The Longing of Lone Wolves

by Lana Pecherczyk

  Clarke paid no attention to the curiosity thrown her way by tavern patrons. She knew she must look a sight with mud in her hair, on her face and all over her clothes. Rush looked worse. With his fierce gaze roaming the room, and the battered Guardian jacket barely holding his pumped muscles, she knew many patrons would run the other direction if they could see him. Not to mention the enormous sword angled over his shoulder.

  Dodging the sweaty males and occasional scantily clad female, Clarke wondered if the inn was just a magnet for testosterone, or if all drinking establishments were the same, no matter what the era. A female sitting on the lap of a ruddy cheeked male giggled. He moaned. The jimmy of her hand under the table made Clarke blush.

  Just exactly what kind of inn was this place?

  Finally getting to the bar, Clarke hailed down the barmaid, grateful she seemed normal and not some madame who might wrangle service from her. The brunette had larger than normal arched ears and smooth chocolate skin. A bead dangled down her cheek from a leather headband. It bobbed every time she moved. Black coal rimmed her eyes in a fifties cats-eye fashion. On second glance, the black rims appeared part of the barmaid’s physiology, perhaps part of the animal she evolved from. Dusted black, the tip of her nose scrunched as she approached Clarke.

  “What,” she snapped. “Do I have something on my face?”

  Movement low behind the barmaid drew Clarke’s attention. Wow. She had a bushy wolf’s tail sticking out of her pants. Clarke opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

  Rush compelled her to talk.

  “I need a room with a bath drawn,” she said.

  “Put the coin on the bench,” Rush instructed.

  Her hand whipped out jerkily and slammed money onto the wooden surface. It was as though she were a puppet, and Rush the master.

  “Now ask her for two steins of the house ale, cheese, bread and some beef and gravy to be brought up to the room.”

  The request blurted out of Clarke’s mouth.

  The barmaid wiped her palms down her black apron and eyed the money. “That’s a lot of red coin for those things.”

  “Throw in some lavender soap,” she replied on Rush’s command. “And then I want to be left alone.”

  “Fair enough.” The barmaid swiped the coin and put them in the front pocket of her apron. “Two of everything? You expecting someone?”

  “I’m hungry.”

  “Right. Well, I’ll put you in the room with the big bed. Just in case.” She winked at Clarke. “I’ll get the boy onto getting a room and bath prepared.”

  Rush touched his mouth and then arched his hand low and out. “Repeat that action as a sign of gratitude.”

  She copied him, touching her fingers to her lips and then out. It was like she blew a kiss but without the blow.

  She nodded and then reached under the bench and withdrew a key, which she placed in Clarke’s palm. “The name’s Anise. You need anything. You come see me.”

  Clarke nodded, was about to say thank you and then clamped her lips shut. She did the action.

  Anise tipped her chin toward the far right of the bar. “Up those steps and second door to the left. Give us ten to get the room and meal ready, and then head up.” Anise grabbed Clarke’s wrist and lowered her voice. “Make sure you bolt the door before you retire for the night.”

  Another small nod, and then Clarke went with Rush to wait in the shadows at the base of the stairs. The floor was sticky with spilled ale. Every step met resistance beneath her boots. God, she hoped it was ale.

  This bath couldn’t come sooner. Honestly. When she got into that water, she wasn’t coming out until it was cold. At the stairs, she faced the tavern and ignored the fae at her side.

  “Clarke,” he whispered, remorse lacing his voice.

  She held up her palm.

  He’d taken control of her body as if it were his own, and to be frank, she felt violated. She couldn’t speak with him now. Not with a room full of drunk and disorderly fae who may or may not include members of Thaddeus’s hunting party. The stag hadn’t recognized her, but someone else might. Being alert and focused on her ability might be the only thing keeping them safe. She also needed to know more about this world if she wanted to survive here.

  Clarke let her gaze wander the room and tried to relax, to let her instincts talk to her. Most of the patrons seemed to be wolf shifters. Except that guy. Her eyes roved toward a table near the blazing hearth where one of the biggest fae she’d ever seen sat, joking loudly with his companions. Even sitting at the table, his head towered over the others. He was hard to miss with the big mop of shaggy hair, beard and horns coming down from either side of his forehead to bow outward near his pink-tinged cheeks. Jovial eyes danced as he listened intently to a hooded figure she couldn’t identify. Must be a story. Within seconds, a roaring laugh came out of him and he thumped the table, sending every stein and jug soaring half a foot into the air before crashing back down.

  “Again!” he shouted to the cowled figure.

  A small smile echoed on Clarke’s lips.

  “He’s a muskox shifter,” Rush murmured. “Turns into a bull.”

  Clarke folded her arms. She didn’t want to talk to Rush, but who else would translate this place? “Tell me about this village.”

  He sighed heavily. She didn’t know what he was brooding about. He was the one using her as a puppet. He should be fine.

  “My uncle is the alpha, or the lord, as the rest of Elphyne call him. Mainly snow wolves live here. We’re at the edge of Elphyne, so not much west except the human wasteland.” He lifted his shoulders half-heartedly. “Most people here want to get as far away from society as they can. Not sure what else you want to know.”

  “Do you have family here?”

  He stilled. “Mother and father are dead. Sister is... not here.”

  “I’m sorry to hear about your parents.” When she looked at him, he appeared lost. “Have you seen your sister since they cursed you?”

  “Not for many years.”

  “Do you want to?”

  “I owe her gratitude.”

  A male dressed like the soldiers at the gate, and a female in a sheer flowing skirt, bustled passed. No top on. Her breasts bounced far too close to Clarke, and she had to duck out of the way as the soldier chased her up the stairs. The female squealed when he grabbed her rear. He trapped her against the wall, halfway up and gave her an open mouthed kiss.

  “Was there no better inn than this?” Clarke murmured.

  “This is nothing compared to Cornucopia. It’s also the only inn which won’t question a female traveling alone.” He lowered his lashes, amused. “And I wouldn’t go pulling that face on the professional females. They sacrificed their wombs to work here. And they make good coin for it.”

  She gaped. “Sacrificed their wombs?”

  “For the prospect of earning a very good living. None of them have been forced.”

  She supposed she could understand that. It was a choice, whether in her time or this. But getting rid of your womb. Surely that was extreme.

  A gangly youth of about fifteen descended the steps. He stopped halfway, spotted Clarke and said with a breaking voice, “You room six?”

  She checked her key and nodded.

  “It’s ready.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Rush followed Clarke into their small allotted room and placed his rucksack against the wall near the door. He sniffed about and resisted marking his territory. The overwhelming urge had been all-consuming since arriving at the Hollow. Thaddeus’s scent was everywhere. The wolf inside Rush wanted to obliterate it with his own. It would be satisfying to know his uncle would smell him all over the village. But he couldn’t risk Clarke’s safety. Rush’s fresh scent would only draw unwanted attention.

  He took stock of the room. It was about twenty-five feet across, with a double bed and window overlooking the street. The long red velvet drapes matched the comforter on the bed and the rug on the
floor. Extra pillows and a fire blazing in a hearth felt cozy. No sprites. Thank the Well. A long wooden tub had been dragged in and steamed with water heated by mana stones at the base. A small round table for two was the last piece of furniture by the hearth, and it was laden with food. They’d been given the best room red coin could buy. It was clean. It would do.

  He could ignore the moaning and thumping coming from the next room across. Sure.

  Clarke groaned upon entering. The husky sound was a bolt of heat straight to his groin.

  “I don’t know what to do first,” she sighed. “A four day hike is the longest I’ve ever been on. This seems like heaven.”

  Rush broke off some bread and dipped it in gravy. He shoved it in his mouth and then took a chunk of cheese, curiously watching her choose food. She made more tiny feminine sounds of satisfaction when she ate.

  Her lips mesmerized him. He could watch her eat in a timeless loop.

  It had been so long since he’d been like this with a female, he’d forgotten the minor things that brought him pleasure—the brightness in her eyes, the flush in her cheeks, the relish as she chewed. This was a different kind of intimacy he missed. The kind he’d always longed for with a mate. Small, domestic moments in which they would sit, complacent and content. She could sleep, and he could keep watch, protecting. Doing what he was born to do. But those longings had been pushed to the side the moment he became a ghost.

  He was a fool. Guardians rarely mated anyway.

  And he had no time for such indulgences. There were things to do before they left. He couldn’t do it in his torn jacket. Since it was easier to leave it than to carry it around while he sourced clean clothes, he unbuttoned his baldric and removed his sword. Then he did the same for his jacket and tossed it against the back of a chair. He took a swig of ale and then another mouthful of cheese.

  Clarke flinched and hesitated.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “Oh nothing,” she cooed with a hint of sarcasm, then she narrowed her eyes. “Nothing beyond waiting to see if you’ll compel me to strip, or something equally humiliating.”

  He almost spat out his cheese. “You think I’d command you to…” His voice trailed off as he took in the tub, the bed, and his discarded jacket. She also grumbled about the type of establishment it was. He swallowed the painful lump and then strode to her with a growl. “Never put me in the same category as Thaddeus and his men. I’m leaving the jacket because I can’t carry it around with me. It’s torn and dirty, but it is a crime to leave it in public as someone could steal it and impersonate a Guardian.”

  “I thought it was invisible.” She lifted her chin.

  “Only when I touch it.”

  A contrite blush tinted her cheeks, but challenge danced in her eyes. He didn’t think she realized what that did to a wolf like him. It made him want to dominate her. To take her. He tossed the rest of his cheese on the platter and headed to the door.

  “Where are you going?” she demanded.

  “I’m leaving you to your privacy. Bolt the door and don’t go anywhere.” He opened the door and slammed it behind him, shoulders pressed against the wood until he heard the satisfying thud of the bolt falling into place. If she refused to let him back in, he could either use the window or compel her. Until then, he had work to do.

  There was only one place he could use to clean himself up. The abandoned family home passed down to Thorne. Hopefully, it might still hold some items of clothing. Kyra hadn’t been back to the family home since Thorne’s initiation to the Order.

  A few hours later, Rush returned to the inn, bathed, cleaned and in borrowed buckskin breeches and a woolen sweater. Before he entered the Den, he stood outside on the street, and let the fresh night air cool his skin.

  The family home had been clean, but clearly not visited in years. Thorne had probably only taken the apartment because it was the one thing that had been left for him after Rush’s sentence. Thaddeus had run Kyra out of town, but the Order of the Well had power over the Crown and its lords. They wouldn’t have let the house be taken from a Guardian.

  Rush had sat too long in the house, wondering what his son thought of him, wondering what he would say to him if they ever got to meet. It was always the same questions running through his mind, but since Thorne had been forced to join the Guardians, Rush had seen little of him. Going back to the Order had been too painful.

  Thorne was the same size as Rush, albeit a little smaller in the chest, so finding something to wear had been no issue. Clarke’s clothes, on the other hand, Rush had to break into the neighbor’s house and pilfer from the closet. He now had a pair of leather pants, a blouse, a thick-waisted belt, and a pair of lace-up boots that might actually fit her.

  He dropped some coin to pay for the clothes. Long ago Rush had learned that if he accidentally dropped coin, the curse didn’t think he was trying to communicate. The loophole had served him well when he’d helped his sister establish herself in Cornucopia after her exodus from the Hollow.

  But he still needed to locate a portal stone. He figured he would drop the outfit off and then head out again. Better than letting Clarke sit in the bed naked.

  Heat crept up his neck at the thought, and his mind kept returning to the kiss they had shared in the woods. Her lips were so soft it maddened him. At the time, he’d lost all sense of logic. He’d reasoned that if he let himself have that one moment, he could use it to... he didn’t know what... take the edge off his loneliness? Something like that. And the tortured bastard he was, he let himself replay the scene over in his head, relishing in the touch and feel of her against him. That scent of hers... It had only made things worse. He couldn’t stop thinking of her. His mind stalled when he got to the part where she’d taken his hand and demanded he touch her.

  He went to tug his collar and realized he had none. The jacket wasn’t on, and the sweater had a low V-neck. Crimson save him. Tonight would be difficult. Maybe he’d take the floor… or even sleep in the drained tub. Maybe he could sleep outside in the hall and just hope no one tripped over him.

  Time to go in.

  He strode into the tavern, took his time going up the stairs, and then got to their room and knocked.

  A shuffle came from within.

  A scraping sound came when the bolt lifted. Not sure what state to expect her in, he cleared his throat and froze when the door swung open. He almost forgot his purpose for being there. She was… beautiful. Red hair, cleaned and brightened to match the flames in the hearth. Milky white skin glowed and smelled like the lavender soap he’d compelled her to order. The one she’d fantasized about having when she rambled while they’d crossed the bog. Now he fantasized about that lavender on her body.

  Bright blue eyes flashed defiantly, and for a moment, he failed to understand why. Then his gaze dropped to her cover. His Guardian jacket. Washed clean, virtually dried, and with the rip at the shoulder mended. Too big and heavy for her, it hung off one shoulder, giving him a tantalizing taste of décolletage.

  Had she mended the jacket? For him?

  A swollen sense of pride hummed at the sight. A Guardian let no one wear his jacket. Ever. But on her… it was perfect. Both belong to me. The thought came out of nowhere, but once it had, the wolf inside him howled. Mine.

  His fingers clenched so tight on the package in his hands that he feared he’d rip the items in two.

  She stepped aside to allow him entry. “You took your sweet-ass time.”

  He couldn’t move. His stillness was the only thing keeping his raw instincts from reaching out and claiming her, biting, and marking her as his. His tongue thickened and dried. His chest heaved with ragged breath. And he couldn’t stop staring at the rosy bottom lip caught between her teeth.

  This was insane.

  She was human. He, a cursed fae. This would never work.

  “What?” Her brows puckered. “I cleaned and fixed it before I put it on. There was a small sewing kit in a drawer. My jeans were ru
ined, and your tunic was too cold.”

  He shoved the package into her arms. It gave him the excuse to get close, drop his nose to her hair, and inhale deeply. He lived for that moment. Would battle a horde for that moment. But when it was done, he left the room and slammed the door closed behind him. He leaned back on the wood. Again. This was the second time he’d found himself speechless and leaning against this door. Curse him again.

  His wolf wanted her with a savage intensity he’d not felt in all his years. It claimed her as his. What did this mean?

  Mind whirling in confusion, he took the stairs two at a time until he burst through the exit. He broke into a jog, heading for the markets and hoped he crossed paths with that stag… or any of his uncle’s hunting party. But if he didn’t, he’d find a way to release this pressure of need inside him, even if that meant he was crippled with pain afterwards because the truth battering his defenses was too difficult to accept.

  That he’d found a mate.

  But not one blessed by the Well, or they would have instantly received an identical blue mana-marking along their arms, a mirror of the other. The marking signaled the Well—nature—approved. It would link them in mind and spirit.

  But if they weren’t blessed, then the curse wouldn’t be broken.

  What cruel world would taunt him with happiness so close to his death?

  Chapter Nineteen

  Clarke had to burn her bra and jeans due to severe deterioration and disgustingness, but was pleased with the outfit Rush had brought her. It could have been worse. It could have been one of the stuffy medieval type dresses some ladies had worn in the streets. Or one of the flimsy sheer skirts and strips of fabric covering the working women downstairs. Instead, she ended up in soft brown leather pants, a gray linen blouse, and a thick belt that went around her middle, almost like a corset. With the blouse tucked, the folds gathered around her roving breasts, holding them in place.