul.

  And with his body at perfect rest for the first time in his life, he smiled and drifted into sleep with her.

  She awakened some time later to find him watching her. She smiled, intrigued by the glow in his eyes. “What are you doing?”

  “Watching you. You wrestle very well indeed. I don’t know when I’ve enjoyed a bout more.”

  Her eyes danced and she gasped quietly as she felt his hands sliding up her belly and over the tips of her breasts, caressing and rousing them.

  “There is only one thing that could have made it better . . .” he murmured, kissing his way down her shoulder to one of those hard-tipped mounds.

  “And what was that?” she asked, closing her eyes and groaning as he sent lazy spirals of pleasure wending through her. She heard a perfectly wicked chuckle.

  “A pot of grease.”

  SEVENTEEN

  THE FOLLOWING days deepened the bond between Aaren and Jorund. They came together again and again, as strong, vibrant lovers, as playful children, and as quiet, deep-seeking souls. The intangible connection Aaren had always felt between them deepened and broadened to include every waking hour and every possible task, from the delicious intimacy of lovemaking and the fun of bathing, to the mundane chores of daily living. It was as if she wer
e fated to be here with him . . . and he with her. And for the first time since she had left her mountain home, she felt a peace and belonging that reached all the way into her bones.

  “Close your eyes.” Jorund’s voice surprised Aaren as she knelt before the hearth, coaxing the coals to share their flame with the small branches she was adding as she prepared to make some roasted fish and flatbread. She turned halfway.

  “No, don’t turn around! I have a gift for you and you’ll spoil it if you look,” he said with tantalizing excitement.

  She dutifully closed her eyes and sat back on her heels, feeling a cold blast of air from the door and listening to the sound of his movements. A moment later something soft brushed her cheek. It wasn’t his hand, she thought, frowning and concentrating harder on that brief sensation.

  “Now hold your hands out . . . close together.”

  When she extended her cupped hands he laid something soft and warm . . . and wriggling in them. Her eyes flew open and there was a small gray and black forest cat baby, all head and ears and eyes, not more than three or four weeks old. Her jaw dropped.

  “A little forest cat!” The creature mewed and wobbled, sinking its needlelike claws into her wrists to steady itself as she held it up and peered into its big eyes. “Its eyes are just opened. And those ears . . .” She drew it close and rubbed one of its seemingly oversized ears with her nose. “It’s a little heart-stealer! Where did you find it?”

  “I came across a wrecked den while I was hunting. A badger or wolverine probably got the mother. Alone in the forest, it would line a marten’s belly by nightfall. So I thought you might like it.”

  “What a little mouse you are . . . look at you,” she said to it as she sat down with her back to the fire and began to inspect and play with the little beast, quarreling over its sharp claws, crooning over its fuzzy ears and tail. “We’ll have to fatten you up, little beast. How about a nice piece of fish?” She retrieved a small piece of fish from the hearth behind her and let the cat baby eat it from her fingers.