Way of The WOlf: The Northlanders Book I

by Shelby Morgan

  The dream? This was the dream again?

  She froze in place, listening to the footsteps. They hammered in time to the beat of her heart. The footsteps came closer. The man paused at her feet, and her heart seemed to stop. She raised her head far enough to look down. At last, at last the man had a face. Or many faces. A thrill of anticipation ran through her. Shammall had not deserted her. He was here. He shifted now from the Mage she had known all her life to the Dark Priestess, then finally to the smaller Élandra Male known as Élandine.

  She knew the rudiments of the ancient language of the Elves. Élan meant beautiful. Before the Elvin races had split, the women of the ebony skin had been highly prized. The Élandra. The beautiful folk. He was Élandine.

  Beautiful one.

  The name hardly did justice to the form he had taken. He was more than beautiful. His slim, athletic body might have been a sculptor's work of art. Hair black as midnight spilled over his shoulders in long, shimmering waves. Tranorva swallowed hard as he moved toward her.

  His hands caressed her, sliding slowly up her body, his lips pausing to pay homage to her most sensitive spots. His fingers lingered for a moment behind her knees, then moved up again, up the inside of her thighs, brushing over the place where her need was already beginning to puddle between her thighs.

  "So beautiful." His voice was little more than a whisper, deep and husky, the flavor of liquid sex.

  "I am not beautiful." Even in a dream she could not help but argue. "My sister is beautiful. She is smaller and younger and far more graceful than I could ever be. I am but a Warrior." She knew what she looked like. Too big and too strong and covered with scars. Her hair was plain and straight and black as the night. Her shoulders were wider than many a man's. "Know ye not that men fear me?"

  "Their loss, M'Lady." His lips lingered on the curve of her hip. "You are built like a goddess. My goddess. Allow me to worship you properly."

  Somehow he lay beside her now, stretched out with his heat so near hers. She could not have objected if she'd wanted to. Not with his lips moving across her shoulder toward the curve of her aching breasts. If only she could move…

  She could move. She could never move in the dream.

  His lips brushed the tip of her aching breast, and she rolled toward him, encouraging, but he would not be hurried. His fingers moved up, their pace achingly slow, to cup that hot weight of flesh that begged for his touch.

  She needed more. She ached to touch him. Her hands were no longer bound. She lifted her fingers to rake through his tangled curls. He shifted, rolling her to her back amongst the rich brocade pillows, suspended above her on forearms rife with muscle as he let his hair cascade down over her. She gathered handfuls of the silken mass, stroking her breasts with his tresses.

  He laughed as she moved against him, demanding his touch. "So much fire. So much passion. Patience, my love."

  "I don't want to be patient!"

  "M'Lady," his voice whispered in hoarse, husky surprise.

  The same voice, but not the same. Tranorva opened her eyes as the feel of his breath against her skin faded. No longer the dream. She wanted to scream in frustration.

  Beautiful one.

  He lay next to her, propped up now on one elbow, his eyes glowing violet in the soft light that seemed to seep from the walls.

  Her fingers were tangled in his hair, and it was as soft as she had imagined. She closed her eyes again, willing the pain away. Why? Why was she always alone?

  "You were dreaming, M'Lady."

  Well, she could see that. Why did the dream have to be so much more satisfying than any real man?

  "It is said that my people have a gift for interpreting dreams."

  His lips were so close to her that she could feel the heat of his breath on her cheek. She opened her eyes again, hardly daring to believe she understood what he was offering. His skin shone like onyx in the pale light of the room. Beautiful one indeed. His eyes were hypnotic. "I was dreaming of you."

  He was silent for a moment too long. She should have known better. She would have pulled back, withdrawn her hand, but strong fingers caught her, tuning her wrist palm up toward his lips. The first stroke of his tongue over the base of her thumb made her breath catch in her throat. "Do not tease me, M'Lady. That could be very, very dangerous."

  A power radiated in his voice that she had not heard there before. Tranorva made no move to withdraw her hand from his grasp. "Are ye not afraid of me?" she whispered, allowing a small glimmer of hope to slip through her defenses.

  He laughed at that, though the sound conveyed more lust than humor. "Afraid? Of you? You are a mere mortal."

  Tranorva shivered at the power in his voice. "Men are always afraid of me."

  Slowly, holding her mesmerized with his gaze, he bent to capture her mouth, touching gently with soft, warm lips, then claiming all that she was and would be with a wanton lust that shook her to the very core of her being. "You forget, M'Lady, I am not a man."

  Tension crackled in the air like its own life force. Her body trembled beneath his touch. Her voice sounded suddenly timid and strained, even to her own ears. "I–I would see ye, Mage. In your own form."

  Violet eyes stared at her silently for a few blank, desolate moments. She was sure she had asked too much. He would disappear, no more than a memory escaped from her arms. He would…

  "For three generations I have served this house. No one has ever asked this of me."

  He had not said no, and she was not one to concede the point. And there was more he needed to know. "I would see thy true form, Mage. Not the illusion. I would know the face of the man who takes my maidenhead."

  His eyes closed for a moment. He would run. Surely he would run now. He placed her hand against his chest, so that she could feel the beating of his heart. Strong. Steady. Excited. "You do me great honor, M'Lady."

  The air around him shimmered with power. The skin under her hands glowed with an unnatural warmth. The shift came slowly this time, almost reluctantly. She tried to brace herself for whatever might come. He could look like a Troll, if he would only take her unwanted gift…

  The hair became nearly white, and the dark skin melted to pale, glowing with the power she'd felt in him previously, but so much more intense. And the face… "By the seven gods," she breathed. "Ye will never let any one else observe this form."

  The eyes turned suddenly vulnerable. The aura of power dimmed slightly. "Shall I shift back, M'Lady? Does this form displease you so?"

  "Displease me?" How could he think such a thing? "Ye have the face of a god! Ye could not function beside me in this form! Women would throw themselves at thy feet! We would be tripping over the bodies, worse than the carnage of battle!"

  The pale golden skin flushed with embarrassment. "You mock me."

  Tranorva ran her fingers over the shimmering golden silk of his cheek. "I speak but the truth."

  "You are daft, M'Lady. Among my people I am considered quite plain."

  "Plain." She blinked slowly as she studied his shimmering skin, so pale against her own sun weathered hide. "Have you a name, plain one?"

  He looked away again. "No, M'Lady. Nothing that could be spoken in your tongue. Call me whatever you wish."

  Her fingers outlined the soft bloom of his lips. "Then I shall name ye Élandine always, my beautiful one. I shall be quite satisfied with thy simple beauty. Any more might overwhelm my senses."

  The lips parted to nip gently at the tips of her fingers. Her breath caught in her throat at the power that radiated from eyes that shimmered with lust. They changed color, from violet to blue now, then green, then darkest silver, like the ocean in winter. " I am honored to be your first, M'Lady. I am pleased that you waited for me."

  She closed her eyes, trying to hide the pain, but she knew she could not hide the truth that flamed in her cheeks. "'Twas not by choice. I have a–a gift. Men fear me."

  "Look at me, M'Lady."

  Warily she opened her eyes.


  He seemed taller, now, larger, as he stretched at her side amid the scattered pillows. "I do not fear you."

  "But…"

  His hands framed her face as his lips caught the taste of her argument, silencing her with a kiss that threatened to wipe all thought from her mind. His tongue asked for entrance, and she allowed it, unsure, but willing to learn. He lay on his side, now, his hand in her hair, supporting her head as his mouth plundered hers.

  His right hand wandered lower, lighting a fire wherever it touched, lifting, stroking, exploring. "I want you to sing for me, wolf woman," he whispered against her lips. His fingers paused to admire the smooth, soft flesh of thighs before they moved on to brush over her damp curls. She moaned against his mouth as he kissed her again, deeper this time, demanding more than she had known she had to give.

  His fingers caressed, gently at first, then dipped inside, pausing as he felt the barrier there. Her heart forgot to beat. One finger slipped inside her, then two, as he made room for what was to come. His fingers taught her the rhythm of their bodies, as the heel of his hand ground against her. She moved in rhythm to the harsh panting of their breath.

  "Sing for me." His lips kissed lower, across her jaw and down, over her shoulder to the curve of her aching breasts. She cried out as his tongue teased her nipples into twin mounds of need. She needed to feel. She needed to touch. Her hand sought him out, searching restlessly through the layers of fine flowing silk for the source of her pleasure. He groaned against her as she located her prize.

  Hot. Hot satin slicked over hard sword steal. Molten metal within, still malleable from the forge. He jumped at her touch, and a few drops of liquid heat burst from the tip, dampening her fingers as she explored.

  There was power in this. His body convulsed as she wrapped her hand around him, drawing her fist down his length. "I want you," she breathed. "I want to feel your sword within my sheath."

  "Patience, my greedy lover. Not yet."

  Patience? She surged against his fingers, riding the crest of the wave. What more could he want of her? What more…

  "Sing for me, lover."

  She cried out as he pushed her past her endurance, rocketing against his knowing fingers as they stroked her to climax. Still it was not what he wanted, but it was all that she knew how to give. She rode him harder, cresting again as her hand convulsed around him.

  With a cry of need he rose to his knees over her, kicking free of the last of his shimmering silks. He captured her hands in his, pausing to stare down at her for a long, unhurried moment. "So beautiful," he murmured. "So young, and so beautiful."

  She thought to tell him she had passed her thirty-forth year, but then all capacity for thought left as he drove into her, ripping her barrier asunder with a wave of searing pain. She cried out again, though there was no lust in her voice this time.

  Still. The room was perfectly still. The only sound was the steady rhythm of their long, harsh breaths. She could feel the beat of his pulse as his burning flesh melted her from within. Slowly she opened her eyes.

  He looked like one of the gods, translucent and shining, his hair a pale golden halo around his head. He held fast, poised there above her, his gray-green eyes fastened upon her, waiting. Relief flooded her senses as the pain subsided. "Thank you," she whispered. "I–"

  His lips over hers sealed off words that were inadequate in any case. And then he began to move within her. Silk over hot, molten fire. He moved slowly at first, then faster as she caught fire with him, raising her hips to meet his hot, heavy thrusts. Something built within her. Something more, something new, something uncontrollable. She crested and shattered like breaking bottles of mead, over and over again, but still it was not enough. "Sing for me," he pleaded, driving in to her with the frantic force of his final desperation.

  The scream built within her until it threatened to rip her apart. She shattered, spiraling over the edge, clawing her way toward some oblivion that threatened her grasp on her shifting world. The scream that was not a scream spilled forth, the sound a deafening roar.

  Her arms that were no longer arms clawed at her mate, threatening to tear him asunder. He met her with a force equal to her own, punishing her as he stroked within her, ramming his massive body against her time and again. She stood now, looking down in a weird fascination at the brown shaggy fur that coated her forearms, as he plunged into her from behind, his teeth grasping the loose skin at the back of her neck.

  Delicate furniture snapped like twigs as he rolled with her, supporting her weight with his paws. She roared again as the final climax came, an earth-sundering call that challenged the gods themselves to witness their joining. A roar unlike anything she'd ever heard before split the air as his molten seed spilled within her. She could feel him quiver helplessly within her, still grasping her tightly in his mighty paws. At last, at last her mind seemed to scream, though her voice crooned another song of mating to the world.

  They collapsed heavily together, shaking the floor as their massive forms rolled into a pile of tangled fur and claws. Strong limbs still cradled her. A cold nose nuzzled her cheek. Tranorva opened her heavy-lidded eyes to peer into the soft brown gaze of the massive grizzly who held her. She was surprised to find she understood when he licked her muzzle affectionately. "I love you," his eyes seemed to say.

  She smiled her grizzly bear smile and laid her head upon his massive chest, her ear close to the sound of his steadily beating heart. "And I love you," she murmured in return. And if the words sounded like the snuffling cough of a rooting bear, she worried not that he understood.

  He cradled her there in his arms, safe and protected. For the first time since she'd awoken in these ancient stone halls, she was warm.

  Chapter Seven

  Tranorva sniffed cautiously. She didn't smell like a bear. She wriggled her muscles slightly, still feigning sleep. She didn't feel like a bear. What she felt was stiff, and sore, and mildly abused, like a woman well-loved.

  Well, that bear thing was a little over the top. She wasn't sure how he'd done that, but they'd probably broken most of the furniture in the pretty little room. Such things should be left for outside. And some warning would be nice.

  A hand stroked her breast, still possessive even in sleep. The noise came again, that little mouse of a noise that had pulled her back to this world. A slight scratching at the door. Tranorva forced her eyes open, anxiously surveying the room. By the gods, it was bad. As bad as she'd feared. And the man laying tangled in the covers beside her was not only naked, but pale. As she slipped from the bed, she drew the brocade coverlets up, hiding his sleeping form.

  The air in the room chilled her naked body instantly. She dashed for the bolt on the door then flung herself back into bed, no longer concerned with letting the Mage sleep. His arms found her instantly and his heat wrapped around her. Still the door hadn't opened. The mouse scratched again. "Come in!" Tranorva ordered.

  A mouse it was. A tiny creature, no more than half-grown, with skin the color of darkest raw honey. She was neither Dark Elf nor Wood Elf, nor any discernible point of the Star, but some exotic mixture of races. Tranorva stared at the mouse in fascination as she scurried into the room.

  "Good morning, Mistress." The child's eyes never met hers. Her attention shifted instead to the shambles of the room as she ordered things to rights.

  "Who, and what, are ye, little mouse?"

  The mouse tittered softly. "Dahlai. My name is Dahlai, Mistress. And I am your bondswoman. Are you ready for your bath?"

  Bondswoman. Such a thing was unheard of in the Northlands. What did one do with such a creature? "Food. I could use some food. As could my … companion."

  At that announcement the covers began to stir, and Tranorva caught her breath, fearful of what the young girl might see. There was no containing the awakening Mage, however. The mouse called Dahlai stared as the covers seemed to rise of their own volition.

  A deep, resonate voice came from the sheets. "Have you tired of me alread
y, Mistress, that you would suffocate me under this pile of ill-used carpetry?"

  Tranorva glanced down, wondering whether to try to explain away the Mage's pale appearance, or simply to order the little mouse to keep silent. Instead she forced herself to snap her own gaping jaw shut.

  Élandine wriggled out from under the tumbled pillows and coverlets to sit up against the head of the bed, his beautiful ebony face a mask of hooded desire. "I know exactly how to break your fast, Mistress."

  By the gods. He pulled her back until his sinfully beautiful body was cuddled against her, fully erect. She felt her body responding to the heat that spilled from him, forgetting the many aches and pains of the morning. "You may go," Tranorva ordered, waving the bondswoman away. Dahlai scuttled out the door, her eyes still fastened in wonder on the beautiful Dark Male.

  Hot kisses trailed over Tranorva's spine as his fingers reached around her to splay over her breasts, pulling her tighter against the searing heat of his cock.

  "Élandine," Tranorva began, once the door was shut. "I–"

  His lips vibrated against the back of her neck as he spoke. "Did any one ever tell you you talk too much, woman?"

  "No. No one would dare." She tried to sound annoyed, but the sharp intake of her breath as her stroked the length of her neck ruined the moment. "I would know –"

  Curling around her, he quieted her lips with a kiss that threatened to addle her brains past endurance. "You were saying?"

  "Ummm… " Even his breath against her cheek as he spoke felt sensuous.

  "No singing this morning, my pet," he warned as he slipped inside her. "There are too many too close." She rocked back against him as he rose to his knees, as attuned to his body as he was to hers.

  Her fingers knotted in the soft linen sheets. "It feels so good to have ye inside me."

  "Ummm," he offered by way of an answer as he stroked his fingers over her pulsing lips. He lifted her hips, granting him deeper access as he moved slowly within her.