Way of The WOlf: The Northlanders Book I

by Shelby Morgan

  "What do you want, Ferret?"

  The pinch-faced Human ignored Seanen as he bowed slightly before Yarwyn. "Antonius Faroott at your service, Ambassador. Forgive my interruption, but the Lady Lochinvar wishes me to invite you to take council in her apartments immediately after the Bride and Groom dismiss."

  Ambassador.

  Seanen glanced at Yarwyn out of the corner of his eye. Gone was the child-like waif façade. Instead a polished woman who might indeed have been his senior, and certainly his better in rank, stood with one arm looped loosely over his, as if he might have been her escort for the night. Her paid escort.

  Seanen drew himself in sharply, isolating himself within his reserve. He wanted to click his heels together and mockingly salute, but he would give neither of them the satisfaction. Bad enough to have been played for a fool. Worse to let them know how badly it settled in his stomach.

  He turned, instead, and raised Yarwyn's hand to his lips. "Then you must be going, Ambassador, for Lady Cassadara and her new husband have just slipped out. I shall see to their safety. May you have a pleasant evening."

  She smiled and nodded, but if she attempted to say something, he didn't hear her. In truth, the bride and groom might well have slipped out some time ago. For the first time since he was a raw recruit, he hadn't been doing his job, and he'd been caught blindsided from all directions at once.

  * * * * *

  Lady Lochinvar paced the length of the spacious chamber that had been given her as an anti-room. Her stride belied both her advanced years and the necessity of her heavily ornamented black walking stick. Sense of purpose surrounded the Lochinvar matriarch. She truly believed that she alone was responsible for the fate of her people. Yarwyn wondered how much of herself she'd given up through the years in her search to fulfill her responsibility.

  The oldest daughter, Tranorva, sat quietly in the chair beside her mother's writing table, her eyes focused somewhere out the window into the black depths of the night. Yarwyn could pick up nothing off of that one. Her attention shifted back to Lady Lochinvar as the older woman began to speak.

  "Lord Mâkakao set off to cover twenty-five leagues of relatively uncivilized territory with a patrol of thirty men. These men were no' raw recruits. These thirty men were his hand picked Home Guard. Lord Mâkakao lead those troops personally. But only seven of those men are alive today.

  "The Orcs that attacked Lord Mâkakao's party had both a Shaman and a Scout in their patrol. They were heavily armed. 'Tis no' the sort of Orc patrol we are used to seeing out on the tundra!"

  Tranorva frowned down at her fingernails. "Thirty Humans, Mother. Do not forget that the Orcs attacked humans. A patrol of Northlanders would no' have taken such heavy casualties. Give me an army of our own and I shall wipe these Orcs off the face of the Tundra."

  Lady Lochinvar raised one eyebrow at her daughter. "Never underestimate thine enemy, Daughter. The Orcs were better organized than we have ever seen them before and better equipped. They also traded their captives to Argolyn the Dwarf in the City of Stone near the Tundra's edge. Since when has any Dwarf traded with an Orc? Granted this was an outcast Dwarf acting on his own, but this is no' an isolated incident. Orc Traders are beginning to make their way into many border cities. They trade captives and slaves for goods and services of all kinds."

  Yarwyn shuddered at the thought of what services an Orc Warrior might trade for in a small border city. "Orcs don't trade. Orcs don't even take captives. Or at least they didn't. Though I loathe the vile Orcs, it is not they who are our enemy. Someone is behind this. Someone is inciting the Orcs against the peoples of the Tundra. It is that someone who is our most pressing enemy."

  Here was an emotion Yarwyn could read well enough. Anger. Tranorva stood, using her height to glare down at Yarwyn from over a foot above her. "The Orcs are our enemy. We wipe them out, and whoever is behind this has no tools left to attack us with!"

  Lady Lochinvar held up her hand. "Both of ye are correct. We must wipe out the Orcs, or at least contain them again, so that our people can travel freely across the tundra once again. But ye, too, are correct, Yarwyn. We must find out who is behind these raids, who is arming and training the Orcs, and stop their interference. Tranorva, ye shall have thy army. Every Northlander and Human available shall travel with ye to clean this pollution off the Tundra.

  "Yarwyn, ye know why ye have been sent here. Thy mission is dangerous. We cannot take the castle of the Orc King by force. The place is a fortress, designed by Dwarven Architects to withstand any siege. Even Tranorva and her combined armies cannot take the castle itself. Still, the situation must be contained. I need to know who is behind this as well. I will give ye a small party of thy own choosing. Are there members of thy Guild whom ye would call upon? I shall personally guarantee their fees."

  Yarwyn glanced around the small gathering, keeping her face suitably grave as she inclined her head toward Lady Lochinvar. These people didn't trust her. Why should they? They didn't even know her. And they never would. She would not choose from amongst this carefully selected lot. "The larger the party, the harder it will be for us to escape detection. I would ask for only one man, M'Lady. I would ask that your man Seanen accompany me."

  Hushed voices whispered sharp little hisses of dissention around the room. Yarwyn kept her features bland, but all the while she was laughing inside.

  "Seanen? Seanen of the House of Lindall, the dance instructor?" The horror in Tranorva's voice was enough to cheer Yarwyn considerably.

  Lady Lochinvar held up her hand for silence. "If this is thy choice, I will respect thy decision. I am sure that both House Security and the dance instructions can manage to function without Seanen for as much time as this will require."

  So even Lady Lochinvar knew not what she had here. Or, if she knew, she would not give him away. The man was good, she'd give him that. He'd played his hand just right with these people. Yarwyn inclined her head once more. "I shall inform Master Seanen myself, Lady, if you will but grant me your seal."

  Lady Lochinvar wrote briefly on a small parchment, signed it with a flourish, and quickly affixed her seal. Yarwyn smiled to herself. Things were going better than she'd expected. Now she had but to find the gentleman in question and inform him that Lady Lochinvar had just signed his life over to her, to do with as she saw fit.

  She just hoped her plan wouldn't end up getting both of them killed.

  * * * * *

  Seanen knocked back a pint of meade in the hopes that it would help. It didn't. He waved off yet another of the tavern's patrons who tried to get just a little too close. He wasn't interested. Not tonight. The scene he'd stumbled upon while trying to locate the missing Lord Mâkakao and his new bride had left him feeling hard and frustrated.

  Granted, they were newlyweds, but they could have waited long enough to get back to their chambers. He'd known Cassadara almost her entire life. She was as close to family as he would ever have. He hadn't ever wanted to see her naked, let alone wrapped in the arms of her Warrior lover.

  And he'd had to watch. Or at least keep the scene under observation. It was his job. How in the name of the seven gods was he supposed to maintain security when the couple he was guarding insisted on slipping out the back door to rut like animals in the orchard?

  He'd done his best to ignore what was going on in that orchard while he kept his eyes on the perimeter, but he couldn't kill the lust that burned in his blood. He should find a woman. Any woman. There were several here who'd invite him to their room and relieve him of his frustrations. Unfortunately there was only one woman he was interested in tonight. He wouldn't hold one woman while he pretended to make love to another. He had his standards. They weren't very altruistic, but they were standards.

  He shoved the second pint of mead back across the bar half finished. The woman he wanted in that picture was an Ambassador. An Ambassador of what and from whom he'd yet to discover, but it didn't matter. Whatever her game was, he'd been played for a fool. He'd... />
  Seanen drew in his breath sharply as two small hands settled on his shoulders from behind. No other woman would have been so bold. A man he'd have killed, and asked questions afterward. But he'd have recognized this touch anywhere. It was if his body had tuned in to her. He forgot to breathe as the hands moved down over his shoulders and finally slid around his waist, making their way up again on the front until she'd explored every inch of his chest.

  He was angry with her. He had to remember she had lied to him and he was angry with her. Yet as he turned on the wooden stool to face her, all he could think of was that she'd come back.

  "Seanen, I must speak to you."

  If possible, her voice had become even sexier. The words meant little as her hands continued to explore his chest, her touch as hot as if there were nothing separating their skin from one another. His hands framed her face perfectly, making her look small and fragile once again. He tried to be gentle, to make the kiss soft and welcoming, but her hands pulled at him, demanding more. She took what she wanted, grabbing anything she could reach with her teeth, demanding that he hold nothing back.

  "Talk," he managed. "I don't think so. Talk is not at all what we need."

  The sharp little Elvin face seemed to have lost its focus. "Talk," she repeated, though with a degree of uncertainty. "I–yes. We must talk."

  Seanen slid to his feet. He dropped his hands slowly down her back, until they rested on the curve of her delicious little rump, pulling her tightly against his aching erection, letting her feel his heat, warning her also of how seriously he took her little game. For he knew it was a game. No woman of her class went after a man like him for any more that one reason, and this was the reason. Her hips moved against his, teasing him with her own heat. Yes. There could be no doubt as to what she wanted.

  He didn't usually encourage women of her class. Didn't follow through when they made their play. He knew the ways of the gentry all too well. This would mean nothing to her, and everything to him, because he wanted her as he hadn't wanted a woman in some time, maybe ever. She would break his heart when she left, and she would leave. As soon as her assignment was up, he'd be forgotten, just another amusement that had helped her pass the time. And he would be here, in this or some other back town bar that suddenly seemed even more squalid and hopeless.

  "Let's get out of here," he muttered, almost angry at the place for being what it was. "We can 'talk' somewhere else. Your apartments, perhaps."

  "Your apartments," Yarwyn argued. Her fingers stroked the length of him through his kilt, making him feel once again like a young boy, ready to spill his seed at her touch. He captured her hand and brought it to his lips, then tucked it through his elbow as he led her from the seedy little tavern. It was only a few blocks away. A stone's throw from the back gate where House Yarishet's walls kept the squalor of O'Shay's tavern at bay.

  Right now he needed badly to return to his room in Lord Mâkakao's magnificent home, to reassure himself of just how far he had come. That desperate boy who'd gotten caught trying to steal a day's bread from Lady Lochinvar was years and worlds away. The man he had become was worthy of the woman on his arm, even if the lurking shadow of the boy cried out in fear.

  They slipped in past his guards as easily as he'd gotten out. Remarkably easy if you knew how. In the shadow of the orchard where he'd found Lord Mâkakao and his new bride a few hours before, Seanen stopped to pull Yarwyn back into his arms, a little more roughly than he should have, but she didn't seem to mind. Her hands slid under his kilt in the dark, her breath drawing in sharply as she captured him in her hands. He jumped at her touch, breathing her name as his heart sought to escape his chest.

  Through the thin silk of her tunic he cupped her breasts, caressing until her nipples budded like the points of ripe lemons beneath his touch. His lips grazed her face, sampling the moist, soft skin of her eyelids, stroking her delicately pointed ear with warm breath before he captured the tip.

  Her hands convulsed on his shaft as her whole body stiffened. He could have sworn she'd forgotten to breath. Slowly, gently, he caressed the tip with his tongue, gauging from her response what she liked best. His hand found the other ear and stroked lightly with his fingertips. She moaned with a sound that could have been pain or pleasure when he nipped light on the sharp little edge.

  "I haven't felt like this in years," she whispered. "Take me. I want you. Here. Now."

  He could have. He was more than ready. But she was something different. Something special. This wasn't how he wanted it to be with them. If there was only to be this one time, this one evening, he wanted more to remember her by than a romp in the orchard. He reached down to grasp her hands firmly away from the work they'd become so occupied with and lead her on to his room. "Close now," he promised.

  It wasn't. The room wasn't close. Not with an incredibly lithe nymph of an Elf who still had one hand free to explore whatever she could reach. He pulled her into an alcove off the main hall to let a party of house guests make their leisurely way back to their rooms. When her quick little fingers plucked at his nipples he had to press his lips over hers to contain the surprised gasp of something that was as much pain as pleasure. In retaliation his fingers slid under her tunic and between the tops of her leggings, exploring where they would, finding more similarities than differences.

  The soft triangle of curls that awaited his touch was already moist and hot, bucking against his exploring fingers with as much wantonness as one of the girls from O'Shay's might have shown. He thrust one finger deep inside her, finding her tight and ready as he teased her with a promise of what was to come. She moaned again, and he kissed the sound away, lest the guests take notice of what was none of their business.

  She was so tight he could almost have taken her for a virgin. He wondered, panicky for a moment, how he'd ever fit inside her. He didn't want to hurt her, but he didn't want to give her up. Not now. Not after all of this.

  The visitors moved along, and, more impatient than he'd been in a good long time, Seanen swept the little Elf into his arms, slipping up the servant's stairs with a grace that denied his bulky size. The door to his room had barely shut behind them before she was skimming out of her tunic, anything but shy as she stood before him naked, helping him unwind the pleated yardage of the great kilt, urging the linen shirt over his head.

  * * * * *

  Yarwyn caught her breath when he stood before her naked. Waves of lust mixed with an unexpected tenderness rolled over her. His emotions would be her undoing. Everything about this man was big. There was no middle ground. She felt as tiny and vulnerable as a child. As if he sensed that she wanted to look, he stood quietly, waiting for her. She placed her hands on his shoulders, letting them trail slowly down to his fingertips. "You're gorgeous," she whispered. "You take my breath away."

  Large hands fisted over hers, pulling her against the whole long, hard, hot length of him. "You're daft, woman. But don't change. Not right now. Make love to me."

  He wanted more than sex. She could feel it. She just didn't know what the more was. The need in him was so raw, so basic, so overwhelming. He held her hands captive, but he had not pinned her in place. Yarwyn brushed her breasts across his chest, trying to find ease for the burning ache that filled her. She wasn't sure if the need that possessed her was his or her own, but it no longer mattered.

  She kissed the pulse at the base of his throat, then down, down, along the line of dark hair that pointed like an arrow to that hard, hot shaft awaiting her. By the gods he was big. She kissed her way down the length of him, still not struggling to free her hands, holding him captive far more intimately as she circled the tip of his engorged penis with her tongue, teasing, stroking, making him moan with desire.

  Their hands still locked together, she straightened, pushing him backwards toward the raised dais that overflowed with pillows in exotic fabrics from around the world. He managed to drop back into the pillows gracefully, without yanking her off her feet or breaking the hold of thei
r hands.

  "Perfect," she assured him. "That's just where I want you."

  Standing over him, more of her soul showing than she'd shown any man in years, Yarwyn found she felt at ease, trusting that he would not hurt her, though she knew he could have. He let her set the pace, making no objection when she knelt over him, testing their fit together as she sank slowly down onto his rigid shaft. He stretched her, filling her as no man had before, but somehow he fit.

  He would have waited then, though she could feel the effort it was costing him, could see the fine sheen of sweat on the broad, muscular chest, but she was tired of waiting. She ached for more. She wanted all of him. Slowly she relaxed over him, sucking the last few inches of him into her greedy sheath. She rocked forward, driving him even deeper inside her, then back, their wet flesh making a sucking sound as she rode the length of him, rising up on the back stroke only to drive him down deep inside her again and again.

  He could have taken control at any time, she knew, knew it from the strength of his grip on her hands, from the sheer size of the man, from the overwhelming intensity of his desire. He didn't. He let her set the pace, let her define their movements. Knowing that made the ache inside of her deeper, made her want him more. She rode him faster, grinding her hips against his, seeking a release that promised to shatter her. She sank her head down to his, capturing his lip in her teeth, claiming his mouth with the force of her desire until their tongues imitated the mating of their bodies.

  It wasn't enough. She wanted more. She didn't know what. Had no words to explain it. Unfamiliar emotions washed over her. Lust, that she knew the feel of, but there was more. The need to possess, the need to become one. She wanted. She needed. "Please," she murmured against his lips.

  All semblance of civility slipped away. His hands released hers, dropping to her hips, pulling her closer as he rose up, driving hard and hot into her, shaking with need. Their speed became a frantic dance, her whimpers cries of desire. His teeth caught at her nipples, sucking, nipping, as the hot, burning length of his shaft scorched her raw. The first climax shattered her like a pane of fragile glass, only to rebuild her again and again until she felt she could stand no more.