“I don’t want to hurt you, wolf, but I can and will, if you don’t let me pass. I am more than I seem,” she threatened.
The wolf studied her, rapt with fascination. Too intriguing, he mused to himself. Most fled for their lives in sheer horror, screaming their lungs bloody as they went. Yet here stood this girl, only just a woman, and she held her ground, challenging him! She was brave, braver even than any man he’d faced and feasted upon in his time.
Her courage and the ferocity in her gaze gave rise to an altogether different kind of hunger within him. He wanted her—not to eat—but to claim. Whatever manner of rare and different creature she is, I need her. I feel it in my bones. Shifting from wolf to elf, he stood before her, naked as the day he was born. He smiled when he saw her momentarily avert her eyes, colour flaring across her pale cheeks.
Sabine’s eyes widened, and to her shame, she shied away too slowly to conceal her reaction. The black wolf shifted back to his elven form, standing there, bold as brass, bare as a newborn babe. Dragging her eyes back, she tried to keep her focus on his face. He had pitch dark eyes, shaggy, shoulder length black hair, and an eye-wateringly sculpted physique. She’d never seen a male naked before, let alone an elf…a creature of myth and legend. She had not been permitted to participate in the sky-clad dances of her people until she had come of age.
“I’m warning you,” she said again. “It doesn’t matter what form you take, I will defend myself.”
The Dökkálfar smirked, taking a casual, sauntering step forward. “What are you?” he asked. “I’ve never seen a witch with fangs before.”
Sabine adjusted her footing, conscious of the elf’s seemingly slow, but calculated advance toward her. “My mother was a witch, my father a vampyre,” she said curtly. “Though it matters not.”
“You are entirely wrong,” he answered. “What you are matters. You are a rare creature, even in my world. You are what they call a dhampir, a blood witch. You are not immortal presently, but your years will be longer than mortal memory.”
Sabine lowered her hand slightly, curiosity flickering to life in her belly. “You know of my kind?” she asked. “And what do you mean by presently?” Her father had impregnated her mother on his journey through Teutonia, leaving her to birth a dark-blooded child alone. Her mother’s coven owned ancient grimoires and spell books spanning centuries of knowledge, but none held information pertaining to the strange and mixed breed that she was.
“I know enough,” the elf admitted. “You can sustain yourself on grain, the flesh of beasts, and the fruits of the earth, as all mortals do, or, if you so choose, blood alone.”
The young witch mulled the information over. She knew that the dark magic in her blood gave life to her craft, but she hadn’t known that she could sustain off of blood the way a pure-blooded vampyre could.
“Is there more?” she asked, perhaps a little too hopefully, her intense honey brown gaze piercing his.
“There may be,” he said, now just several feet away. “But as they say, knowledge is power, little dhampir, and everything has its price. What will you give me in return for the information you seek?”
Sabine narrowed her eyes, immediately suspicious, and on the offensive. “I carry no wealth, save my ancestor’s pendant, which I will not part with. It is a protective talisman and heirloom, gifted to me by my mother, and I would fight you for it.”
The Dökkálfar stepped closer. “There is no need to fight,” he said. “It is not your talisman I desire,” he said suggestively.
Sabine’s breasts prickled with unexpected arousal, as she became aware of a throbbing, pulsating sensation, originating from between her thighs. “I,” she stammered. “I do not know what you desire,” she said, edging back, faltering.
The wolf shifter inhaled deeply, a look of bestial hunger in his eyes. “I think you do,” he coaxed. “You might have never been with a male, but you do know what I want. You want the same thing, if you are honest with yourself. Your need of it colours your cheeks, quickens your heartbeat, and leaves you aching inside. I can sense these things,” he said. “You are, as we wolves would say ‘in heat’ and ready to mate. I can smell the end of your Moon’s Blood. Your young body aches for the touch of a mate, even though the very thought of it frightens you.”
Sabine released her breath from behind her teeth, unaware that she had been holding it. Stepping backward again, she bumped awkwardly into a tree, its immense trunk preventing her escape.
“I am a lone wolf,” he continued. “And I have been in search of a mate for too long.”
“What has that to do with me?” Sabine interjected, trying to hide her nerves. “I am not one of your kind, and I am already a hybrid being of my own nature.”
In the time it took her to draw her next breath, he moved, swift as a shadow racing from the light, to pin her by her wrists to the tree. She hissed like a wildcat, baring her fangs. “Let me free,” she warned.
“Are you sure that’s what you want?” he asked, his voice thick with desire.
Instinctively Sabine bit her lip, drawing blood. She licked it lasciviously with her tongue, smearing her own crimson essence against the white of her teeth. “I could hurt you,” she whispered. “The zealots have killed enough of us—do you so wish to force my hand? I have no wish to ensure their ministry for them.”
The dark elf smiled, carnal longing written all over his face. “You have spirit, dhampir, and courage. I like that.” In another heartbeat, he’d secured her hands above her head with one hand, and forced her legs apart with his knee. Trailing his free hand over her breasts and beyond her navel, he lifted her skirts, his strong, calloused fingers finding their mark.
Overwhelmed, Sabine gasped, her body responding of its own will, equal measures of fear and excitement flowing through her. The Dökkálfar stroked her, teasing her, before delving deeper. Too soon he withdrew, eliciting a panicked whimper from the young blood witch. Raising his bloody fingers to his mouth, he tasted them. “Old blood,” he confirmed. “What is your name?” he asked, his lips parted with wanting.
“Sabine,” she whispered, mortified by how easily his dark allure enveloped her so completely.
“Sabine,” he said, licking and sucking his fingers clean, as if he were savouring the flavour of her name, as much as the taste of her Moon’s Blood. “I am Kearn, and this brings us to presently. I want you. But I want you to want me in return.” He leaned into her, pressing his surprisingly warm body against hers, positioning himself between her legs. She felt his hardness against her tingling flesh, and her insides quivered, betraying her.
“I would have you be my mate.” His hot breath on her face sent shivers through her. “Our children would be as unique as we are. Formidable. Unstoppable. Can you imagine a creature part witch, part vampyre, and part Dökkálfar? A tribrid. We could rule the Black Forest of Midgard, and protect all the Otherkin that live within its borders. We could create a real home for the exiled, the unloved, the unwanted, and the undesirables. Say yes, to me, dear beauty, to our future, to being my queen, to uniting the secret folk of the forest. We would be so good together,” he whispered, as he ran his thumb over her bloodied lower lip.
“I am an Alpha, and would stake my claim on you, as king of our pack…however, being queen, you would have your choice of lovers—as many, or as few as you pleased. The pack we choose—the one we create—would love, honour, and obey you. In our world, an Alpha is the strength of the pack, the protector, the commander. But the queen? She is the focal point of our society, of our lives. She is our matriarch, and the mother of our heirs. Her wants, her will, are ours to fulfil. Our only goal as a family is to revere you and make your will manifest. Without a queen, we are all lost.”
The world shrunk all around Sabine. The enchanted forest faded away, its shifters and mysteries gone. The illuminating glow of the red-hued moon bathed her vision in a dream-like haze. Her entire focus narrowed down to just Kearn, his words, his full mouth, and the way he made
her feel. He was beyond beautiful, and he was strong and fit. He could offer his protection, desire, robust offspring; everything a woman could want for in a mate… Only he was a Dökkálfar, both dark elf, and beast. And yet, she was no ordinary woman, herself. She was a dhampir witch. A normal life was always going to be beyond her grasp. I do not crave normal, anyway… I am anything but!
Kearn released her wrists, his black eyes boring into her soul. “What say you, witch? Will you do me the honour of being mine? I will never hurt you, and you will have my undying loyalty, from now until Ragnarok come.”
Sabine smiled, still acutely aware of his unhindered desire. “Only if you will be mine,” she answered, feeling unexpectedly more dangerously feminine, brave, and mature than her years would suggest.
“I would have it no other way,” he responded. “I desire a resilient and cunning ally in all things, not just a pretty broodmare. I want an equal with whom to share and conquer the world.” Then taking her face in his hands, he stooped down and kissed her, gently at first, then with increasing passion and hunger. Sabine turned to water at his touch, using the tree at her back for support. Almost of their own volition, her hands began tentatively tracing his muscular chest and shoulders, before locking behind his neck. Their bodies thrummed, pulses racing.
Kearn lifted her, and she instinctively wrapped her legs around his waist, submitting mind, body, and soul. Carrying her with ease, he strayed from the well-worn forest trail, and deeper into the darkening autumn wonderland. Laying her down upon a bed of soft moss and fallen leaves, he hovered above her, his masculine scent washing over her.
“Do you want this, truly?” he asked. “In love, I am a noble—I take no woman against her will. And I’ll not unleash the beast within me, unless she you were to ask it of me.”
Sabine tucked a long, errant lock of black hair behind his ear as she studied his beautiful, angular face. “I do,” she replied. “It’s what I want.”
Kearn stooped down to kiss her, his mouth finding hers. Sabine closed her eyes as she allowed herself to surrender completely to the moment, to every new sensation. She wanted to remember her first time for years to come, so that perhaps one day, she might offer insight and counsel to daughters of her own.
She savoured the softness of his lips, and the warmth of his body against hers. The scent of the rich forest earth crushed beneath them, and the salty taste of his skin as she broke their kiss and sought his neck, aroused her in primal ways she’d never before imagined. She moaned around his flesh as she sunk her fangs into the confluence of his throat and collarbone.
Kearn snarled at the stinging puncture wounds, but did not deny her. With his unspoken consent, his blood filled her mouth, and his years of memories, kept secret for so long in his veins, assaulted her mind in a torrential surge. Pulling back, she gasped, her eyes wide and unseeing as she re-lived his life, as if a comrade by his side, or an invisible guardian.
Time shifted, and Sabine found herself in a forest clearing, not unlike the one in which they were, now. The sun shone brightly, the blue sky spotted with clouds, and there, amongst a sea of native alpine wildflowers, Kearn lay beside a young she-elf with hair like spun gold. Fingers intertwined, they laughed and touched each other tenderly, seemingly lost in their own world. She could see it in their eyes, in their body language, they were in love. There existed an easy comfort evident between them, a bond of familiarity outside of their deeper feelings.
And Sabine wondered, who was she?
Then the scene changed once more, the blissfully content couple swirling away into a maelstrom of flying flower petals and swirling mist. When the memory finally stopped spinning, she found herself in the same location—only the hour of day was different—it was dark. Glittering stars pricked the black shroud of night, and a full, silver moon hung high overhead, its glittering radiance casting dancing shadows in all directions.
On his knees, Kearn’s shoulders were slumped, his body visibly heaving. From her vantage point in the memory, his back was to her, but even from where she stood, the tangled mess of golden blonde hair spilled across the earth did not escape her attention. The young dhampir swallowed hard, approaching the scene slowly, already dreading what she would see.
A pale hand covered in blood, outstretched and limp, wide blue eyes, frozen open in terror. Kearn wept as he held up his bloody hands, staring at them in a heart-rending mix of horror, shock, and dismay. It seemed to Sabine that he could not believe his own eyes. “What devilry is this?” he cried out to the darkness. “What have I done?”
Sabine was overcome with empathy. What had possessed him? She could feel his emotions as truly as if they were her own. He felt confused, enraged, and suffered an incredible amount of anguish. He was a natural shifter with full control of his shifts, not some rabid beast. What wickedness had triggered him to such violence? Had he been cursed? Scooping his mauled beauty from the wet, red-stained ground, he rocked, cradling her lifeless form against his bare chest, as if she were a babe, or a beloved, broken doll.
My poor, Kearn! Sabine shook her head, closing her eyes against the gore. He had killed his own lover. Sabine felt sick for him over it. The tragedy was palpable. Something untoward took place here...I can feel the taint of malice and magic, here. With great effort, she forcibly withdrew, banishing the memory.
Tumbling through time, Sabine’s eyes cleared, and she found Kearn staring intently back at her, his brow furrowed, concern written plainly across his features. “Are you well, my love?” he asked. “Do you need, or want to stop?”
The dhampir took a deep breath to centre herself in reality once more. “I am fine,” she answered, as she looked upon her mate with new-found understanding and compassion. He could not know that in the space of but a few heartbeats, she had gone elsewhere, reliving his past. She would have to explain this gift to him at a later time. “Please,” she whispered. “I want you.”
Her wolf shifter didn’t need asking twice. Repositioning himself, he teased her, back and forth, again and again, deeper and deeper with each stroke, until he was inside her, and felt the resistance of her maidenhood. With nimble fingers he pleasured her, then distracting her with a kiss, he thrust, sliding in the full length of his shaft. Sabine gasped as the thin film of flesh broke. It hurt, and each thrust thereafter made her ache, but not unbearably so.
Kearn moaned as he lengthened his strokes, and it thrilled her to see him experiencing such pleasure. She had no previous experience by which to compare, or measure, but it felt as if he were reaching deep into the very core of her. To places no one else had ever been. She understood now why making love was such a sacred rite of passage, something looked forward to with as much anticipation, as apprehension. And she could now see why The Act was a part of some of the Craft’s most powerful and ancient rituals.
She felt connected, not just to Kearn, but to the natural world around her in a way that she couldn’t quite put into words. As a natural born witch she already possessed a deeper connection than mortals to all five of the living elements. Yet her union with Kearn seemed to elevate her senses and awareness to an entirely new and mystical level.
She could feel the ancient power of the earth beneath her, as if it were rising up to lend its strength to the very fibre of her bones. From her lips and in her lungs she could feel the hot breath of life, and the cool night air in stark contrast, dancing over her feverish skin. Sabine embraced it, attuning to its wild sense of abandon and freedom.
From between her legs, to her fast-beating heart, she revelled in fire; its burning passion and unquenchable hunger. Its invisible flames consumed her, licking greedily up her spine and infusing her flesh with heat. Suspended on the breeze, hanging in the shifting mist, she could smell the rich aroma of petrichor. Could feel its damp, lingering touch, and the essence of life-giving water flowing through her veins. But most acutely, she could feel it in the wetness of her pleasure, where she and her wolf shifting Dökkálfar were joined as one.
An
d now she understood the magnitude and mystery of the soul—the element of spirit—in an entirely new light. It wasn’t only in their physical union, or in reliving Kearn’s memories through his blood. It was so much more. Inexplicably Sabine felt as if she’d become a living channel for the arcane, the very embodiment of magic. Her fingers traced the fine shape of his elven ears, and the strong muscles of chest, marvelling at his splendour. And in that moment, she allowed herself to fall, to be lost to sensation, and wonder…to the possibilities and paths that lay before her, now that she had found a kindred soul—her mate.
Nestled in each other’s arms, heavy breathing settled, Sabine sat chewing on her lip.
“What’s on your mind, my love?” Kearn asked, noting her anxious mannerisms. “I didn’t hurt you, did I? You can be honest with me, even painfully so. I need to know that you are well, in body, mind, and spirit.”
Sabine exhaled slowly. “I am well, my wolf. Truly, I am. You did me no harm. I just wish to speak with you about a talent that is mine alone as a dhampir, a gift which permits me to know things…” she trailed off.
Kearn embraced her a little tighter, showing his support. “Speak, little witch. What troubles you about this gift?”
Turning sidelong in his arms so that she could watch his face, she began. “I not only draw power directly from blood, but I can also read, or see into another’s life when I taste their blood. There is no past action, no secret, and no thought that is hidden from me. Blood is memory. It’s all there, written in red.” Sabine watched the subtle array of emotions dance behind Kearn’s eyes. She saw concern there, and though masked artfully, a hint of fear.
Kearn licked his lips, his eyes cast to the forest floor.
“Please,” she said. “You need not fear. You can trust me. Trust in us.”
Falling for Shifters: A Limited Edition Autumn Shifters Collection Page 30