The Brothers Nightwolf Trilogy

by Taylor, Theodora

  And it felt like she was drowning in his beautiful brown eyes as she explained, “What I did tonight, my great study of your ways…was it enough to make you change your mind about lying with me beneath your furs? Because I would very much like for you to take me upstairs with you now, instead of dropping me off here in this lonely room.”

  17

  Myrna

  Her mate faltered into remarkable stillness. Myrna clamped her lips, awaiting an answer.

  “No, not my room,” he answered, letting go of her hand.

  But just as Myrna’s heart began to sink, in one precise action, he picked up her other hand and pressed it to the door. Opening her room up, like a decision announced.

  Myrna’s heart raced as they walked through the door together, her skin so hot, she wouldn’t have been at all surprised if she went into heat right then and there, despite what the time period’s doctor had said about her most likely requiring a special shot to do so if she hadn’t already by the age of the thirty-two.

  Rafes dropped her hand once more as the door slid closed behind them, but this time only to remove his jacket, muscles rippling under the fine material of his white button up shirt as he did so. “Remove your clothes and lie down,” he told her, the command sharp and exact.

  Myrna obeyed, her wolf roiling with glee as she divested herself of her clothes as quickly as possible, then crawled naked into the bed.

  Yet, Rafes did not remove his own clothing. Not even when he followed her to the bed and laid down carefully on top of her, before capturing her lips in a slow and deliberate kiss.

  By the Fenrir wolf, he was large, not just his body, but the part of him, now pressing against her stomach, so hard and unyielding, she could only wonder at his size. Not that she cared. Her heart sang with the desire to finally be taken by this wolf, accepted into his heart no matter how large his sword. And as he kissed her, so very expertly, fiery emotion filled her, and a low moan broke from her throat.

  She was aware that unheated she-wolves could not desire in the same ways as their mated counterparts. But in this moment, her heart, her wolf wanted nothing more than to be claimed by this man.

  But then, Rafesson suddenly broke off the kiss, rearing up to his knees.

  “Rafesson?” she asked, worry replacing passion as she watched him breathe in and out so heavily, she could see his chest expanding underneath his tuxedo shirt with the hard, deliberate puffs.

  And his brown eyes…where they…glowing? She stared at them in rapt wonder until he slammed them closed.

  She began to sit up, but then he snapped, “Stay there,” as if she’d done something wrong.

  Myrna froze, not sure how to react. She could smell his arousal, even heavier than her own. Yet he seemed upset….

  She reached out, hoping to soothe him with a gentle touch, but then he caught her hand. And his eyes blinked open. No longer glowing.

  “I want to please you…please you. That’s my only mission tonight,” Rafesson said. But his voice was cold and dispassionate. And his eyes… they didn’t even give her body a heated gaze as he had upon the flying boat as he rearranged her legs so that they were on either side of his knees.

  “Does my body displease you—” she started to ask, only to cut off with a gasp when he suddenly bent, his tongue diving deep into her core.

  Her mother had warned her of this during their one and only talk, in the days before the Jelling prince’s arrival. Had told her that this was what considerate male wolves did to prepare an unheated she-wolf for sex. But shock still temporarily stopped her heart from beating.

  Myrna had never felt anything like his mouth before. Wet and firm, and surprisingly hot. Tingles of pleasure warmed her entire body, more than making up for his earlier lack of complimentary gaze.

  “Rafesson,” she breathed out, with a wonderous sigh.

  Rafesson didn’t answer, just brought a thumb up to her core and started lightly rubbing at a sensitive area she hadn’t previously known existed.

  She mewled and moaned, liking the quivers of pleasure his light touch sent through her. But gradually that pleasure turned from delightful and tingling to sharp and desperate.

  There was something about the way Rafesson moved his thumb over the sensitive area. It was only a light touch, but it’s very lightness soon began to make it feel torturous. She ground her hips up with the sense that she was close to something, some unimaginable something. But she didn’t know what it was. And even worse, she couldn’t reach it. Not when he was rubbing her in this too light, teasing way.

  “Rafesson,” she cried out. Her voice was no longer soft and breathy but ragged with need as her fingers fisted in the bed covers. “Please, fenrir mine, please,” she begged, though she didn’t quite know what she was asking him for. “More. I need more.”

  The other hand came up and she felt a finger go into her now very wet core, then another, and then…oh Fenrir wolf…one more. So full. She felt unbelievably full. And then the fingers began to move in time with his tongue. Warm and wet…hard and relentless…all while his thumb continued to make light circles around the sensitive area she’d only been introduced to a few moments ago. It felt impossible and glorious all at once, but also frustrating. She was even closer now. So close but Rafesson’s thumb continued to lazily circle, withholding what she needed.

  “Rafesson, please, please, I’ll do anything!” she cried. “Anything—”

  She cut off, when, without warning, that cruel thumb of his suddenly pressed down.

  A previously unknown sensation blossomed through her. Was this what the giggling newly mated girls in her village referred to as their women’s joy?

  But joy didn’t feel like a good enough word. Like using the word drop of water to describe a sea. For the world. It disappeared. Just like when the Astrid Hologram went away, with a sudden blink. That was how it felt to her, that she disappeared into a black, timeless sea of pleasure. She couldn’t see, couldn’t hear, could only drown, drown, drown…

  Until what felt like many more time periods later, the world came back. And found Rafes sitting up, his mouth now covered in her essence.

  “Did I please you?” he asked, wiping a hand across his mouth as if it were one of the napkins she’d been taught to use after eating a meal.

  “Oh, yes, fenrir mine. You please me very much.”

  “Good,” he said. “That’s all I wanted… to thank you, for all you did to make this evening a success.”

  Myrna grinned at him, liking him. Liking him so very much. “I would like to show my gratitude to you as you have done to me. But you felt so large when you lay on top of me, I do not know if I will be able to do my mately duty and give you full pleasure with my mouth. But I will try. This, I vow to you.”

  Rafes stilled in that manner of his, his expression becoming as blank as Astrid’s did when Myrna asked her question like, “Why have there been so very many religious wars?” and she did attempt to gather an answer that had many parts.

  Then did Rafes let out a shaky breath before asking, “How do you always manage to say the exact wrong thing to me?”.

  Myrna frowned, confused. Because his question sounded more a lament than a query he truly wanted answered. Yet also somehow more compliment than insult.

  And when she opened her mouth to attempt an answer, he silenced her with a harsh shake of his head. “Stop… stop talking. I don’t…I can’t let you do that. Let’s leave it there.”

  She tried to do as he asked. Truly she did. But despite having nearly drowned in that black sea, she found her body once again tingling with need. “If you do not wish my mouth, then might we mate together in the way of woman and man? You’ve made me so wet with your tongue and the pleasure you have given me. I am ready now. Please come inside me. I want you there. I want you there very much.”

  Again, he paused, his entire body going rigid. So long her wolf braced for a rejection.

  But then, instead of saying no, he said, “Okay, I’m going to
try,” as if having made a decision.

  Myrna’s heart lifted with great cheer, as he once again reared up and undid his pants.

  She sat up, as well, her eyes widening, when he pulled himself out. He was even bigger than she imagined, but she sensed this might be another wrong thing to say in these tense moments.

  Instead she partially laid back against the pillows. Going quiet, the same as she would with a spooked horse. Patiently waiting for him to fully undress and admiring the view.

  Rafesson was also in what Em would have called good condition. Indeed, he looked much like the statues her culture teacher had shown her during one of their art appreciation lessons. Though he was not made of alabaster, his brown body was just as cut, and the flesh between his legs hung heavier and longer than any of the pictures she’d been shown.

  But that image of a statue stayed with her, especially when he stiffly came forward, his entire body rigid as he once again covered her like a blanket.

  This time there came no kiss. Instead he lowered his face in her shoulder as he reached down between them and aligned himself with her dripping core. Then began a long, slow act of pushing in…

  And oh, dear Fenrir wolf…she exhaled shakily when he was all the way inside of her, to the very hilt of his long and thick sword. The pressure was even greater than the three fingers. Nearly overwhelming. She widened her legs anyway, wanting more, wanting him in deep, even if it meant pain. But to her surprise, opening up to him did take away all of the initial discomfort, allowing her to eagerly receive him when he began his claim of her with slow, measured strokes.

  It felt glorious to have him inside her in this manner. Like a dream finally come true. And for a moment she reveled in the action, wrapping her short legs around his waist and holding him tight. She moaned as Rafes delved in and out of her with perfectly timed thrusts, his hips rolling in a way that both filled her completely and touched the pleasure nub toward the top of her slit.

  But… something wasn’t quite right, she soon realized. Rafesson’s strokes were too perfect… too controlled. It felt like he was there, but somehow not. Close but faraway.

  She brought his face out of her shoulder. And though he’d asked her to stop talking, she said, “Fenrir mine, be here with me. I want us to make this act together.”

  She could sense the “I can’t,” rising on his tongue, but kissed him before it could form into words.

  Swirling her tongue with his, she assured him silently he could… he most certainly could. In fact, he could do anything with her that he did want.

  His breath soon became ragged against her lips, and his back arched, his muscles rippling underneath her hands, almost as if he was fighting something. A personal demon, she wondered? Perhaps he had, as her mother would have called it, some “hang-ups” when it came to this act. Whatever it was, she kept on kissing him. Lending him strength.

  And by the fenrir wolf, he deepened the kiss, reminding her of the way he’d been on the plane when he’d swept her into his arms.

  Maybe, she thought with a surge of hope, he would talk to her about whatever conflict he did feel afterwards. Mayhap this act would bring them that much closer—

  But then without warning, he broke off the kiss, ripping his mouth away from hers and pulling out of her core with much less care than he’d used going in.

  At first Myrna thought she had done something wrong, but then she saw that his left eye was lit up blue. After weeks spent with the people of this time, she’d come to know this meant that he’d received an incoming call, even before he said, “Sorry, this is my aunt Tu on my private emergency line…”

  Myrna sat up, feeling cold and bereft. For while she understood this was an emergency, she couldn’t help but notice how eagerly he had grabbed hold of the excuse to end their lovemaking.

  Indeed, he was already stuffing himself back into his underwear, his expression tight and tense, before answering the hail with, “Hey Aunt Tu, I told you to only use this line for emergencies. Is this an emergen—wait, what do you mean he broke into her parent’s house? Where is he now? In Oklahoma with you? Okay, I’m on my way. No, don’t let him leave with her, I’m on my way.”

  “Is everything okay?” Myrna asked, shoving away her disappointment when she saw Rafesson’s look of distress.

  “Yes…no…my idiot brother Knud. You remember him, right?”

  “Yes, the one who always did filch freshly picked fruit before it could be served as dessert,” Myrna answered with an annoyed grimace. Indeed, Knud had been the subject of many arguments around their table, between her father’s family and Chloe and Alisha, who both did not believe in hitting their children.

  “Yeah him,” Rafes said with a humorless laugh. “Well he’s still taking things he doesn’t deserve. But this time he’s trying to filch Layla Rustanov, who’s like the most perfect human woman to ever walk the earth, not to mention smart, and charming, and way out of his league. That’s why I tried to stop him, when Layla went into heat….”

  Myrna’s brow scrunched, because, “Do I understand this correctly? You purposefully came between your brother and his intended mate after she went into heat?” In her village, this was a grievous offence that most likely would have ended in a death match like the one she did try to engage Camille in on the Wolf House’s front lawn.

  Rafesson’s head jerked as if she was an idiot for even putting this question to him. “No, I didn’t purposely come between them, I was trying to save Layla. He doesn’t even remotely deserve a woman like her, and Layla doesn’t deserve to be saddled to Knud for the rest of her life, just because he somehow managed to turn and mate her. What she deserves is better than that. A male worthy of her. So in other words, not my irresponsible brother.”

  That declared, Rafesson angrily climbed out of bed. “And that’s why I told him to stay away from her, let me handle her transition into wolfhood. But somehow, he managed to interpret that as use all my black-op skills to break into her parents’ house in Texas, with bonus points for defying my brother again…”

  Rafes broke off to push his arms back into the tuxedo jacket he’d torn off earlier. “Anyway this is a big mess, and I’ve got to go. I’m sorry.”

  So was Myrna. Sorry and suspicious, as a bad feeling slithered up her back. For she could not help but note that he seemed angry about Knud’s action, but not particularly upset about the end of their lovemaking. In fact, if she was reading the now relaxed nature of his body correctly, he was relieved.

  Yet out loud she said, “Your brother has gotten himself in a large amount of trouble. Naturally must you go to him. I understand.”

  Her media training must have really as the idiom went, paid off. For she somehow managed to assure him of her understanding, as if she could not feel something sinking inside of her. Like a bird that had given great flight before falling dead out of the sky. As if she were not replaying every word he had said to her through a different filter. And wondering if he had decided to perform this act with her in the same way he’d decided to join the human’s warrior forces and then become the fenrir of all the North American territories.

  Had she been no more than a duty to him? A too eager wolf he sought to strike from his obligation list?

  Rafesson must have believed her, though. For he was gone in the next moment, rushing off to the aid of his brother’s blameless and perfect mate. The door closed behind him with the whisper slide she’d come to associate with this time.

  She waited until his steps could no longer be heard, even with her keen wolf ears, before asking, “Astrid, are you there?”

  Astrid immediately blinked into view in the middle of the room. “How fare thee, Myrna. Healthy and happy, I hope.”

  Healthy, yes, but as for happy… “Can you show to me the formerly human woman called Layla Rustanov?”

  “Oh yes,” Astrid answered immediately. “There are innumerous hits associated with her name.”

  Astrid’s image transformed into the subject of their
conversation as she began to explain who Layla Rustanov was and why she was so very well-known. But the hologram’s words faded into the background as Myrna stood and assessed the former human’s carefully replicated image.

  By the Fenrir wolf, this Layla Rustanov was by far the most beautiful woman Myrna had ever seen, even by this age’s much heightened beauty standard. Tall and willowy with merry eyes and shiny curls, she made Camille Deslobos look like the backside of a horse.

  Myrna choked a little then, remembering how she had thought the same thing of Rafesson when she landed in this time period. That he was so very beautiful that he made the Jelling Prince look like the backside of a horse.

  Indeed, considering this former human’s background, it would seem that she and Rafesson could have made a very well-matched pair. The kind of mates troubadours would laud as the fairest in all the land had they been living in her time. No wonder Rafesson could understand not how his brother desired to mate one such as she. She embodied every standard he held dear, beauty, intelligence, style, and grace.

  He was right. She truly was the perfect woman.

  And Myrna could never be her, she realized in that moment. Not in a thousand years of training overseen by The Joshua Tree.

  She had done everything perfectly that night, only to find out that she could never, ever, even in her wildest dreams be perfect enough for the fenrir of this land. And so Myrna went to bed alone and quite early. Despondent on what should have been the happiest night of her life.

  18

  Myrna

  Myrna slept overlong through the next morning and did not put on clothes or leave her room, until hunger drove her downstairs for the midday meal. She meant only to sneak into the kitchen, fill a plate then return to her room, so that she could finish watching the fictionalized love story that was made about Layla Rustanov’s parents. According to the Astrid Hologram’s pre-summary, the drama would end happily ever after in the birth of Layla Rustanov herself. Myrna had found herself watching the drama avidly despite knowing that information. But indeed, this was how she’d come to discover the true meaning of a curious piece of vocabulary her English teacher had introduced to her a few weeks ago: hate-watching.