The Brothers Nightwolf Trilogy

by Taylor, Theodora

  The wolf stalked forward as she spoke. Step by slow step. Would be predator to his prey.

  But Myrna continued her lecture, her tone as resolved as a tree. “For you see, I wished to serve my village in some manner after the rejection of the Jelling prince. However, I was not allowed to hunt with the men, nor was I welcomed in my mother’s kitchen. So, I found myself having to devise my own work. And would you guess what I discovered suited me the most?”

  Again the wolf did not answer. Only continued to stalk forward.

  And so did Myrna answer her own question, her voice becoming light and amused. “I suppose you could call me a tutor of sorts. I trained under my father’s beta, Randulfr, teaching the younger wolves how to keep their humans, even in wolf form. You are not a pup, so fortunate is it for the both of us that occasionally during my training was Randulfr called upon to quell older wolves. Thralls newly arrived in our village from other lands…”

  If the wolf understood any of her words, it gave no indication. In fact, having drawn close enough now to lunge, did it crouch low on its haunches.

  Yet, still did Myrna continue. “This is all to say, that I may have been shocked by your wolf earlier, Rafesson, but you should not mistake shock for fear. For I am not scared of your wolf.”

  Upon that challenge did the wolf launch itself at her, paws first, most likely intending to force her to the ground for mounting. That might have worked. Especially in his office when Myrna stood weaponless.

  But in this instant… when he was halfway through the air, she swung the column in the same manner her father had taught her to swing a hatchet. Fast, precise, and without mercy.

  For the second time that eve the wolf went flying, but this time, it landed in a heap in front of The Wolf House’s front door.

  And her tone turned much harder as she took a fighting stance, with both hands around her banister column.

  “I will have Rafesson now. Not you, Beast,” she growled. “You may have my wolf later. At the proper time when I shift once again with the moon. But as for now you will give me back my male.”

  The wolf growled, angry and defiant. Then staggered to its feet and launched itself at her again—only to be volleyed once more, this time to the opposite side of the foyer, after Myrna swung her column with all her wolf strength.

  “Rafes!” she growled again, glaring at the beast. “You must give control to your male, or this eve will end in your beating. For my beast will be happy to have you in twelve moons time. But as for my human. Never will she lie with you!”

  The wolf struggled to its feet, slower this time, but still snarling low in its throat.

  And Myrna held up the column, prepared to wallop it again, even if it gave her no joy to abuse such a magnificent creature in this way.

  The wolf stared at her, its brown eyes glowing hot and furious.

  She glared back at it, her own eyes determined and strong.

  And then, just as suddenly as he shifted to his wolf, Rafes stood before her, his suit still intact but his hair now a nest of wild curls.

  “Rafesson!” she cried, dropping the column and running to him.

  He caught her, his arms wrapping around her despite the beating she’d just given his wolf and holding her tight. His shoulders shook, and he made a strange sound low in his throat. Crying. The male who’d shown little to no emotion ere this, was now crying.

  An arrow of regret pierced Myrna’s heart. “I am sorry!” she said, attempting to hold him as tight as he did her. “If I had but known how you suffered, I would have spoken to your wolf sooner. Made it understand…”

  She trailed off when Rafesson pulled back from her, revealing eyes that shone. Not with tears but merriment. For he was not crying. He was laughing. Laughing as loud and sharp as their plainspoken grandmother.

  “Thirty-two years. I’ve been trying to control that damn thing for thirty-two years,” he said, his face beautiful with laughter. “And woman…it took you less than thirty-two minutes.”

  At those words, did she too begin to laugh.

  It was like waking up from a nightmare to discover it had all been a bad dream. A complete misunderstanding of the mind. Over now in the light of day. For many long moments, they laughed together. All the misery of the last few months falling away like so much smoke and ember.

  And then…

  Her body, which had gone completely cold at Craig's attack, erupted anew with scent. A new, fiercer wave of heat made her gush into the underwear the IWF thought suitable fighting armor.

  Did all amusement fade from Rafesson’s face as her scent filled the space between them? And when he looked down at her, Myrna’s breath caught.

  For once again were his eyes glowing.

  Myrna’s body tightened, the flesh between her legs clenching in and out, even as her mind prepared itself to once again battle Rafesson’s beast.

  But Rafesson remained a human, only his expression shifted, darkening from bemused to intent as he informed her, “We’re not going to make it to the bedroom.” His voice low. But not at all apologetic.

  With only those words as warning, she found herself pushed into the same wall she’d knocked his beast into with her column, Rafesson’s large hand at the back of her neck, keeping her still as he yanked the bottom of her costume down.

  She couldn’t move underneath his hand and that should have scared her. But instead more heat gushed between her legs as he bared her sex, the wolf inside of her begging for his domination as her human body squirmed with the need to be bred. By Rafesson. And only by Rafesson.

  He did not make her wait.

  Though he was no longer overtaken by his beast, he mounted her like one, shortly after freeing himself from his pants. Then pinning her against the wall with his heavy body, did he drive his thick iron into her, causing her to cry out. Not with pain but with sheer relief. There was no discomfort this time, only fullness. Like a hunger of her spirit that had suddenly been fed.

  This, she realized in that moment, this was why she held out. What she’d been waiting for her entire thirty-two winters. This and nothing else.

  “Rafesson,” she keened, his name both a moaning plea and a prayer of gratitude upon her lips.

  “Myrna,” he answered, his own voice little more than a coarse growl.

  There were no careful strokes this time. Instead, he took her savagely, his hips pumping roughly as his hand moved up from her neck to pull, fisting in her hair. “You accused me of not desiring you. Do you still have any questions, any more doubts about how much I want you?”

  No, no…she had no questions at all. Just a plea. “Please, please do not stop. It feels as if I might die if you do…”

  “Oh fuck, Myrna,” he said, his hips driving into her faster and faster. “I try to stay in control. Try to hold myself back. But all you do is break me.”

  Funny he should say that, because those were the words that broke her.

  The climax of their joining washed over her in a sudden wave and she screamed out unable to control her own voice as she was overcome with a pleasure unlike any she had ever known.

  “Myrna…floor…” Rafesson muttered behind her, suddenly pulling out and stepping back.

  His words made little sense, yet Myrna understood clearly. His beast had surrendered, but for this first claim, Rafesson needed to take her in the way of the wolf.

  She pushed away from the wall and scrambled to get to her knees. No dignity. No pride as she presented herself to him with her ass in the air, her sex clenching in and out with the need to be filled by him again.

  He then fell over her back, like a beast unleashed, driving himself into her with another hard thrust. He claimed her wildly, little more than an animal, as he grunted in her ear, “Baby, oh fuck, baby…so fucking good.”

  She’d never heard him utter such foul words before…and she liked it. “Yes, Rafesson, claim me,” she moaned in what Astrid had called Old Norse. And though she’d already found her woman’s joy, she became
more and more desperate, her hips jerking back dumbly into his every thrust.

  For a moment, they both became too wild and fell out of rhythm. But then Rafesson’s teeth sank into the space between her neck and shoulder, holding her in place, so that she had no choice but to still and take his thrusts.

  The sharp pain of Rafe’s teeth pushed her right over the cliff. She fell into a black sea with a drawn-out scream, her sex clenching down hard as the pleasure overtook her.

  “Fuck, Myrna, baby…baby—” Rafesson cut off with a choking yell, and in the next moment his seed washed the inner walls of her aching sex. Spilling and spilling into her, as her thirsty core gulped down every drop.

  Then just as she was rising to the surface of the sea, he swelled, his already large staff thickening inside her, but only at the base of his sword.

  “Oh dear Fenrir Wolf, your knot, your knot…” she cried out in Old Norse, dimly recalling that one sex talk she’d had with her mother before the Jelling prince. This is what males of their species did when mating with a she-wolf…knotted inside of the them, so as to ensure none of their seed would be lost to the she-wolf’s womb.

  Completely natural, her mother had assured her. But her mother’s practical explanation had not included how Myrna’s body would respond to the knotting. Her sex trembled around the growth, a new, thunderous pleasure overtaking her even though she’d already found her woman’s joy twice.

  It was too much…too much. And she soon fell into a new black sea, this time passing out.

  31

  Myrna

  Myrna awoke later in the strangest position. She lay on the richly woven carpet many steps away from where Rafesson and she did mate. And though Rafesson was no longer embedded inside of her, she was held tight against his body. One arm pillowing her head and the other heavy across her waist, his hand cupping her sex, as if to tell anyone who happened to pass by that it belonged to him.

  She looked around as best she could, secured as she was to his body. It remained black outside, so it was the same eve as when she’d fallen asleep.

  Yet everything had changed.

  After lifting and maneuvering herself out of Rafesson’s hold, her thoughts turned to food. She was famished, having not eaten since breaking her fast that morntide. However, when she sat up, instead of climbing to her feet she found herself mesmerized by the sight of the beautiful fenrir upon the rug. His eyes closed and looking more at peace than she’d ever seen him before.

  And with that thought, another wave of heat blossomed through her, chasing away all desire for food as a new gush pooled between her legs.

  She peered down at herself, and to her surprise, found her sex now covered in her own essence. Curious about the clear viscous substance leaking out of her, she touched herself down there, then raised her fingers to her lips to taste the slick nectar. It was unlike anything she’d ever tasted before. Pungent and dark…

  And for some reason the taste made her sex ache.

  Reaching down, she found the sweet throb between her legs, the same bud of flesh Rafesson had so cruelly teased a few months ago. It felt enflamed and pulsed at her touch as if begging for relief.

  A sharp intake of breath pulled her gaze up from her sex into Rafes's glowing ones. His body was now in an upright position, and his eyes locked on the fingers she’d dipped into herself.

  “Fucking hell, Myrna,” he bit out. “You act so innocent. Then you do something like that.”

  “Like what?” she asked, unable to stop rubbing at herself, even though her touch only made it worst. As she rubbed, the sweet throb became an excruciating pain. “Oh, fenrir mine, it hurts,” she whimpered at Rafesson who’d gone unnaturally quiet. “Why does it hurt?”

  One moment, they were sitting across from each other upon the carpet, and the next she was on her stomach, Rafesson’s hands anchored at her hips, as he pulled her to her knees.

  He pushed in, and Myrna braced herself, prepared for him to fall upon her back and go as wild on top of her as he had the last time.

  But instead he moved slowly inside of her, filling her and refilling her with long, slow strokes that both soothed the throb between her legs and made her clench uncontrollably. Begging for more.

  “Rafesson…” she keened, once again easily reduced to pleading his name.

  “Myrna, baby, look at me…” he commanded his voice low and harsh.

  She did as instructed, twisting to look at him over her shoulder.

  His glowing gaze turned tender as he reached out to stroke her hair. “So fucking beautiful,” he whispered.

  Then did he fall upon her back. Becoming a wild beast on top of her, claiming her with increasingly savage thrusts until they both cried out. Oh dear Fenrir Wolf, how could she ever have thought her fated mate incapable of passion? She wondered this as she fell once again into the black sea.

  And this time there was no pause. Rafesson knotted, before she even had a chance to rise to the surface of the black sea. So she stayed down there, falling, falling…and happy to drown.

  “Myrna? Myrna...come back. Answer me, baby. Are you okay?”

  Myrna’s eyes fluttered open and she found herself in the same position as last time. Except now Rafesson’s staff was fully embedded between her legs, her sex milking it as surely as her hands used to milk their cow first thing in the morn. And there was a voice now, speaking her original language, tender and low inside her head.

  “Fenrir mine…is that you?” she asked.

  “Have I ever told you how fucking sexy I find it when you call me that?” he asked, confirming her suspicion that the new voice inside her head was that of Rafesson, even though it spoke her own tongue. He spoke through the mate bond that was created whenever two wolves shared heat sex, their newly formed connection translating his words same as her Astrid hologram upstairs.

  Myrna laughed aloud at his answer, shocked once again to hear such language from the wolf so many called President Robot. And she could feel his amusement rippling over the mate bond as clearly as if it were her own.

  But then she sobered as she answered his question. “Nay, never did you tell me that, along with many other things...”

  They were connected now. Not only in mind but also in emotion, and she could feel his own amusement blanch, just as hers had.

  “I’m sorry,” Rafesson said in the next moment, his voice somber inside her mind. “I’m sorry for everything I kept from you. If I had known you’d handle my wolf like that…”

  His wolf…the memory of the snarling beast who attempted to mate her came back, along with the shock of its reveal. “Your wolf…I have never in all my winters of training seen anything like that—”

  She stopped at the sudden spike of shame and embarrassment, so sharp it felt the same as physical pain over their mate bond. And she guessed. “Your wolf. It is feral and unbiddable. And that is a secret you have been keeping for a very long time, true?”

  He did not answer, but she felt his affirmation in the way the shame continued to burn over their mate bond, sharp as her father’s silver-dipped sword.

  “Fenrir mine, please do not feel embarrassment at my words,” she said, experiencing his pain as if it were her own. “I wish only to understand you better, so that I might be prepared if the beast comes back.”

  Rafesson remained quiet behind her. So long, she thought perhaps he would not answer. But then he said, “Yeah, my wolf’s been out-of-control for as long as I can remember. At first it was just annoying. I’d go to bed, pissed off—usually at Knud and wake up in wolf form. Thank God I had my own room. But eventually adolescence hit, and the damn thing decided it wanted to take over whenever I let my guard down or felt anything approaching some kind of big emotion.”

  “And you told no one of this?”

  Rafesson released a breath behind her, and she could feel him struggling with his answer. “It’s hard to explain, but I can’t remember a time when a lot wasn’t expected of me. At first, I put it on myself. When
we were in the Viking village, I felt like Mom was my responsibility. That if she ended up mated to some asshole wolf that would be on me. My last memory of the village was not wanting to go to my wolf training, because I knew I needed to protect my mom from Skeggi.”

  “Skeggi,” she repeated, remembering the overlarge Viking with distaste. “He was the strongest of my father’s warriors, and you were only four winters. No one would have expected you to defend your mother against him.”

  “It wasn’t about what other people expected….Even before I knew who my father was or that my birth order meant I’d eventually become the King of Colorado, I felt it. This responsibility toward my mother and my brothers and now my people.”

  “Even when they don’t make it easy...” she murmured, remembering the way his mother and her brothers had so easily dismissed his efforts to protect the fated gates from dragons.

  Rafesson let out a humorless laugh behind her. “Yeah, even then….”

  He went quiet again for a few moments, before confessing. “My dad knew. So did my maternal grandfather, Tikaani, Wilma’s dead husband. My dad was like the son my grandfather always wanted but never had, and I was the son of that son. They pointed me at president and just kept on paving the way. I’ve never had to room with anyone, even when I was in the Marines. They believed in me, and when my grandfather died, I knew I had to run. Fulfill his vision. And technically I love being president. It’s what I’m good at. But the wolf doesn’t make it easy. It’s like I’ve got this dual nature. One’s a soldier and public servant, sworn to protect. But the other’s a beast. Dangerous. What people need protecting from.”

  Myrna didn’t just understand what he meant but could feel his shame burn across their mate bond. For this reason did she push understanding back at him as she guessed, “Something happened with your beast before me. Am I correct?”

  Again, he stilled. But eventually he answered, “When I was in law school at Harvard, I had…I wouldn’t call her a girlfriend exactly. She was human, so I knew it wasn’t going to turn into anything serious. But we dated, and we had sex. I always made sure not to fall asleep afterwards. It didn’t matter how tired I was, I’d get up and take a car back to my own apartment on the other side of Harvard Square.”