Reyes shook his head. "Do not hide your beauty from me, my Shanara," he said, his voice husky with desire.
Biting down on a corner of her lip, she slowly lowered her arms, felt herself blush from the soles of her feet to the crown of her head as his hungry gaze moved over her.
"Beautiful," he whispered. "More beautiful than anything I have ever seen."
Drawing her into his arms once more, he showered her with kisses, his lips like fire as they slid over her breasts and belly, then returned to her lips to drink deeply.
Desire was an ache deep inside, a longing so intense it was painful. She moaned softly, all thought of resistance melting away like morning dew. She wanted him. There was no doubt that he wanted her. Why didn't he carry her to bed?
He kissed her again, his tongue exploring the warmth of her mouth and then, abruptly, he let her go.
"Sweet dreams, my lady wife," he said hoarsely, and he was gone.
She stared after him, unable to believe he had left her alone on her wedding night, or that his going could hurt so much.
Unable to believe that, in spite of everything, she had fallen in love with her father's sworn enemy.
Reyes stood in the darkness, staring up at the window of his bedchamber. Leaving his bride had been the most difficult thing he had ever done, but to stay would have been madness. No matter how desperately he wanted to make love to her, no matter that his entire body ached with the need to possess her, he could not bring himself to bed her, could not condemn any son she might conceive to endure the kind of life he now lived.
Hands clenched at his sides, he paced back and forth beneath the window, his mind filling with images of Shanara's delectable body. Her skin was creamy smooth, unblemished by wart or mole. Her body was lush, neither too plump nor too thin. His body hardened anew at the thought of hers. He groaned low in his throat as he imagined carrying her to his bed, burying himself deep within her warmth, making love to her all through the night, waking in her arms.
Taking shelter behind a bush, he summoned the wolf within him. Muttering an oath, he tore off his clothes, a howl of pain and frustration rising in his throat as his body transformed. With a last look at his chamber window, he ran away from the keep, away from the temptation that was growing ever harder to resist.
He loped through the darkness, finding a measure of solace in the touch of the wind in his face, the feel of damp earth beneath the sensitive pads of his feet. He ran for miles, effortlessly, mindlessly, ran until weariness overtook him and he flopped down on the ground, his tongue lolling out the side of his mouth, his sides heaving.
When his breathing calmed again, he lifted his head and howled at the moon, howled in rage and frustration because even here, miles and miles from Black Dragon Castle, Shanara's image lingered in his mind, and he knew that no matter how far or how long he ran, he would never be able to run away from the fact that he had fallen in love with the daughter of his sworn enemy.
But he wasn't ready to face that revelation now, or ponder the possibilities and problems. For now, he wanted to run with the wolves.
* * *
CHAPTER 12
« ^ »
Reyes ran through the night, sometimes alone, sometimes with a pack of friendly wolves. They chased each other playfully through the darkness, howled their success when they brought down a deer.
And always, in the back of his mind, was the woman. Shanara. His bride.
It was just after dawn when Reyes returned to the outer wall of the keep where he had left his clothing and took on his own shape.
Had all his senses not been centered on the woman sleeping in his bed, he might have realized sooner that something was amiss, but his whole being was focused on returning to his chambers and slipping under the bedcovers beside his bride.
Too late, he realized he was not alone.
Feeling the hairs rise along his nape, he turned and came face-to-face with the man he had sworn to kill. Instinctively, he reached for his sword, only then remembering it was lying on the ground beneath his clothing.
He lowered his hand as Montiori's laughter filled his ears.
"And so," Montiori said, "you sent for me, and I am here." Dismounting, he tossed his horse's reins to one of his men. With his hand resting on the hilt of his blade, he circled Reyes. "I must confess, your battle attire is not what I expected."
The hearty laughter of Montiori's men filled the early morning air, then stilled abruptly as Montiori drew his weapon and laid the edge of the blade against Reyes's throat. "Where is my daughter?"
"I am here, Father."
Reyes felt his insides grow cold as Shanara ducked through the hole in the wall, even as the fact that she had come out to meet him upon his return filled him with a wave of tenderness.
"She is no longer your daughter," Reyes retorted, wincing as the blade nicked his skin. "She is my wife."
Montiori's eyes narrowed ominously. "You have defiled my daughter," he said coldly. "And for that you will die, as will she. I'll have no half-human whelps as my kin!"
Reyes looked at Shanara, fully realizing for the first time how much he had come to love her. No matter what fate awaited him at her father's hands, he would not see her killed. Shanara's life was more important than his need for vengeance, more important to him than life itself. His only hope of saving her was to confess that he had not touched her and hope that Montiori would believe him and return Shanara to her family home.
"I have not defiled her," Reyes said quietly. "Kill me if you must, but do no harm to Shanara. She is yet a maid untouched."
"Do you think I would believe one such as you?" Montiori asked scornfully.
"Believe what you will. I speak the truth."
"We shall see. Melena! Attend me!"
There was a restless stirring among the men as they stepped aside to make way for their lord's witch.
Reyes stared at the woman. She was small and spare, hardly bigger than a child. Though she was now old and bent, he could see she had once been a beauty. Her hair, once golden, was now dull and streaked with gray. Her skin was wrinkled and leathery, but her eyes still held the fire of youth.
She stopped in front of Reyes, a cackle rising in her throat. "I know you," she said, poking her finger in his chest. "You look much like your father before you." Her hand curled around his biceps. "Tall and strong, just like him, you are." Her fingernails were long and sharp and she raked them down his chest, then turned and looked up at Montiori. "You summoned me, my lord?"
"Before I take his head, I want to know if he speaks the truth."
With a nod, Melena turned her attention back to Reyes. "The truth," she murmured, "we must have the truth." She placed a gnarled hand over his heart, her eyes burning into his. "Do you speak the truth?"
Reyes clenched his hands as he stared at the witch who had cursed his father. "My words are true," he replied. "I have not defiled Shanara, nor will I."
The earth seemed to hold its breath as Melena stared into his eyes. The horses stood quiet. The birds stilled their songs.
Melena withdrew her hand from Reyes's chest. "It is as he said," she admitted reluctantly. "The girl is as yet untouched."
Montiori's hand tightened on the hilt of his sword. "So it ends," he said, and drew back his arm.
"No!" Shanara's cry rent the stillness that hung in the air. She ran toward Reyes as though her feet had wings, throwing herself between her husband and her father. "You will not hurt him!" she cried. "You will not!"
"Get out of my way," Montiori demanded, his face mottled with rage. "Get out of my way or you will be the first to die!"
Shanara lifted her head, exposing her throat. "Then strike me down. I will not live in a world without him."
Grasping Shanara by the shoulder, Reyes thrust her behind him. "This is between you and me, Montiori. She has nothing to do with it."
"Indeed." Montiori lowered his sword. "Long have I waited to add your pelt to that of your father's. Assume the guise of
the wolf now, and I will spare the girl's life."
"Reyes, no!"
"Be still, daughter!" Montiori said.
"First let Shanara return to the keep," Reyes said, an unwanted note of pleading in his voice. "It is hers now, by right of marriage."
With a shake of his head, Montiori laid his sword against Reyes's throat once more. "The girl is mine." He grabbed Shanara by the arm and pushed her toward one of his men. "You have nothing to bargain with, Reyes, only the choice to die as a wolf or as a man."
"Or not at all." The words, softly spoken, were uttered by Melena. With a wave of her hand, the witch conjured a sword from midair and tossed it to Reyes.
Taking a step backward, Reyes caught the sword by the hilt, his gaze never leaving Montiori's face.
Montiori stared at Melena. "Traitor!" he hissed, then, without warning, he lunged toward Reyes.
Shanara ceased struggling against the man who held her, all her attention now centered on the two men crossing swords. It was a strange battle. Considering the fact that her father was attired like a king and Reyes was startlingly nude, it might have appeared comical had it not been so deadly serious.
The clang of metal striking metal filled the air, obscene in the stillness that had settled around them. Her father fought like a fury, the love of battle shining in his eyes as he drew first blood. Confident of victory, he pressed his attack again and again.
Reyes parried every thrust, his movements smooth and unhurried, his rage fueled by the blood oozing from the gash in his arm. For this moment, there was nothing else in all the world but his opponent. It didn't matter that Montiori was Shanara's father, or that Shanara was watching him, her hand pressed to her heart. Nothing mattered but avenging his father's death. It was fitting, somehow, that Montiori had come to battle wearing the cloak lined with the thick black pelt that had belonged to Reyes's father.
With a cry, Reyes carried the attack to Montiori. His blade slashed through the air, slicing Montiori's left arm open to the bone. He struck again and yet again, his sword opening wounds in Montiori's right thigh and side.
Panting heavily, both men fell back.
Montiori staggered toward his daughter and then, to the surprise of all who watched, he grabbed her by the hair and laid the edge of his blade against her throat.
Montiori sneered at Reyes. "You will surrender," he said. "You will lay down your sword now, or she dies."
Without hesitation, Reyes tossed his weapon aside.
A low murmur of disapproval ran through Montiori's army.
A muffled oath emerged from Melena's lips.
Reyes ignored them all. He had eyes only for Shanara.
Smiling triumphantly, Montiori flung Shanara aside. He strutted toward Reyes, then raised his sword in both hands, prepared to strike.
Reyes kept his eyes fixed on Shanara, determined that her face would be the last thing he saw in life.
But the blade did not fall.
Puzzled, Reyes darted a quick glance at his executioner. Montiori stumbled backward, the sword falling from his hands. Blood bubbled from his nose and mouth and then, with a strangled cry, he pitched forward and lay still.
Shanara threw her arms around Reyes's neck, her words incoherent as she showered him with kisses.
"What happened?" Reyes asked, surprised to find himself alive and his enemy dead.
Shanara shook her head, then kissed him again.
Reyes put his arm around her and drew her to his side as Melena made her way toward them.
"Why?" he asked the witch. "Why did you not let Montiori kill me?"
"Because Shanara loves you," the old crone said. "And because I love Shanara." Melena pointed a gnarled finger at Reyes, her dark eyes glittering. "Be good to my girl else a worse fate come upon you than the one you had."
"Had?" Reyes asked, frowning.
"Aye. Shanara's love for you has broken the curse. But beware, Reyes, I will be watching how you treat her."
Reyes smiled at his bride, then looked back at Melena. "Have no fear, old mother. I will spend the rest of my life making Shanara happy, starting now."
And so saying, he swung his bride into his arms and carried her home.
* * *
EPILOGUE
« ^ »
Reyes sat on the edge of the bed, watching as his wife slowly disrobed. A month had passed since Montiori's death. For a time, he had regretted the fact that Melena had killed Montiori, thereby robbing Reyes of his chance to avenge his father's death. Later, he realized the witch had done him a favor he could never repay. Though he knew Shanara would have forgiven him had he killed her father, he was grateful that her father's blood was not on his hands, that his death did not stand between them.
Much had happened since then. Montiori's eldest son had assumed leadership of the Montiori clan and there was now peace between their people.
Melena had foretold that Shanara would bear Reyes twin sons within the year. To that end, the witch had moved into Black Dragon Keep to be near the infants and to care for Shanara after the birth.
Reyes felt his breath catch in his throat as Shanara removed the last of her undergarments to stand gloriously naked before him. How beautiful she was, with her hair falling over her shoulders and the lamplight bathing her face with a soft golden glow.
Murmuring her name, he drew her into his lap. "Are you happy here, with me, my beloved?"
She kissed the tip of his nose. "Need you ask, my lord?"
"Indeed, I must. I dare not take a chance on angering Melena. Who knows what evil might befall me should she find you looking displeased?"
Shanara smiled at him, her eyes twinkling. "Then perhaps you should do this." Her hand caressed his chest. "Or this." She kissed the corner of his mouth. "Or this…" Her hand slid down his naked belly, eliciting a groan of pleasure from his lips.
"You have but to command, my lady," he said. And capturing her lips with his, he drew her down on the bed and did his best to make his wife happy that night, and every night for as long as they lived.
* * *
Dear Reader:
This is my first foray into the world of werewolves. Granted, Reyes isn't your typical werewolf hut I loved writing his story.
Once again, I'm pleased to thank Joseph Walsh for allowing me to use his poetry. I think we must be connected on some plane of existence, since he always sends me poetry that seems to fit whatever book I happen to be working on at the moment.
I hope you enjoyed "Born of the Night."
Best,
Amanda Ashley, aka Madeline Baker
www.madelinebaker.net
Stroke of Midnight Page 7
