Daughters of Artemis

by Della Buckland

  I leaned against our oldest free-standing St. Andrew's Cross; it had a thick main section, sturdy feet, and a variety of ways to bind a body to it. Fiona watched me for a moment, her eyes glinting in the dim light.

  "It's your turn to top," she said and curled her fingers at me, beckoning me forward. "I'd like the cane."

  I nodded, but didn't push away from the rack. "I'm feeling subby."

  She smiled for a second, but it melted into a frown. "Don't lie."

  It wasn't precisely a lie. I had hoped it would be true enough to get past her sense of smell. I didn't feel like being tied up and beat. What I wanted—what I needed—was someone to hold me and tell me everything would be fine.

  Lie to me.

  I couldn't accept it even if she tried.

  "You want to talk about it?"

  "Nothing to talk about."

  "Andy."

  She put so much disappointment into those two syllables it made me want to whine and crouch closer to the floor, alpha wolf or not. I hated upsetting her.

  "I want to run." Needed to run was more like it. Fiona got it; she nodded and headed for the stairs. I followed her. The basement floor was cold against my bare feet. I had put down soft rubber mats around all the equipment, but maybe I should cover the whole floor. Maybe it wouldn't matter much longer. That thought hit me so hard I stumbled going up the stairs.

  We each grabbed shirts and shorts from the basket by the door. Usually the sign above it—Don't Freak the Norms, Obey the Grandmother Rule—made me grin, but I was doing good to get through all the steps before I could run.

  Clothes. Shoes. Hand the keys to Fiona. She started the car. Stopped for the red light. Used her turn signal.

  If we got pulled over, if I had to wait one minute more, I feared I would tear out someone's throat.

  We made it to the woods in time. If it had been night, we could have run right out from the cul-de-sac, but since it was daylight, even though the sun was hidden behind gray skies, we had to go farther out for privacy. The pack houses used to be at city limits, but the city grew around us. Not much, but enough to be a pain in my ass when I needed release.

  I was out of the car and plunging down the trail before Fiona turned off the ignition. She would catch up. I peeled off my clothes and tossed them haphazardly toward a tree. The air was cool, but not cold enough. I wanted my brain to freeze. I wanted my thoughts to stop.

  The shift came rough. I was agitated, or it would have been smooth, painless. It didn't hurt, precisely, but it didn't feel great, either. I needed it to feel spectacular.

  I needed to run, and I did, into the shadows of the trees, away from civilization.

  I ran in large circles for hours, but as soon as I shifted back, my fears were right there at the front of my thoughts. I threw myself down and yelped. Stupid rocks and their sharp edges sticking up to pierce my skin. Once I'd cleared a space, I stretched out and stared up at the sky. It was cloudy, and we wouldn't be able to see much of a sunset.

  The moon was one week, three days, and ten hours from being full.

  I thought I might go feral before I saw it again.

  Fiona came and stood over me, her legs on either side of my hips. I loved her outdoors. It was the wolf, I think, which made her even more luscious when in nature, but part of it was probably my love. My favorite place to be was in the woods, and she my favorite wolf to share it with.

  She looked like a goddess standing above me. Her hair was unbound after her shift, kinky and thick and dark. She looked very tall from my angle, as if she, like the trees, reached for the sky. Her breasts were small, her thighs heavy, her hips wide. Childbearing hips.

  That stopped me cold, and I looked away, at the trees towering over us, spears piercing the sky. The lowest branches were probably ten feet up, but the thin trunks pressed around us like a living army. It was claustrophobic, but comforting at the same time. It was as much my home as our house.

  If she died, it would be more so. I would stay a wolf in the woods and my humanity would never hurt me again.

  That meant leaving the pack without an alpha. Guilt tugged at me, and the weight of being the leader settled hard on my shoulders. It didn't matter. Without her, I wasn't fit to lead anyway.

  "It's going to be okay," she said and dropped to sit on my legs. "I'm going to be fine."

  "You don't know that."

  She put her hands on my stomach. "You don't know I won't."

  I didn't want to think about it anymore. I wanted to bask in the joy of the run and the freedom of our woods and the weight of her body on top of mine. I was afraid to touch her; I knew better, but deep in my gut, I thought she would disintegrate beneath my fingers, leaving only blood and flesh and bone in pieces.

  "Andy." She put her hands on my stomach. "Andrea. Please."

  She was worked up, riding the adrenaline high from the shift and chasing me through the woods. I could smell her, could taste in the air how much she wanted me. I responded; I didn't have a choice in that, the way my stomach tightened, my nipples hardened, and I grew wet.

  I couldn't help getting turned on by her, but I didn't have to give in to it. I didn't have to have sex.

  I reached for her, put my hands on her hips, and then ran them up her sides. I wanted this, wanted her. She was strong still; I wasn't going to break her. She scooted forward to straddle my hips and walked her fingers up to my breasts. Her nails were long and sharp; she pinched my nipples hard enough I gasped and trembled beneath her.

  "Good girl," she crooned and rocked her body against mine. I could feel her slick against me, and I surged up off the ground, frenzied from the feel and smell of her. I wanted to be in control, and though she fought, I slammed her into the ground, her legs bent up on either side of my body, her hands still on my breasts.

  I bit her stomach, hard enough to bruise. The color was a flash, there and gone almost too quickly to be seen. If I wanted to mark her, I would have to try harder, but it wasn't necessary.

  She pinched me, and then let go, dropping her hands to the ground. The dirt would stain her fingers, get beneath her nails when she clawed at the earth. I curled my tongue around her belly button to make her shriek with laughter; she was ticklish there, in a thin line straight down her stomach.

  When I bit, she convulsed and slammed her knee into the side of my head.

  I eased myself lower, nuzzling my cheek against her thigh. I hooked my arms around her hips, spread her legs wider, and lowered my face to her. That close, and she was all I could smell, she filled every breath.

  "Please," she whimpered and lifted herself against my face. I pulled back, teasing her, pinning her into place, and when she groaned, I put my mouth on her, slid my tongue between her lips.

  I knew right where to lick her, to glide my tongue across her flesh. Her clit was swollen, and she was warm and wet. I put my lips around her clit, gentle pressure, and then bared my teeth and bit down.

  She cried out, and again, her hips lifting off the ground. She tore into the dirt, and I could smell crushed pine needles, sharp even through the scent of her arousal.

  I worked a hand free so I could thrust one finger into her and a second, curling them toward me. It took a moment, but then I found her favorite spot, the flesh slightly raised, slightly spongy. I pressed my tongue firmly against her clit, matched the pressure from inside, and she rocked up, her body tense.

  She was so close she shook; her body jerked with each flick of my tongue. I turned my head a little, sucked in a deep breath, and then set into her, tongue and fingers and lips and teeth.

  She cried out and came; her scream became a howl, her entire body undulating with the pleasure. I could feel it rushing through her, rising from her skin, and I absolutely throbbed with want.

  I rolled away from her, leaving her trembling, and thrust my right hand, still damp from her, between my legs. She gave a little whimper as she fell through the aftermath, coming down from her high, and it went straight through me.


  I brushed my middle finger across my clit, once, twice, and then her hand was there, and her mouth on my collar bone, her breasts smashed against my arm. She gulped air and made little needy noises in my ear.

  When I came I threw back my head and whined, scrabbling one hand across her back, the other still working with hers between my legs, forcing her to go at my pace.

  It felt great, it always did, but today it was no release.

  She collapsed against me, both of us panting, and the woods were silent around us, the smaller animals scared off by two large predators at play.

  My back hurt; my hips ached. I was getting too old to fuck on the cold ground.

  No, that wasn't it.

  I was scared.

  "You worry too much," Fiona said, but for the first time I heard a thread of fear in her voice, too. It was about damn time. She knew the risks almost as well as I did. She was ten years old when I was born, already a werewolf and old enough to know what was going on around her.

  Fiona sat with the pack and listened to my mother's screams as she died.

  Back at the house, I made dinner, two steaks cooked just long enough to take off the chill, to heat the blood. We had twice baked potatoes with it, covered in cheese, and fresh iced tea.

  "We have to tell Rafael," Fiona said after we settled at the table with our food.

  I busied myself cutting my meat into tiny bites. I could have managed larger ones—I could have practically swallowed it whole—but I needed the distraction.

  "You're sure it's his?"

  "Who else have I slept with, Andy?" I deserved that sharp tone. "You didn't get me pregnant."

  "You're sure you're pregnant?"

  "Yes!" She took a deep breath, a bite of meat, and then a drink of tea. "I'll go see the doctor tomorrow, but yes, I'm sure."

  "You're on the pill."

  She shrugged. "You know it's not one hundred percent effective for human women, and I'm something else."

  I knew that. Still, it made my stomach churn.

  "Will you get it done tomorrow, then?"

  She stared at me, I could feel it, but I didn't look at her. I couldn't, and the wolf in me raged that I was presenting so submissive when I should have been the dominant one.

  "Are you ordering me to get an abortion?"

  I could do it. I was her pack leader, she either had to do what I say, fight me, or leave. I wouldn't do that to her. Maybe my time as leader was almost done, because I certainly seemed to be going weak.

  "No." I met her eyes then. "I'm asking you to."

  "I want a baby."

  "And I want you to live!"

  She set down her knife and fork. "Andy, you don't know I won't."

  "I think I do," I said, and my voice had more than a bit of growl to it. "From pack history, and from personal experience." It would take me all the fingers of one hand and a couple on the other to count off the names of women I personally knew who died during childbirth, much less the ones I'd heard about. I didn't understand why they risked it. We all knew how hard it was for one of us to give birth, but still wolves wanted to risk it. Still Fiona wanted to risk it.

  "Yes, sweetie, I know. I'm sad for you still; I wish you'd known your mother. But I want to be a mother. I think it's worth the risk. Besides," she said, and smiled at me, but I didn't return it, "it's been quite a few years. Maybe there are ways to make it easier. There are for human births."

  "We're not human!" I was definitely growling, and the hair on the back of my neck and arms stood up. If I wasn't careful, I was going to shift right there at our kitchen table.

  "I know that!" She repeated herself, softer. "I know that. I was once, remember. I didn't ask for this, and I certainly wasn't told that I would have to give up so much."

  We rarely talked about it, but she was right. She'd been attacked by a rogue wolf who had kidnapped her and kept her, biting her every day until she was infected, until she turned into one of us. He had wanted a baby, too, and when his wife couldn't give him one, he went rogue, found a toddler, and took her away. He had thought — well, he had ignored all our careful rules, and he had thought he was giving two gifts: a child to his wife and the power of the wolf to Fiona.

  His wife had killed him for hurting a child and breaking another mother's heart, but the damage was done and the pack couldn't send Fiona home. Nor, in the end, did the pack leader—my father, at the time—think it best to bite Fiona's human family. Frequently, once one member of the family became a wolf, many other members did, too. It was easier to keep our secret that way, and it made for stronger pack ties when families were protecting each other as well as the pack. But it was easier for a human family to accept a wolf when the transformation was by choice. Fiona lost a lot of things when her body succumbed to the infection. Her human family was one of those things. Maybe that's why she refused to accept trying to have a baby was a bad idea.

  There were more made werewolves than born, but ninety-nine percent of them chose it and went in knowing all the risks, and every single one but Fiona was a consenting adult. Fiona hadn't been able to consent, even if he'd asked her before he'd bit her, and the fact that she thrived as a wolf was impressive.

  I still didn't understand why she wanted to be a mother, but surely there was some other way to make her happy.

  "We'll adopt," I said, my voice shaking. "A hundred kids, if that's what you want."

  "Maybe," she said, "but I want to try this first."

  I sniffed hard and stared at my plate. I wasn't going to cry, I wasn't — I was terrified of losing her and at the very edge of my control. "Why are you being so stubborn on this?" I asked.

  "Why are you?"

  "Because I don't want you to die!" And my tears started to fall. Crying didn't make me weak or anything stupid like that, but I hated to the way I felt when I cried, hated the way my eyes burned and my nose filled.

  She shoved back her chair so hard it toppled over, and came around to crouch next to me. She put one hand on my thigh, the other on the back of my neck, and I looked at her, cursing myself for breaking down when I was trying to make a point, trying desperately to win this argument.

  "I don't want to die either," she said, "and I promise, I'll have the doctor monitor it closely, and if things go wrong, I'll consider an abortion then. I didn't plan this, Andy, I swear, but it happened, despite all my precautions. Maybe it's meant to be."

  I didn't believe in things like fate and karma, but she sure did. I sniffed and blinked, trying to drive away the tears. Fiona leaned into me, her body warm and soft against mine, and I sighed.

  "Fine."

  "Really?" She smiled at me, and it was a little like the sun coming out in July after months of gray skies and rain.

  "Yes. We'll try." She surged up and kissed me; I could taste my tears on my lips, smearing onto hers through the kiss. Eventually, she pulled back, and returned to her seat, righting her chair and digging into her food.

  "We have to tell Rafael," she said again.

  "I know. I'll arrange a meeting." I twisted my fork across the plate; she winced at the noise, but didn't ask me to stop. "This could be a problem."

  She looked at me, but I didn't answer her unspoken question, and she didn't actually ask. I wouldn't have told her, anyway. It was pack leader business, and no matter how close we were, no matter how much I loved her, she didn't get to know everything.

  Born werewolves were rare, and if she managed to carry this one to term and give birth to it without either of them dying, we'd have a pup who belonged to two different packs.

  And I had a feeling Rafael would fight for it just as hard as Fiona.

  I still had at least one, and maybe many werewolves, out there, possibly rogues, breaching hunting grounds; a werewolf who might be showing off to human women and putting them in danger, possibly to get my attention or, at least, to get into their pants; and now my woman was pregnant by the pack leader of our closest allies and biggest rivals.

  Some days, being pack l
eader was so much more than a pain in the ass. Some days, I wasn't always sure why I'd fought so hard for it in the first place. It was a struggle every day to make the right decisions, to keep my wolves safe and my pack whole.

  The only certain thing was my love for Fiona, and she wanted to risk taking it away.

  "I love you," she said.

  I took a deep breath so I could smell the cool fresh air coming through the open window—it was rich with pine trees and dirt and the ever-present scent of my wolves—and smiled at her. She was breaking my heart, but it was hers to break. If she really wanted this, and it was obvious she did, I couldn't tell her no, even if it meant her life. Even if it meant mine. Even if it meant leaving the pack without an alpha, vulnerable until someone else took charge. Even if that meant not making sure the next leader was worthy of the pack.

  "I love you, too," I said, and hoped as hard as I could that I wouldn't lose her.

  "What do you mean, 'the humans have picked up our trail'?" Katya demanded and turned abruptly from her maps to glare up at Mikhail.

  Mikhail quickly put up both his hands and averted his gaze in the face of her anger. "I don't know how it happened this time, honest. We did everything you said after the hunt. We made sure the remains were scattered, didn't take a straight path back..." He trailed off and looked at her cautiously between dirty locks of his blond hair. "I don't know how, but they've caught on."

  The anger bled out of Katya's eyes, and she sighed, running a hand through her pale hair. "It's not your fault, Mischa. Get everyone assembled. We'll break camp and leave now. I'll be damned before those poachers catch us."

  She dismissed Mikhail with a wave and rolled up her maps before stuffing them into her pack. Standing, she pulled the ties keeping the furs on the framework of her tent. A practiced yank and the sewn furs fell from the wood posts completely. The cold rushed in around her and she cursed, securing the hood of her coat up around her face to keep the worst of the chill at bay.