by Dalia Wright
The voice at the back of her head that whispered she should be ashamed of giving into such carnal, basic desire, no less with a werewolf, the murderer of her family, got suffocated into silence. She listened instead to the heartbeat of Markus through her palm, examined the body of her once childhood friend, and leaned forward to brush his lips with hers. For some reason, this sent a powerful, warm shiver through her bones, heated the blood under her skin and melted some of the ice around her heart, because the kiss had something the fucking before them hadn’t – love.
He kissed back, slowly, letting his arms envelop her, cradle her, and she endulged in the mountain and lake scent of him, tasted the salt of ocean on his lips, clamped his bottom lip between hers, moved and breathed in time with him. It was easy to keep her eyes close, to lose herself into the kiss, which was soft, and sweet, and beautiful.
When their tongues touched, the raw nerve shock of it sent them both into a bout of aroused shivers, and his erection, which had been recoiling from its former release, quivered a little, but otherwise remained without the same hardness, temporarily out of power.
That didn’t matter, though. Not at all. Instead, they explored the taste of one another’s mouths, pressed their fronts together and embraced, kissing in rhythm, breathing in sync.
Markus made a sound which was oddly like a low purr, as he moved from Arina’s mouth to her neck, kissing it with feathery presses.
“I can’t believe how much I want this,” Arina said, drunk and floating, feeling the odd combination of being secure and anchored at the same time, feeling as if she belonged in his arms. “It’s your werewolf pheromones. Clearly. Making me do all these things.”
“Yes. Clearly. I mean, like, there’s obviously no way you can resist them. You’ll just have to succumb to my wolfy whims every single time. Such a horrible fate for such a beautiful woman.”
“Terrible,” Arina murmured, as Markus kissed to her collarbone, along her breast and to her belly button, where he dipped his tongue into her navel for a brief, tantalizing moment. Arina relaxed into the sheets, her head resting against the pillow – she stared at cracks in the ceiling, before closing her eyes, letting Markus carefully spread her legs, breathe hot air onto her thighs, before his warm, wet tongue brushed her nether regions. She jerked, her hips twitched at the powerful shock, and Markus clamped his arms around her thighs to hold her in place as he licked at her, breathed into her, focused on that tiny organ capable of injecting so much endorphin throughout her entire body.
“Arina,” he said again, saying her name like a prayer. “How I’ve wanted to find you again. How I hung onto the conversations we had, and what a strange absence I felt without being able to see you again. I was empty.”
His tongue pressed onto her clit, curled around it, flicked. Sometimes, his lips pinched around the organ, sometimes, he huffed tormenting hot air onto it, making her jerk uncontrollably. “I needed you. But you didn’t need me.”
“I need you,” Arina whispered, opening her eyes to see him staring straight at her face. “I always needed you. I just didn’t always allow myself to see. I wanted to marry you, even. Why do you think I asked so many questions?”
His eyes turned from worry to surprise to purpose. They transformed color slightly, going from dark blue to ice, as his passion ignited. He gripped her thighs tighter, and dabbed his tongue harder and faster into her clit, making her spasm, cry, gasp to whatever God happened to be out there, her hands reach for Markus’s hair to hold him, to feel him and encourage the assault of pleasure. Her toes curls as the beginnings of an orgasm began to cluster, rushing closer and closer and closer until it burst like fireworks in her body, shooting out to every limb as she arched, her neck and thigh muscles tensing, her mouth agape as she choked out sounds, shuddering as the feeling melted her into bliss.
Markus had kept lapping at her the whole time she endured the orgasm, making it last longer, until she became too sensitive, and flinched with every touch. Removing himself away from her core, he wiped his mouth before moving up her body, still happily tucked between her legs, to kiss her on the lips, before positioning himself to comfortably embrace her on the side.
“Give me a moment,” Arina said. “I’m seeing fairies and stars.” She wasn’t completely lying – her brain felt detached, delirious in the sensations coursing inside.
Markus kissed her cheek. “I can wait.”
A strange feeling of sadness went over Arina, mixing with the happiness. She wondered how things might have been, if her family were still alive, if the werewolves had never needed to go away. Would she and Markus have been married? Would she have ever hopped to America, pursued a career in law enforcement, or would she have been happily shacked up in a small village, perhaps with children puking and gurgling on the floor?
Could that still happen?
She buried her head into Markus’s shoulder, unsure of how to deal with the new wave of emotions. She knew it was pointless, going down that path. It led to insanity, it caused insanity, considering the thousands of what-ifs your life took you through at any point.
What if she hadn’t drank, taken drugs. What if Markus and Danny had never warned her ahead of time.
What if she never exacted any vengeance on Ricten Spirova? What if it didn’t even matter if she did or not?
What if.
The ache wormed itself into her heart, leaking out through her eyes. Markus, confused at the change of emotion, hugged and rubbed her back, not sure if he needed to comment, not sure if it was his fault.
For some reason, a bone-deep weariness pervaded. She wanted to stop fighting. Worrying. Living with such a heavy past.
All she wanted was to be happy. And the only boy she had ever wanted was Markus.
Her sobs shook her body, as she became eleven years old again for a moment, and lost herself in sadness, of a lost future.
Then, she clung to Markus like a lifeline as she tossed out at sea, and cried herself to sleep.
Chapter Five
When Markus woke up in darkness, he saw the sleeping, naked body of Arina next to him. A thrill of satisfaction and happiness hit him.
She was his. Years and years without her, with just her voice, her smell of honey and innocence drawing him more to her than anything else. When a werewolf found the scent of someone alluring, addictive, it spoke volumes of whether that person could be a mate, a permanent fixture in their lives. He had quite simply, always assumed he would end up with Arina, even from the delicate age of nine, because it was just logic. They liked each other, they liked their smells, and his mother always talked about knowing how his father was the one because he had that special addiction about him.
Well, Arina was his. Even after she had gone, disappeared into the cracks of the world, and his family tried to pair him with prospective female werewolves, of which there wasn’t many – for some reason, there was always less females compared to males – he rejected them.
He found excuses to drop into Sofia and try and find out where she might have been living – even tried going into random shops and asking people if they had seen her, describing her to the book. Haunted dark eyes, a face that gracefully curved, hinting at the beauty she would become – a beauty toughened by what the years had shown to her.
His fingers lightly dug into her shoulder. His heart throbbed painfully, recalling the way she had wept, broken and devastated after the high they experienced. She’d been repressing things, keeping them under lock and key.
His mind creeped to Ricten Spirova. His uncle. Currently missing, on the run from Bulgarian authorities. His family back home, ashamed of Ricten’s lack of control, kept him posted for any signs of Ricten, any clues for where he might be in the world now.
Truthfully, Markus had been plotting to murder his uncle. A huge part of him blamed Ricten Spirova, who had grouped up with the Lubanovs and Gregorovitches to butcher the entire village, which only had fourteen humans, attempting to live a life of peace. The other Spirovas st
ayed out of it, too powerful a clan to risk petty raids, and too influential on an international scale. Ricten, however, could never resist a fresh meal. Same with Nikolai Lubanov.
However, Ricten had sensed of Markus’s intention, knew once the boy grew into alpha status, the first thing he planned to do was butcher his uncle. So, instead, Ricten slunk out the unit, but not without a promise that if he ever found the brat who had gotten away, the brat he could smell on Markus’s skin, the day she escaped – she would be his most delicious meal.
It kept Markus awake at night, with an icy chill stabbing at his heart and soul. It made him feverishly try and find her, before realizing, belatedly, that if he couldn’t find her, then Ricten likely wouldn’t, either.
His close-knit family applauded Markus going over to America – he was destined to be alpha, but didn’t want to take over the Spirovan legacy in Bulgaria – leaving it instead to his father and the next in line, his sister, twelve years older, Elinor Spirova.
In North Dakota, Markus underwent the task of gathering the lone wolves, tackling small clans and asserting his alpha status over them. Within six years of arrival, North Dakota was his, with a few stubborn werewolf bodies scattered into the ground. The other clans, although bigger, from better states, took heed of his sudden expansion, and all gathered to meet him, hemming him from America and Canada.
They wanted to know if he intended to go beyond North Dakota. Small states, with fragmented werewolves – that was one thing. But prominent ones, with long established clans – that was another.
Markus honestly told them he didn’t care beyond having the territory already claimed. A territory he intended to make safe for humans and werewolves – with the secret desire that all his friends could come here and merge into his clan. If he was destined to be an alpha, he intended to be a good one. To make the choices others could not.
It did prove for some annoyances, as he had to shelter any newly initiated werewolves within his borders, and take care of any problems his registered pack members had.
The current headache was helping Danny Lubanov gain safe status. He wouldn’t get it in America – but the Canadian werewolves would want to test the Lubanov, ask why he deserved a pardon when he had violated state rules.
He continued stroking Arina’s back, admiring her perfect, curved form, heart swelling in pride and dark thoughts, wanting nothing more than to wipe off Ricten from the realm of the living. He needed to protect her.
She knew a lot, but she had no idea of the danger that still awaited her. Not from Ricten, but from other pro-werewolves, disgusted with the idea of bonding with humans.
He moved his nose to her hair and took a long, deep inhale, drowning in the scent of her.
Look at us, all running together. We’re like five little ducklings. They’d actually referred to themselves as ducklings, and Ordri as the ugly one, though she wasn’t, really, just more awkward. Luelle wanted to call their group the little wolves, but ducklings won, and that was that.
He wondered if Arina would be interested in seeing him, after this. The breakdown worried Markus that she might not be suited, after all – that maybe it would be better for her to be removed from their world in the long-run, and instead, he protected her from the shadows.
Except, well, she was everything he had remembered, and so much more. She fit in all the right places, gave a sense of completion that only previously existed in dreams.
He gently kissed her on the head, then sidled out of bed, careful to not move the covers much.
Markus had things to do. The invasion of Arina into his life came like a wonderful dream, but it didn’t change the fact that the real headache would be coming.
He left a note explaining things to Arina and saying she could steal food from his fridge and explore a bit if she wanted, that the night had been amazing and sad at the same time, and he hoped they could keep in touch. Stay with each other. He didn’t know how long he would be in Canada, so she shouldn’t feel the need to wait for him. He didn’t want to wake her, because seeing her talk and stare at him with those brilliant dark eyes would likely make him want to hop back into bed and never leave.
Together, he and Danny prepared, and left.
In his car, as they drove for the four hours to the Canadian border, where Markus had already discreetly arranged for the Forsythe clan to provide safe passage for Danny, along with a promise of explanation – he sent a message to his sister in Bulgaria, who he hadn’t spoken to in over a year.
“If they accept you, Danny, what do you plan to do?” Markus asked, his car engine purring along the murky road. A half-moon hung in the sky, dark as an orange slice, and the terrain around them rolled into fields, woods, and lonely, small lanes. “You have that human girl you’re interested in, right? I’m not sure if it would still be safe to go into America, even with safety in Canada.”
The Lubanov, gaunt with purple bags under his eyes, set his jaw in a determined line. “I don’t know. I’m hoping I can fix relations with American clans as well. Though I know there’s a few that will want blood vengeance. She might not be entirely safe, so I feel it is my responsibility to make sure she is. I will ask her to move with me.”
“Really? And you think she will just agree, like that? You’ve not exactly known each other for long.”
“Doesn’t matter. If she doesn’t, then I’ll find a way. Disguise myself and slip back in to check on her, ask her to please keep in contact, and maybe offer you as a sanctuary as well.”
“Guess we’ll see,” Markus said heavily. He drummed his fingers on the inside of the window, face grim as he drove.
When they approached the Pembina Emerson border, and processed through without incident, Markus rolled up into the designated meeting spot, an abandoned farmstead eight miles north-east from the border.
Five people were waiting for him, and by their scent, he could tell they were all werewolves. He stepped out, and Danny Lubanov came out as well.
The alpha, the one with the strongest, most pungent scent, walked forward as well.
“Greetings, Markus Spirova.” Arthur Forsythe inclined his head, though he didn’t take his pale orange eyes off Markus. An air of superiority permeated Markus’s nostrils. He remembered Arthur Forsythe as one who expected others to adhere to his rules, and respect the members of his clan. All in all, not the worst clan to talk with, but not one you wanted to surprise. The other four members were all males, either affiliated with the Forsythes, or from smaller branches within his territory.
“Greetings, Arthur Forsythe. Thank you for taking the time to arrange this with me.”
“No problem. This is the Lubanov, correct?” Arthur Forsythe rested his gaze on Danny, who stood alert, wary, betraying his unease like a nervous dog.
“Yes. Danniven Lubanov. A childhood friend. I can vouch for his character as friend and alpha. The person he was with was mostly responsible for the blunders that you have heard. I need him to have safe haven and passage in Canada, until the border clans may be more susceptible to allowing him back.”
“We have heard things about the Lubanov,” Arthur said, his dry voice cracking. His human body looked withered, reaching late eighties – though the werewolf blood would likely give him another ten to twenty years before expiring. “They were flesh eaters. Part of the Plovdiv massacre that caused Bulgarian authorities to start hunting them – and then the other clans to annihilate them.”
“The same. Not all of them wanted to be flesh eaters, though. Danny was unusual in that he befriended humans. He helped me save one human from a village slaughter. We were eleven at the time. Both our clans were flesh eaters.”
Arthur Forsythe digested the information for a moment. He did not want to appear ignorant, Markus could tell, and he was glad Arthur had taken the time to research up about Markus’s background. It made sense, if you wanted to understand the nature of the one who shared borders with you, who had taken over an entire state regarding werewolf factions, fragmented an
d leaderless as it was, within six years.
“You have kept your word, and you have kept your packs in check. If you vouch for the Lubanov, then my clan will be happy to shelter him. As long as there is no refusal or dissent amongst my pack members here.” He drew out the last statement, slow and deliberate, the beginnings of a smirk on his lips.
“I refuse,” one of the other gathered werewolves snapped. All eyes turned to him. Arthur raised one eyebrow, as one of his pack sniffed at Danny, and growled, eyes glowing.
“Then if you refuse – you must fight.” Arthur nodded to the others, who cleared a space. Markus groaned inwardly, suspecting that Arthur had deliberately brought along someone who would contest. Most likely, someone who had personal beef with the Lubanov name.
Bastard.
“Until one surrenders?” Markus licked his lips. He wasn’t sure of Danny’s fighting skills. He had no idea how the Forsythes felt or believed in the matter.
“I won’t surrender,” the young, bulked up werewolf with red-pink eyes snarled. “I had a cousin in the Swinton clan. He killed them.”
Danny glanced at Markus helplessly. “I do not want to fight. Is not my choice to do so.”
“Then you will die,” Arthur said coolly, glowering through his snowy white beard. “As I am not about to stop young Frederick from having a chance to exact his vengeance.”
Frederick’s fingernails extended, growing into claws.
“It would be no loss, either way. May the wolf spirit grant victory to the one who deserves it.” Arthur folded his hands into jean pockets, tilting his chin upwards, as he looked down on the rest of the werewolves.
Irritated, Markus asked for a word with Danny, and he was given the moment to approach his friend and hiss, “Can you do this? If not, I’ll try and find another way out.”
Danny Lubanov smiled. “I can.” Danny had quite a decent amount of muscle mass on his body, but it was nothing compared to Frederick, who looked as if he enjoyed weightlifting on a regular basis.
