by Candy Nicks
When she awoke and placed a tender kiss to the man's palm, the spirit turned away. Hope was for those with a future, not those about to leave this life. It was for this woman, who had so much to live for, and those souls below all toiling towards a common purpose.
However, he could not completely quell the feeling that he stood on the edge of a precipice and the decision to jump, or stay, rested not in his hands, but in the hands of this woman who would not let him go.
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Chapter 3
"The man who just left? That's Brynn. He turned up here one day with Songbird in tow. She's his wife now, and they have a daughter called Larissa. She's going to marry my little brother Tallin. If ever there were soul mates, they surely are. Do you have a soul mate? Someone special you left behind?"
How could he not? A man this beautiful would never have wanted for attention. Naima ran a washcloth along his arm, over the swirling tattoo on his biceps, sweeping it down to the hand she'd held so vigilantly. She paid particular attention to the blackened, pitted nails—worn down to the quick by what? Workers did not grow their nails long. Neither did they have skin that told a different story. The scars were recent, not old like those of the hardened warrior or the manual labourer.
"The other man was my father. He founded this place with Carine, the woman he met in the City. They have something very special. I wish that one day..."
She pulled herself up at the sound of footsteps outside the door. A young man, blast-gun slung over his shoulder, appeared and glanced over the sleeping body.
"Wondered who you were talking to. Did he wake up?"
"No, I...” Naima felt herself reddening. She dipped the cloth into the water and wrung it out. “I was just trying to stimulate a response from him. Perhaps something will get through."
"Mind if I go now?” The youth looked at her blankly, his wish to be anywhere but here, plain. He pointed vaguely behind himself. “Carine said she'd be back soon."
"Yes, do. He's restrained, I'm in no danger."
"Well, if it's okay, I do have work to do.” He handed her the blast-gun. “Don't be afraid to use it."
Naima placed the weapon on the chest and waited until the youth's footfall receded, embarrassed at having been caught talking to a man who lived only in her dreams and imagination. There he was whole and healthy and whatever she wanted him to be. A prince on the run from his evil step-mother. An angel fallen from heaven to earth. A wolf?
How could that be? Under the sheet, he was naked. She'd washed him and tended to his every need. Seen every part of him. But nothing that could be misconstrued as a wolf.
No, not every part. She trailed light fingers over his face, his closed eyelids. They quivered under her touch, sometimes twitching as if he dreamed, but they remained resolutely closed. What would they reveal when they opened? The final puzzle-piece, or a whole set of new questions?
"Cavo, lani alira?"
"What?” Naima glanced around to see who had entered the room. No one. With shock, she realised the words had come from the man lying beneath her touch. She scanned his face for signs of life. His lips opened and closed, the unfamiliar words hardly more than a breathy rasp.
"Cavo? Cavo lani alira? Cavo?"
Question or request? For a moment, she could only gape and try to calm her thumping heart. The words, repeated over, and over, meant nothing to her, yet the tone was pleading, urgent.
"I don't know what you're saying. I don't understand.” Her mind raced through the possible settlers who might. Most people spoke a variant of Universal, the language adopted for ease of communication between the tribes. It was all she knew. “Keep talking,” she urged and enclosed his unrestrained hand in both of hers. “I'm Naima. What do they call you? Where are you from?"
"Finn.” He twisted suddenly, the restrained hand yanking at the manacle, the other balling into a fist that caught her on the arm, knocking her away from the bed. She fell back and hit the chair, heard it clatter to the floor as it overturned behind her. Righting herself, she grabbed at the flailing hand and held on, afraid that he might reopen his wounds.
"Finn?” she said. “Is that your name? Calm down, Finn, let me help you.” Where was Carine? The man's hand slipped from hers and caught the front of her shirt, fingers twisting in the thin fabric. One handed, he pulled her from the floor and over the bed towards his face. Too near to see clearly, she saw a flash of amber as his eyes widened, then narrowed in concentration. They tracked slowly across her face, up and down. He pushed her back, locking his arm straight, suspending her over himself. Lowered a little, as if trying to focus.
"Finn, put me down,” she said, astounded by his strength. “If I fall, I'll hurt you, do you understand? Put me down.” She forced herself to go limp, trying not to show fear. Afraid she might drop onto his injured chest. Swallowing down her pounding heart, she stared into the eyes she'd been longing to see. Black, cat-like pupils set in circles of bright amber. Their beauty stopped the breath in her throat and at the same time caused a small ripple of fear to chill her skin.
"Finn,” she said, softer this time, testing the sound of his name on her lips.
The man turned his face to the rattling of the restraints, growing increasingly agitated at having woken up and found himself a prisoner. The fingers gripping her shirt tightened. The knuckles dug into her breasts, making it difficult to breathe.
"Finn, don't,” she said clawing to no avail at the fingers holding her shirt. “You can't break the restraint and I can't breathe.” She lay, angled across his body, her legs tangled in the crumpled sheet, her top-half raised clear of him. Her knee might reach his groin, if she twisted, but she didn't want to cause him more pain.
"Finn.” She softened her voice to a whisper, noting the way his head stilled at the word. “Finn, can you see me?” The sound of his name calmed him. He stopped pulling on the restraint and she sensed the waning of this sudden burst of strength. The arm holding her trembled and seemed to keeping her in place by sheer force of will.
"Finn..."
He had the blank stare of a blind man, but when she dared to skim her fingers over his cheek, he moved into her touch and his eyes narrowed in silent question. Agonisingly slowly, he let her down so that her face hovered over his with only a hair's width to separate them. His breath smelled of the mint-tea she'd spooned, drop by drop, into his mouth. It mingled with hers. Their noses touched. Naima placed her hands on both sides of his head, supporting herself above him and lowered her mouth to his almost without thinking.
The rush of adrenaline made her bold. So many reasons not to do this—the hard cock prodding her hip for one. Already she was softening and shifting, seeking him out on that primitive level where instinct took over and consequences no longer mattered.
The fingers holding her shirt loosened, his grasp becoming a caress. She held herself above him on trembling arms, too aware of his injuries to abandon herself the way she wanted to, keeping the kiss light and tentative for fear of opening a door that she would never be able to close.
Too late. The thought trickled through the growing euphoria. Passion was more than a physical thing. His thrusting hips and gently kneading fingers were doing more than simply stoking the fires of lust. She heard the unspoken question behind his increasingly urgent caresses and responded with silent questions of her own.
Is this it? she thought, pressing her lips closer. Are you the one I've been waiting for?
Naima. She heard her name, although Finn hadn't uttered a sound. I can't stay, the voice said. But I do want to. You have no idea how much I want to.
She lifted her head and studied his face. Could he somehow read her mind? The words had been clear enough, although laced with such regret they made her want to weep. The same expression—of wanting something he'd no chance of having—shone from his face. He closed his eyes and turned his head. Naima. Why start something we can never finish?
"Don't give up, Finn.” She gazed at his pale pr
ofile, willing a response out of him. Her whole body hummed and ached for more, but the man who'd opened the door to a place she could never leave, had gone. The flare of passion burned out as quickly as it had erupted. She moved from him carefully, her mind in turmoil. Another dream, perhaps? A flight of fantasy fuelled by lack of sleep and her determination to keep this man alive?
She touched his newly-beaded hair. Why did she care so much? Stubborn pride, according to her father. More than one person had told her to let the poor man die, quickly and in peace, rather than dragging out his demise because of her determination to be proved right.
No. She did it first for him and then for Carine. In some way, this man's destiny was entwined with Carine's and they would never know how or why if he died.
Did she do it for herself, too? With shaky fingers, she smoothed out her rumpled shirt and slid from the bed. Now she'd stepped over the threshold, there was no going back. The man may, or may not, choose to remember the encounter. She would certainly never forget this lesson. If nothing else, it showed her how sterile an existence remained without the spark of passion. Marriage to Kandar would be empty of everything she'd ever wanted.
The door creaked open, revealing Carine, her expression both inquiring and anxious. Naima forced herself to smile and greet her. Carine frowned at the fake jollity.
"What happened?” she said. “Did he awaken?"
"No.” Naima touched her heated cheeks. “Well, that's not entirely true. He said something, but I couldn't understand the words."
"He spoke?” Carine crossed the small room and touched the edge of the bed. “What did he say?"
"I can't remember. The words sounded eastern. Cava? No, Cavo. He kept repeating Cavo as if it were a question."
"Where. I think it means where. Can you remember anything else?"
"He wants to know where he is?"
"Possibly.” Carine slid the backpack down her arms and placed it onto the low chest. Systematically, she emptied it of supplies.
"Perhaps his spirit is in limbo and confused? Did you see his eyes, Naima?"
"No.” Naima glanced at the bed. Back in his shell, the man appeared as one dead, but his eyes had betrayed him, marking him as something other than human. Mesmerising and beguiling, they'd held her in place and made her forget to be afraid.
"Why do you ask about his eyes?” One of her shirt buttons gaped open. With shaking hands, she twisted the button into the hole, her fingers skimming skin that still burned with his touch.
"They're more than just a window to the soul, Naima. When he opens his eyes, we'll know."
"And if he is a Lupine? Do we just ask if he happens to have a few spare Soul Cleansing Stones on his person? What will Father say if this man is what you think he is? You saw the gouge mark on his arm? If that was a tracker, the bounty hunters will be after him."
"You're getting too attached,” Carine said and enclosed her in a comforting embrace. “It's perfectly natural that you would. Be careful, child. Whatever I'm hoping for, we know nothing of this man. I don't want you to be disappointed."
"Like you don't want to be disappointed?” Naima squeezed Carine briefly. “I did see his eyes. They were amber, with pupils like a cat. The most beautiful eyes I've ever seen. He's here for you, Carine."
"You saw them? How?” The colour drained from Carine's face. She swayed and placed a hand on the wall to steady herself. “What did you see? Tell me."
"He spoke words I didn't understand. Then he opened his eyes but didn't seem to be able to see me. I think he's blind."
"I was told they see better at night. And when in wolf form. Be careful, Naima. We don't know what we're dealing with here. I ... I'm trying to make sense of it all."
"Don't tell Father.” A picture of a cage flashed into Naima's mind, together with a heart-wrenching desire for freedom. Restraints wouldn't hold Finn for long once he'd regained his strength. Could she trust him? How would she ever know if she didn't put it to the test?
"You saw the marks on his wrists, on his arm. Father started this Settlement so people could be free. Restraining him ... it's just wrong."
"It's for your safety, Naima. Your father would never risk you. Not for anything."
"I know.” Naima shook herself and crossed the small room to the chest. She opened the flask and poured hot soup into a bowl to cool. Searched the bag for a clean spoon. Losing herself in the mundane grounded her. Outside the room, life went on as normal and hers would too. This man might well be here for a higher purpose. Her task was to care for him and keep him alive so he could fulfil his destiny. He wasn't here to add fuel to her dreams of passion and love.
"You need some time out. Let me feed him."
Naima relinquished the bowl and spoon without protest. A walk round the Settlement might put life back into perspective. Or perhaps an afternoon in the herb garden. With spring in full flow, cuttings needed to be taken, seedlings brought on. She needed to leave this room and step back into the flow. Her fascination with this enigmatic stranger, with all its imagined promises, was disconnecting her from life and the people she loved.
"Small spoonfuls,” she cautioned. “Be careful not to choke him. I'll send someone back to be with you."
"I'll take great care of him.” Carine shooed her gently from the room. “Find yourself a book and rest for the day. Everything else can wait. Now go."
"You'll call me..."
"If he wakes. Yes, of course."
How long had she been in this room? Her whole existence seemed to have concentrated down to a sleeping man, a bed, a chair. A window, through which she glimpsed everyday life remotely. The world turned but, inside the hut, time stood still and she, with it. Waiting.
For what? For Finn to spring from the bed and sweep her off her feet?
Outside, the spring air hummed with vibrant energy after the sleepy lethargy of winter. Everything around her washed clean by the melting snows, nature throwing itself into a frenzy of growing and reproducing. Birds testing their voices, a stag bellowing out a challenge. Shading her eyes against the brightness of the sun, Naima breathed it all in, finding her place in the cycle of life. Humbled by the sheer scale of it all, yet heartened by the fact that each of them, no matter how small, had a vital part to play.
I'll make an offering. Ask the Gods for guidance. Why would they allow her to feel this way for nothing?
His hands on her. His mouth breathing in her life force. His hard cock ... She glanced back at the hut, heating and melting inside at the memory of his gently thrusting hips. She wanted him. Gods, how she wanted him.
* * * *
No matter how carefully he hid, they always found him. Granted, this time they were coaxing him back with kindness rather than a tamer, or a blast-gun. But, as always, they wanted something from him. Finn pressed his lips together, stubbornly refusing the soup. Warm liquid dribbled over his chin followed by a soft cloth wiping away the spill.
The woman called Carine had the touch of an angel and the soul of a devil. Finn's spirit-self circled her, wary of getting too close. The depths of her depravity knew no bounds, yet here she sat, tending him with as much care and concern as Naima had.
When he reached out, tentatively, and concentrated, he found Carine's spirit-self there, in the space between, staring with the same intensity at his own soul. A soul reader, like him? Now he understood what she wanted. He shook his head.
"They're gone,” he said. “Beyond reach. The Great Fire, it burns so hot, not even a Krillian Dragon would survive its heat. Or so I've been told."
"I was hoping...” Carine's spirit-self began.
"Then stop,” he said, his tone deliberately harsh. False hope was worse than despair. How many people had he seen over his lifetime, all wishing for a newly-cleansed soul? People who'd parted with their life savings for a stone touched by a Lupine. Stones they believed he'd personally retrieved from the Great Fire itself. Poor bastards. What a shock they had coming when they finally died. He turned his back on C
arine's spirit-self.
"Pay for your own sins,” he said. “Stop expecting me to do it for you. I won't and neither will any one else be fool enough to.
"The Goddess sent you here. There must be a way."
"Yes, there's a way. It will probably involve me burning to a crisp so you can avoid the Pit. Doesn't sound like a good deal from my end, now does it? Go, and leave me to die."
"They're not mine. The sins are not mine."
His mouth turned up in a grim smile. “Of course they're not. Let me guess—you sold your soul for some higher purpose and now you want it revoked.” He turned back to her, faltering at the sight of her spirit-self wilting visibly under his withering rebuke. “Don't you know how fickle the Goddess is? How she likes a joke? I mean, look at me.” He spread his arms wide. “My ancestors were her messengers. Her voice in the world of man. She promised us eternity and gave us only death. One by one, she let us be hunted until none remained. I'm her last little joke.” He tilted his head. “Can't you hear her laughing?"
"Blasphemy will not help. The Goddess is wise. There must be a higher purpose in all this. She will reveal all in her own good time."
"She listens to you no more than she listens to me. I'm not the answer to your problem, Carine. I'm spent. I have nothing left to give anyone."
"She guided you here. She must have."
"I guided me here. I don't even know where here is."
"You're in the Western-most Settlement."
"It doesn't have a name?"
"No. It will be named at its ten-year anniversary. Help me, Finn. If it's at all in your power, help me."
"I told you, I can't."
"Finn, stay with us. If not for me, stay for Naima. She's falling in love with you. You must have felt it. Don't you want to be loved?"
He stared at her long and hard. Who didn't crave love?
"Then she's a fool,” he said. “You know what I am."
"There's a place for us all in this world."
"Not for me. Every one of those warriors out there would kill me without question if they knew what they sheltered here. Your husband would be first in line."