Liulf: Alpha of the Mahdrah Ahlee, New Scotia Highlander Werewolves: A Paranormal Romance (The Brothers Cu Ahlee Book 1)

by Victoria Danann

  Liulf

  Title Page

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  Liulf

  Alpha of The Mahdrah Ahlee

  (New Scotia Pack, Book 1)

  Victoria Danann

  Copyright 2014 Victoria Danann

  Published by 7th House Publishing

  Dba Imprint of Andromeda LLC

  U.S.Copyright Office Copyholder

  PAPERBACK ISBN 978-1-933320-89-2

  Read more about this author and upcoming works at VictoriaDanann.com

  If you’re interested in serving on the best street team in the universe, email blackswanjunkie@gmail.com or visit here http://victoriadanann.me/the-street-team/.

  A TEAM MEMBERS WHO SERVED AS BETA READERS for Liulf

  Ann Ellis

  Anna-Marie Coomber

  Bobbi Kinion

  Brandy Ralston

  Brittany Johnson

  Cristi Riquelme

  Debera Smith

  Dee Bowerman

  Destiny Hernandez

  Diane Nix

  Elizabeth Quincy Nix

  Ellen Sandberg

  Fawn Phillips

  Janine Fromherz Diller

  Jessie Hines

  Joy Whiteside

  Karin Vaughan Sedor

  Kelly Danann

  Kim Staley Schommer

  Lindsay Caglayan

  Lisa High

  Lisa Lopez

  Maggie Nolan

  Nelta Baldwin Mathias

  Pam James

  Patricia Smith

  Rebecca Stigers

  Renay Arthur

  Robyn Byrd

  Shanyn Clark Doan

  Sherry Holubec

  Tabitha Schneider

  Tifinie Henry

  Thank you A Team.

  PROLOGUE to Liulf

  In Moonlight, Book 4 of the Knights of Black Swan series, The Order assisted with the interdimensional migration of a North American werewolf tribe to help them avert possible extinction. In the process the king, Stalkson Grey, fell in love with a beautiful cult slave named Luna Rejuvenata. With a demon's assistance he stole her away from the cult that held her and abducted her to another world. Eventually the captive's heart was won and she went willingly to the New Elk Mountain werewolf colony in Lunark Dimension where the wolf people’s ancestors had first settled a thousand years earlier.

  CHAPTER 1

  Even in the best of circumstances, the relationship between humans and werewolves has always been uneasy. The Highlander werewolves used to prosper by stealing from humans. Though the entirety of Scotia was fae territory, the monarchy tolerated the settling of outlying areas by humans. They were allowed to live peaceably and enjoy the proceeds of farm, fish, or timber, but were not allowed to own land. Their very presence, even as non-citizen immigrants, made them the king’s responsibility.

  In the 16th century the fae king, King Aden the Red, solved two problems at once by granting the werewolves a provisional territory of all the lands from Inverness north. For the grant of land, the wolves agreed to cease pilfering from the human villages. The wolves refused to admit to mischief or theft of livestock, but agreed they would not, in the future, find themselves in possession of any cattle, sheep, chickens or temporarily misplaced daughters. Additionally, in exchange for regular deposits of fae treasure, they agreed to protect the northeast of Scotia from invasion by the ruddy, bloody berserkers and other plundering Northmen. That codicil established them as the world’s best paid mercenaries of the time, which only enhanced their reputation as warriors no one wanted to anger. Ever.

  Though a drain on the royal treasury, the fae king counted himself lucky to strike such a bargain since not even Vikings would dispute the supremacy of werewolves when it came to a fight. Their total commitment to winning was legendary. When it came to prevailing in battle, the werewolves behaved as if the idea of self-preservation was alien to them. But truthfully, they weren’t often tested. The ale house poems sung about their prowess, which was thought to be so formidable as to be untouchable, talked about how enemies fled in fear at the sound of their collective war growl. Of course, horses were the first to flee because they were terrified of the wolf people.

  The fact that no Viking raid had been recorded for five hundred years at the time the deal was struck was irrelevant. The threat would be perpetually present due to the proximity, access, and, therefore, vulnerability of Scotia’s coastline. And unlike many monarchies with short term memory, the sharp-witted fae studied the lessons of history and learned from them.

  The transaction was accomplished without pen and parchment. Aden the Red knew that, though wolves have their own standard for morality, they are lethally serious about their agreements. So, upon first payment, the rugged Highlander wolves set about establishing a watch of the Scotia Northeast that would form an impenetrable guard, even though there was no perceivable threat.

  ~~~~

  Liulf squatted on the castle parapet with his back to the sound of the ocean crashing against Girnigoe’s black craig cliffs. If he let himself think about the damp cold or the January wind that tried to penetrate flesh and bone, he’d start to shiver in a way that would rack his whole body. So he’d learned to focus on other things. Looking east, over the land he loved, he felt a sense of pride and history. And memory. In his slightly less than four hundred years, he’d covered every inch of pack territory in wolf form and much of it in biped form as well. He knew he was blessed with good things, but that didn’t fill the underlying emptiness that he couldn’t quite pinpoint. Lack of purpose maybe. There wasn’t much satisfaction in guarding a border without an aggressor.

  That very day a wolf had said it was easy for Liulf to make reckless choices because he didn’t have a mate. Liulf had kept his face passive, but inside the words had stung. It wasn’t as if he could control destiny. What Lycan didn’t want to find his mate? Well, perhaps Conn would prefer to be a bachelor wolf forever.

  It was true that Liulf could have settled for a bitch who was merely compatible, as most did. But he hadn’t because he knew there was more. There was mating that was, well, magical. He wouldn't say so out loud because his brothers would never stop razzing him if he did. But he lived with a constant yearning that never subsided, spoken or not.

  All the fucking in the world wouldn’t take the edge off his desire. And he should know. All he had to do was keep from cursing the Fates until they saw fit to gift him with the one. The one he knew was out there.

  Liulf had no need to turn around to know who was there. His werewolf ears enabled him to hear the swish of skirt on the climb up the steps, even over the wind, and his nose recognized the scent. All too well. Mave.

  “Always ye seek solitude, Liulf. Ye do no’ have to be alone. Ye could have a mate ye know.”

  Apparently she had overheard the exchange earlier that day and was seizing what she believed to be an opportunity. He closed his eyes and heaved a mighty sigh wondering how many times he’d had this conversation, or one similar, with the bitch. How many more would it take until she accepted the fact that he was not going to be her mate? Ever.

  She’d been at it for centuries. She and Liulf had been children together and he’d liked her well enough then. Right up to the day, which he could pinpoint, when the natural course of their friendship had been irrevocably altered. In a way it was his own
doing.

  He’d come across a group of adolescents teasing her about the budding changes in her pubescent body. They could smell her discomfort and humiliation. Instead of triggering a protective response, it had excited the lads and made them press harder. Liulf had chased them off, then, when he turned to ask if Mave was all right, she’d looked at him like he was a god fallen to earth.

  He didn’t think it was possible for true matings to be one sided, which meant that she had mistaken a simple kindness for destiny.

  “I’m no’ yer true mate, Mave.”

  “Maybe ye are, Liulf. If ye’d just give it another chance…”

  He had bedded her once when they were adolescents, before he’d learned how much drink he could handle wisely. He’d regretted it ever since and now refused to even give her the courtesy of turning to face her.

  “Mave! Do no’ make me be cruel to ye. Please. Ye must stop deludin’ yerself and give yerself a chance to find yer true mate. ‘Tis no good for either of us. ‘Tis no’ me!”

  “But perhaps if we couple again, ye’d…”

  “Oh, for Drogherd’s sake,” he snapped as he wheeled on her and showed the full force of his displeasure. “If ye persist, there’ll no’ be so much as a scrap of goodwill left between us. If for nothin’ else, have some pride. I. Do. No’. Want. Ye. And ye’ll ne’er be my mate.”

  She brought a long sleeve to her face and wiped quickly, then started down the steps. He heard the hiccup of a small sob as she went, but he’d lost his ability to pity her two hundred years in the past. Once again, he sighed the weariness out of his lungs and closed his eyes, trying to regain the relative calm that had been his just a few minutes earlier.

  As he pulled the length of heavy wool tartan closer, his knuckles scraped the penannular brooch his mother had given him the first moon he hunted with the pack, a wolf’s head on one side facing a cluster of three rubies on the other, one for himself and each of his litter mates. That was a year before she died.

  The three of them were as close as brothers could be. Connuchur was born ten minutes after Liulf made his appearance in the world and Cenead followed a few minutes later. They’d been three male pups born at the same time, same place, same pack, same parents. Yet they couldn’t be more different. Not just in looks, although that was true, too. Liulf had honey-colored hair that he wore long, usually tied with a leather thong, and silver gray eyes. He was also bigger in build than his brothers, stronger, but Conn would just laugh at that and claim to be faster and more agile. Both things were true.

  Connuchur had their mother’s black hair and the caramel eyes that ran in the Cu Ahlee bloodlines. His looks were striking, exotic for a werewolf, and didn’t do anything to hurt his quest to stick his dick into every comely bitch alive.

  Their youngest brother, Cenead, had hair the color of Liulf’s and eyes the color of Conn’s. He was good-looking in his own unique way since his hair and eyes were so close to the same color. He wasn’t as athletic as his brothers, wasn’t naturally intimidating like Liulf or social and outgoing like Conn, but he was smarter and neither of his brothers ever questioned that.

  Liulf heard his brother rushing up the stone steps, each worn to a steep sloped incline by centuries of use and he could tell Ken was taking them three at a time. “Come down, Liulf. Uncle was hurt. They’re bringin’ him back now.”

  Liulf rose to his feet. “How bad?”

  “’Tis bad. Hurry.”

  They raced down the stairs and reached the warmth of the Great Hall just as the heavy doors burst open admitting both the hunting party and the chill.

  “Put him on the table,” Liulf ordered waving at the long table in the center of the room that could seat sixty-six. As they laid Dunegan on the table, Liulf turned to his cousin, Ruanaidh. “What happened?”

  “We were stalkin’ a big red stag, when we heard the alpha yelp. The arrow went in right below his withers. I guess he shifted from the shock of it and, when he did, the shift rearranged the arrow. It might have punctured a lung. Hard to say. “Tis close to his heart.” Ruaniadh was young. He looked and sounded scared. Dunegan was his mother’s much older brother and had been a father figure. “There was no one close by. We would have smelled them. It had to be a PowerBow with a scope. ‘Tis the only explanation.”

  Liulf’s temper started to smolder. “Humans.”

  Ruaniadh nodded.

  “Liulf.”

  The voice that called his name was weak and sounded strained. Liulf hurried to his uncle’s side. It made him cringe to watch Dunegan drag in a halting, ragged breath.

  Liulf’s father, Alastair, had been alpha, but after his mate died, he lost interest in leading. Well, truthfully, he lost interest in everything. Alastair had no taste for the responsibilities that go with being alpha and he didn’t think Liulf was yet mature enough to survive a challenge. So Alastair Cu Ahlee named his younger brother, Dunegan, and the succession had gone unchallenged.

  Dunegan not only took on the role of alpha, but in the wake of Alastair’s indifference, had also functioned as de facto father to the three boys. Since he had no children of his own, it was an arrangement that worked well. The boys came to respect him like a father and he came to love them like sons.

  “Aye. I’m here.”

  “Liulf. In another moment or two, ye’ll be alpha.”

  “Help is comin’, Uncle.” Liulf turned to one of the castle domestics, who were crowded round, watching the drama unfold. “Get him some Scotch,” he gritted, “And hurry up about it.”

  Dunegan squeezed his hand. “No, lad. Let it go now. ‘Tis done except for this. I’ve been keepin’ the position of alpha warm for ye while ye took yer time growin’ into it. And ye have. Yer ready to lead the Mahdrah Ahlee. And ‘tis a mighty fine thin’ because ye are accedin’ at a time when much will be required of ye.”

  Liulf frowned. “I do no’ understand ye.”

  “Listen close then. Mahdrah Ahlee can no’ stay here any longer, Liulf. ‘Tis time to go. Truth be told, we should have gone already, but I was no’ the right one to lead us. Talk to Windwalker. He’ll tell ye how to take our people to a new world.” He tried to cough, but gurgled instead. “One where we will again be the hunters and no’ the hunted.”

  Liulf took the mug of whiskey that was handed to him. He raised Dunegan’s head so that he could give him a taste to dull the pain, just as his uncle’s breath left his body for the last time.

  Liulf sat back, still holding the mug in his hand, his own body sagging as he began to process what it meant to be named alpha. His life was changed forever.

  When he’d risen, he’d expected that day would be the same as most others. The last thing he’d anticipated was that, before lunch time, he’d be staring at his uncle’s lifeless form with the burden of responsibility for the world’s largest pack of werewolves squarely transferred to his own shoulders. Shoulders that suddenly felt less than adequate to the task.

  For three days Liulf pondered the possible meaning of his uncle’s last words like it was a riddle. He and his brothers took the body back to Loch Maree for Dunegan’s funeral rites. For an entire day she-wolves had sung songs to the former alpha, urging his spirit to find its way quickly and safely to the land of passed spirits with its green forests, clear water, and perpetually full moon.

  On the evening of the third day, Liulf’s father said words honoring Dunegan. Then the pack watched the flames of the funeral pyre rise high in the night sky, dry wood sparking and spitting. Liulf resisted the urge to pinch his nostrils to alleviate the smell. Much later, when the flames of the funeral pyre had turned to a pile of embers, Liulf stepped forward and faced the crowd, his back to the ashes of the former alpha.

  He looked over the hundreds of werewolves and felt that Fate had made a decisive error in putting him in the position of addressing the Highlands pack. But when he took in a breath to summon a loud, clear voice he felt a mystical power of authority wash over and through him, possessing him body and so
ul. And, for the first time, he felt he might be up to the task of leading when he heard himself speak the ancient words as if with someone else’s vocal chords.

  “In accordance with law and tradition, I offer myself to the wolf people of Mahdrah Ahlee. I offer my body to protect and defend ye. I offer my mind to guide us in times of war and tribulation and also in times of peace and prosperity. I offer my heart. To lead is to serve.”

  The pack repeated the last line in unison, saying, “To lead is to serve.”

  “Any who would challenge me for the privilege of leading the Mahdrah Ahlee, come forward now. Make yer claim.” The winds whipped up behind Liulf blowing his hair and the length of dress tartan that hung to the top of his boots. He waited, slowly looking over the gathering before him.

  At length, when it was clear that there would be no challenge, Conn came forward to stand by his brother. Turning to face the crowd, he said, “Let it be known then, near and far. Liulf is Alpha of Mahdrah Ahlee.”

  Conn then leaned over and said in a voice low enough that only Liulf could hear. “Better ye than me, brother. Ye’d better no’ e’er think of dyin’ or I’ll be killin’ ye for sure.”

  The three brothers entered the alpha’s house together. It was an historic landmark. In centuries past it had been a great stone manor house and had once hosted a fae king for a fishing holiday. Dunegan’s domestic servants came to greet them with smiles, saying, “Welcome, Alpha.”

  “Thank ye kindly. I’ll be needin’ a telephone.”

  The chief housekeeper showed Liulf to the room where Dunegan had conducted the pack’s business. A welcoming fire had already been laid. The chief housekeeper was a man who had once drug Liulf home by the ear for disrupting the peace of sheep. It hadn’t seemed ike much of a crime at the time. Liulf and his American cousin had been drunk and attempting to ride sheep on a moonlit night. The man who owned the sheep complained that the lads tried to scare the wool right off them, which was ridiculous. Liulf still thought so.