by Mathew Ortiz
***
“Sister Maria Gregoria. Sister Maria Gregoria!”
Lifting her head up from her ledger, Sister Maria Gregoria saw Sister Maria Helene racing into the office area of the abbey. Located on the lower level in the back of the abbey, the office space was one of the quieter places to work. That was one of the reasons the nuns had chosen this space to do the mundane business of handling the money and records of the convent. Sister Maria Gregoria was left with the thankless task of asking various businesses for donations to keep them afloat. Most times it was not an unpleasant job. Today was a bit more daunting. Thus far, two companies had politely shot her down. Granted, neither had been forthcoming in the past, but each year she tried. Persistence is patience with a healthy dose of tenacity mixed in. That she had plenty of.
Normally this was her quiet period. Seeing Sister Maria Helene racing toward her, uncharacteristically loud enough to make several of the other nuns stop what they were doing and take heed.
“Sister, what has you so distraught?” Spoken in French, the language of the convent, Maria Gregoria was alarmed and curious all at once.
“He’s--he’s--he’s—“
“Take a moment and compose yourself.” Gently chided by the older nun, Maria Helene instantly obeyed. Hands over her chest, she sucked in several lungfuls of air and steadied her breathing.
“The young Indian man. He’s run away! He’s gone!” she blurted out in a burst of air and then collapsed into an empty chair beside Maria Gregoria’s desk.
“Gone! When? How?” Alarmed, she took the other nun’s hand to keep her focused.
“He must have left during morning rounds!” Maria Helene hastily added. “He was here at the three a.m. bed check. He must have stolen away after that.”
Pausing, Maria Gregoria pondered the change in events. In the months since the young man had come to their order, he had been a broken, lost soul. But just yesterday, she had commented to him about how robust he looked. Healed physically and mentally sounder, he had thanked her profusely and hugged her. In retrospect, she should have clued in on the fact it was his goodbye to her and a thank you for her unwavering care.
“Oh, one thing. I found this notebook in his room. I thought you should see what he was writing. It was only one thing. One name.” Maria Helene handed the dog-eared notebook to her.
Flipping open the page, she saw the single name was doodled, written, and scrawled over and over again: Duncan.
“I suspected he would leave one day.” Closing the notebook, she looked out the window at the warm sunny day. “God be with you, Jatin… may you find who you are looking for.”
Chapter 6
Oliver mulled over the encounter with Duncan for the next few days, and he steadfastly avoided the annoying shifter. One would think it would be easy in a house so large, but it was a task that exhausted him. Breakfast was his first obstacle of the day. Donovan Temple was a freakishly chipper morning person who loved his coffee and could eat his body weight in pancakes, and it annoyed the crap out of him. Oliver grunted over his fruit cup and refused to meet Donovan’s stormy gaze. Those eyes made him feel naked and exposed. Not entirely unpleasant, but not something he liked feeling surrounded by his family. Dinner was easier. He sat farther away from Donovan and was able to eat in relative peace. The wolf was charming and had his family firmly under his spell. He laughed, joked, and overall ignored Oliver. In fact, he hadn’t hit on Oliver once since they had clashed. What was wrong? Do I stink or something? Oliver berated himself for feeling slighted. Still, they were bondmates! Donovan should be chasing him. He recalled from his schooling that wolves bonded for life and were fiercely protective of their mate, almost to the level of crazy.
Huffing his annoyance, Oliver searched the house early and was unable to find the wolf shifter. He stopped Mrs. Carmichael and inquired as to Donovan’s whereabouts.
“He’s in the Maze.” Her face was neutral, but he knew better. Gossip travelled at the speed of light in this house.
“Thanks, Elizabeth.” He took off before she could say another word and exited the house from the Grand Ballroom. Crossing the gigantic stone patio, he descended the stairs to the yard and hung a hard left. The edge of the Maze was in his sight line.
A gift to his grandfather by his grandmother, the Maze was a full eight-foot tall hedge maze done in a circular pattern. From the air it was a spectacular sight. From the ground and, more importantly, from within it, the Maze was one of the few things that made Oliver crazy. He invariably had to levitate out of it using his telekinetic power, and it irked him that Jaime and Duncan knew how to find the way out. They had figured it out as kids. William refused to go into it. Lately, however, Rush had talked his brother into trying to figure out the Maze.
Humph, more likely the two of them were bumping uglies in the privacy of the quiet, lushly green walls, he grumbled to himself as he entered the opening and stopped a few steps in. Taking out a small purple velvet bag from his pocket, he knelt down and emptied the contents into his right hand. Two small bones, a chunk of hematite, a piece of sea glass, and three marbles tumbled into his palm. Stuffing the bag back into his pocket, he closed his fingers over the runes, shut his eyes, concentrated, and tossed the baubles to the ground. Falling like rain, the pieces hit the earth and found purchase. Waving his hand over them, he kept his eyes closed as images filled his mind and sensations washed over him. Oliver’s eyes flew open, and he knew, deep in his gut, were Donovan was…or at least something that was mostly Donovan.
Gathering up his runes, he deposited them back into his bag. Standing back up, he followed his vision, letting his power of Divination guided him. The stillness of the Maze was unnerving. The wind rustled the top of the hedges, and the occasional chirping of birds was the only other noise. Oliver wasn’t afraid, not in the slightest. He was maybe more anxious, like before a first date. The stroll became a long walk, and he started to sweat in the warm summer air. Taking off his tank top, he mopped his brow and concentrated. Donovan was nearby. His Divination and witch’s sense were both helping him along. Taking a chance, Oliver halted at a T junction, cupped his hands around his mouth, and shouted.
“Donovan?”
He called only once. He was about to do it again when the hair on his neck pricked up. Turning, he looked to his left and nearly screamed. A huge brown wolf trotted toward him. The wolf was massive, its shoulder easily over four foot tall, and it had to weigh at least two hundred pounds. Its fur was glossy and shimmered in the summer sun. It closed the distance and came to a stop, sitting on its haunches. Tilting its head, it seemed to be amused with him.
“Donovan. I know it’s you. I can feel it. I came to talk. Can you shift so we can talk?” Oliver asked. The wolf blinked and bobbed its head, then spun around and ran off, barking at Oliver. I guess he wants me to follow. Trucking behind the large wolf, Oliver was led deeper into the Maze. They must have gone on walking for another ten minutes before they made one last turn.
“Excellent!” Oliver cheered as he made the turn.
They were in the middle of the Maze. The area was a charming garden with a simple Grecian temple in the middle. Two crescent moon fountains burbled merrily in the far corners of the Maze’s center. Donovan bounded away toward the temple and disappeared. Oliver waited, and moments later a nearly naked Donovan Temple ambled out to greet him wearing only a pair of orange SugarBunny briefs. They clung to him and presented quite an impressive package. Oliver snuck a quick full body peek of the wolf shifter. He was impossible gorgeous. Tall and lean, Donovan didn’t have an ounce of fat on him. In fact the man was so muscled it was obscene. Tight pecs, a six pack to die for, and long tightly muscled legs, Donovan looked like a walking ad for PX90. His light caramel skin glistened with sweat.
Oliver swallowed hard and came closer to the stunning man. Donovan halted and put his hands on his hips.
“Pretty rocking bod, huh?”
That smirk was there again. Oliver suppressed his annoyanc
e. “Rein in the ego, Lassie, I came to talk.”
“Lassie, huh?” Donovan closed the distance, and Oliver got a good whiff of sweaty man. Musky and damp, the smell’s aphrodisiac effect hit him like a ton of bricks, and Oliver’s cock swelled. Donovan’s nose twitched, and he sniffed the air. Damn it, I forgot his nose! Wolves had a keen sense of smell, and from the devilish grin spreading across Donovan’s face, he knew Oliver was turned on. “Yeah, yeah, I know you know, I know you know.”
Donovan’s rich laughter lifted into the air, and his perfectly straight teeth shone snowy white. He prowled closer and circled behind Oliver. A bead of sweat trickled down Oliver’s back, and he was acutely aware he was shirtless. He tried to put his tank back on, but his hand was stilled.
“Leave it off.”
Oliver did as he was asked and stood frozen while Donovan dipped his head down and inhaled sharply. His nose was mere inches from Oliver’s neck, and he barely contained a shudder. “Like fine wine and a juicy, rare steak. Fuck, you smell incredible.”
Oliver shifted his weight to ease the pinching on his thickening cock. “Are we going to talk, or are you going to sniff me all day?”
Laughter again rang from behind him, and Donovan replied, “I’d rather see what you taste like, but I can smell your annoyance with me.” Donovan strode around him and walked to the temple. Donovan turned and plopped down, legs spread wide, damn him, and beckoned Oliver to sit beside him. Instead, Oliver stood in front of Donovan, arms crossed.
“I was wrong.”
“Wrong about what?” Donovan countered innocently.
“I was very rude to you the other day.” Oliver watched the wolf closely, measuring his movements.
“Oh, yeah, you called me a man whore.” Donovan’s face was placid.
“Yes, I’m sorry about that. Your sex life is none of my business.”
“But you want it to be your business. Don’t you?”
Oliver grimaced. The man was too perceptive for his own good.
“I was wrong to deny my attraction to you. I am attracted to you, and my witch’s sense has let me know in no uncertain terms that you are my bondmate. I hope that I’m not wrong… ”
“You are not. You are my mate.” Donovan’s voice was certain and unwavering.
“The question is, what do we do about it?”
“I can think of a few things.” Donovan rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I heard that bonding intensifies pleasure.”
Oliver clenched his jaw. “Is that all you think with? Your cock? If we bond, what then?”
Donovan leaned back and tucked his arms behind his head. “Easy, you come back with me to my pack.”
Oliver barked out a short laugh. “Like that’s going to happen.”
Donovan surged up and leaned forward. “No, that is what’s going to happen. You’re my mate, your place is with me.”
Oliver’s temper surged. “Really? Had it occurred to you that I may not want to go?” At the look of disbelief on Donovan’s face, Oliver pressed on. “I’m only weeks away from the Ascension trials.”
“The Ascen-what?”
“The Ascension trials. I’m in the running to become the next Master of the Earth Clans. If I become the Keeper, my place is here at Oswald House! I can’t run off to the woods with a wolf shifter. I’ll be the word and law for the entirety of the Earth Clans. All the witches and dwarves! I can’t lead from your town of Cold Creek.” The color had drained from Donovan’s face.
“Your place is with me.” The growl was low and dark.
“Perhaps your place is with me.” Oliver shot back, and Donovan blinked, scowling. “I have a good chance at being Keeper, and I’d be good at it. I know right and wrong and all the shades of gray in between. I have the power and am not afraid to use it. I would like to have you with me. A bonding strengthens and completes a witch, and you would be welcome here as my bondmate.” Oliver paused, and he swore he could see the thoughts flying through Donovan’s head.
“I can’t leave my pack. I’m the Beta of Cold Creek. More importantly, I’m one of the sheriff’s deputies. I can’t abandon my job. I love what I do. I love being a deputy.”
“I didn’t know.”
“Know what? That I have a proper job? That I don’t spend the day running around the woods, sniffing other wolves’ butts and hunting deer? Being a wolf is a small part of my life. I’m not some backwoods ignorant mutt. I graduated college and studied criminology. I have a life back at Cold Creek,” Donovan argued.
`”I’m sorry. Old prejudices. Don’t be angry. I didn’t mean to offend you.”
“So far, Mr. Blackthorne, you’ve called me a man whore and a wild animal. I have not been mean to you, and I have yet to say anything bad about you or your family. Who, I might say, have been a damn sight nicer to me than you have!” Anger rolled off of the shifter in waves. Oliver blushed hotly. He had been judgmental and rude.
“Let me clarify something for you, little witch. Amongst shifters, we don’t deny ourselves the pleasure of the body. Our whole world revolves around our bodies and our ability to shift. We don’t have all the hang-ups you solids do. Sex is sex. When it’s mutual and trusting, it is something to howl about. Have I had a larger than average number of partners? Yes. Am I ashamed of it? Hell, no. Keep your hang ups to yourself, Oliver.” Donovan stood up and towered over Oliver. Oliver flinched as hot, sweet-smelling breath fanned his face.
“I--I’m sorry.”
“Thank you.” Donovan paced around him, and Oliver stiffened. “You’re forgiven.”
“Just like that?”
“Just like that.” Donovan halted his circling directly in front of him. “You’re my mate. Kinda hard to stay mad at you.” Long fingers tentatively reached out. Oliver closed his eyes as Donovan’s fingers grazed his cheek and traced his jaw. The contact made his witch’s sense flare and his desire roar.
Oliver closed his eyes. “I--I--Donovan…please…”
“Please, what?” Husky, the man’s voice caressed Oliver’s senses.
“Please kiss me. I have to know.” His body shook as the handsome wolf came within inches of him, the heat of Donovan’s body warming his own bare chest.
“You have to know what?” Donovan asked in a whisper, his lips hovering just over Oliver’s.
Oliver’s hand crept up and wound into Donovan’s dreads, caressing the taut neck. “Know what my brother has… what my brother feels.”
Oliver’s tongue flicked out and teased Donovan’s lip, eliciting a groan. Donovan’s warm lips closed over his, and Oliver’s free hand reached between them and palmed the firm chest in front of him. His witch’s sense flared at the kiss and the touch, and Oliver’s mind and soul exploded. Donovan’s mouth grew insistent, and his tongue demanded entrance. Oliver parted his lips, and the wet warmth of Donovan’s tongue invaded his mouth and took a leisurely perusal inside. Donovan’s powerful arms snaked around his waist and pulled him closer until their damp skin touched.
Euphoric. It was euphoric. The feelings were roiling inside Oliver like a hurricane churning up the sea of his soul. No man, not even Rory, Hecate help him, made him soar like this. The bonding was starting. Each time they touched and the longer they did, the tendril of their bonding wove together. He didn’t know what was needed for a wolf to bond, but from his side it was happening. Donovan’s talented tongue curled over his, and the tangy, savory taste of the wolf burst upon his tongue.
I need air, oh fuckaduckamamamycockisgonnablow, I need air! Letting Donovan go, Oliver pushed away from him. They were both panting, and Donovan’s parted lips were swollen and slick with spit. Oliver gaped as he noticed that Donovan’s eyes had shifted. The whites were gone, replaced by black, and the irises were different, more intensely blue gray. Hey, are those fangs? The shifter’s canines had dropped. Donovan snarled and stepped back.
“Pretty good kisser for a man whore, huh?”
Oliver started and then blushed red to his blond roots. His hair had come undone fr
om his mun, and long gold waves of it fluttered in the wind. Well, the ones not plastered to his face and wet from sweat did.
“Excuse me?”
“You got what you wanted, Oliver. You know what your brother feels. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need a shower and a nap. I was on a run, and I darted into your maze. I was resting in the temple, enjoying the cool when you called.” He sauntered back to the temple and retrieved a backpack. Slinging it over his shoulder, he waltzed past Oliver and snorted.
“I’m good enough for a roll in the hay but still a whore. You want a bondmate, but I’m not good enough to give up your life for. You want a mate at your beck and call, not as the other half of your soul. That’s not how it works. With wolves, one is always dominant. They are a pair, joined until death howls for them to come back to the Deep Green.” Donovan looked down at him and a smile, wry and sad, tugged at his lush mouth. “Good day to you,” he murmured. And then he left.
Oliver waited until Donovan was out of earshot before he groaned. How was he going to fix this?
***
Donovan’s cum painted his belly and chest, even hitting the headboard of the bed as a bone-shaking climax racked his body. His encounter with Oliver had made his wolf howl deep in his soul. It wanted to claim the witch, make him his. He was aware of magic touching his mind and soul as they kissed. He heard that witches bond differently than wolves via their witch’s sense. It was easier for wolves. The dominant wolf would fuck the other, then at the moment of climax, they would bite the other wolf on the shoulder, ingesting the subordinate wolf’s blood and mingling the dominant wolf’s saliva into the wound. It would bond the two together. From that point on, their scent would be intermingled, and they would be aware of each other in a preternatural way.