As the kiss ended he stood up abruptly, offering her his hand to help her to her feet. "Come. Let me show you something."
Evalayna moved a little more stiffly, the night's activities and the dirt floor having taken their toll. Laughter sparkled in those deep green eyes as he swept her into his arms. "Put me down!" she insisted. "We are no' children any more. Have a care for thy back."
Roahr merely laughed again as he moved deeper into the back of the den.
No. It was no true den. She hadn't taken enough time to study the place last night. He'd dug in the earth and shaped the front, but the back narrowed to a passage into the rock that made up the Earth Mother herself. "Have ye become as the dwarves, then, burrowing into the mountains?" Her arms tightened about his neck as the passage descended steeply. Not bad footing for a bear, but not a place a lesser man would have walked along so blithely, let alone a man carrying a woman who was no longer young and small.
"No, my love. This is a gift from the Mother herself. Behold." As he spoke, the passage widened out, and he came to a halt, setting Evalayna back on her feet before him.
It was a room. A large room hidden in the depths of the Mother. It should have been dark, so deep underground, but the walls were studded with luminescent crystals that gave the place a soft flickering glow. The light reflected off the water, shimmering through its surface to reflect about the small cavern. The surface of the water broke toward the far side with small effervescent bubbles, and waves of moist heat rose through the air.
This was why the den had felt warm. This and the fact that the man himself had always been a virtual furnace. Evalayna smiled as she turned to face her beloved once again. "Tis beautiful. I thank ye for bringing me here."
"Come bathe in the water with me."
"What? Would ye parboil me like some sea creature about to be served up for dinner?"
He laughed again, the sound of his voice becoming stronger and less hesitant. "Trust me. I would take no risk with your safety. Come in the water with me."
His hands moved to the sash that bound her robe of office, and for the first time Evalayna hesitated. She placed her hands over his, stilling his fingers. "I–I am no longer young, Roahr. Things are no' so different under the spell of the magic. The bear is the same. But the woman…she has changed."
He lifted her fingers to touch them to his lips. "'Tis not the magic I fell in love with. How sad it would be if I had indeed aged alone. The same time that has given us these changes in our bodies has given us, perhaps, more wisdom in our hearts. Fear not, though your shyness becomes you. Do you remember the first time you undressed for me, when you came to my pavilion before the siege of Talandar?"
Evalayna blushed, feeling as nervous as she had all those years ago. "I was sure ye would mock me for my foolishness."
"You were so beautiful, and so afraid. You took my breath away. You still do."
Evalayna closed her eyes, letting the robe fall back off of her shoulders as he pushed it aside. His hands, so large and powerful, skimmed over her, as gentle as he had been touching their babies. They outlined her hips, then gently lifted her breasts, the thumbs brushing lightly over the hard buds of her waiting nipples.
"So beautiful. The years have been good to you."
She wanted to tell him he was daft, but as his hands drifted up to frame her face she felt beautiful again. "The years have no' changed ye," she whispered in return. "No' in the ways that matter. Though I fear untangling this hair may take hours."
He laughed again as he kissed her. "You may spend as many hours as you like playing with my hair, or any other part of me you wish, my love. I am yours, to torture as you see fit."
She relaxed in his arms as he carried her down into the water. The lake was warm, yes, but not too hot. She pictured him bathing here through the years, long years as both a man and a bear, and knew things had never been as bad as she feared. He had never truly lost touch with his Human side.
Bears did not seek heat in the winter.
Her thoughts turned fuzzy as he turned her to face him once again, the water high around their waists. "You are so beautiful, my love. Never a day has gone by that I have not thought of you."
She reached out to trace her fingers over his cheek. "I married again, Roahr, after I thought ye gone, but only for the inheritance I could give to our daughters. It was understood between us that I was to be his in name only. He was an old man, dying heirless, and I thought only to give the children a future."
He leaned in to brush his lips over hers. "Once I might have been angry, but with age comes an understanding of the way of things. There is naught to be gained in punishing either of us now for decisions we made decades ago. You did what you had to do. You survived. The children are well?"
A shiver of anticipation ran through her as his hands caressed her shoulders. "The children are well." The rest could wait till later.
Roahr paused, his fingers lifting her breasts. "When I had been gone too long, when I was not sure I could remember what it is to be a man, I would think about touching you like this, remembering your breasts, heavy in my hands, sometimes filled with milk to suckle our children. I kept you alive in my heart. Always you have been my anchor, my focus when the world of man seemed to slip from my grasp."
Evalayna looked down, a hint of a tear blurring her vision. "I fear they are no' as ye remember. A woman's most prized possessions go first with age."
He only smiled. "I remember them hot and hungry for my touch. Has that changed?"
Evalayna watched in fascination as his thumbs grazed her nipples, surprised to see the skin tighten quickly at his touch, so that the points stood out hard and ready under his fingers. "Perhaps some things have no' changed so much as I feared…"
Roahr backed up a few more feet in the water, toward what she had taken as a small rock outcropping. As he sat, she realized it was a sort of a naturally formed bench, worn smooth through the ages by the bubbling water. He pulled her astride his lap as he sat, so that her breasts floated on the surface of the water. "I remember other things. Those little noises you would make when I touched you so."
As touching her so involved the gentle grazing of his teeth over the hard buds of her nipples, her head fell back into the water, and a small moan rewarded him for his work. His hands slipped down to her waist, letting the water support her upper body as he sucked at her nipples like they were some exotic drink he'd missed for too long.
She wondered briefly what he would think when he realized his hands no longer spanned her waist, but lost the thought as they slipped around to caress her hips and then pull her forward on his thighs. She pulled herself up to run her hands over his chest, then down along his sides, until she slowly brought her fingers in to brush over his hot, slick length.
His eyes closed and his tongue went still as she stroked slowly up the length of his erection. "I have missed this," she whispered. "The feel of thy skin. The heat of thy cock in my hands. The power of politics can no' begin to compare with the power a woman feels when she knows that, for this moment, she owns a man's soul."
"For this moment, and any other," he assured her. "How I have missed the feel of your touch."
"I want to feel ye within me."
The serious look disappeared as he grinned at her. "I am yours to command, sweet Lady." Yet he moved slowly, drawing her up against him so that he entered her inch by inch.
Slow was good. The way his hands caressed her ass was good. The feel of his lips on her breasts, his tongue lapping at her nipples, was better than good. Evalayna tangled her fingers in his hair, clasping his head tightly against her as he began to move within her. Slow was good. And faster was even better.
"Sing for me, Wolf-Woman. It has been too long since I heard your voice."
He wanted Lady Evalayna of House Lochinvar to sing? Impossible. Yet as he worked her body like a musician playing a harp, she lost track of Lady Evalayna, moving in rhythm to his touch. The years slipped away until propriety and st
ation made no difference. All that was important was the feel of his thick, hot shaft pulsing within her, stirring her blood to a fevered pitch, while he licked and caressed and worshipped her body.
She came the first time like a soft warm glow building within her, heating the water a few more degrees. "Sing for me," he pleaded, not content to stop there. She shuddered with anticipation as his hand slid lower, his finger circled her other opening. She came again, harder, as he pushed into her more fiercely, driving her back onto his waiting finger. She bucked against him, moaning out in surprise and pleasure. His teeth tightened over her hard, needy nipples, first one and then the other, and then his mouth moved as his free hand tangled in her hair, pulling her closer as he tasted her temples, her nose, and the soft skin of her eyelids.
"Sing for me, Eva," he whispered as his tongue outlined her ear.
She was breathing so hard, yet she could not catch her breath. Momentarily frightened, she tensed as his finger moved within her. She wanted to tell him it was too much, she was too old, she could not endure–and then the room went dark, the world narrowing to the feel of his cock thrusting into her, his balls contracting against her. The clear note of a wolf's mating call sang through the huge, echoing cavern. She knew not whether the stars she saw were her love for him shining through as she broke at last, flooding over him with her release, or whether she was, indeed, losing consciousness from the strain her body had grown unused to.
His own song echoed with hers, the triumphant roar of the mighty grizzly, as he surged up within her, marking his territory with the wash of his seed, pulling her tightly against him as he thrust into her one last time, reluctant to let go of the long missed sensations.
Slowly the glowing lights of the cavern came back into view. She had not passed out. She was not too old. She was young again, young and tight as she held his still throbbing cock locked within her.
"I love you, Eva."
The sound of his voice, still shaken from what they had shared, made her feel younger and stronger, still. "And I love ye, Roahr. Forever and always."
"Forever and always. No matter what the day shall bring."
Evalayna laid her forehead against his shoulder, searching her memory for a spell that would generate some form of tangible clothing…for surely a man did not go to meet his daughter and her betrothed dressed in no more than the finery supplied by the gods. Even if the intended groom was a member of the walking undead at the moment.
* * * * *
"Yarwyn?"
Yarwyn licked her lips as she eyed the massive posts at the corners of the oak bed.
She pushed on his chest with both hands, but she might as well have been pushing against a wall. "You are awake too soon. Lay back down."
Seanen flexed his right arm experimentally, watching the silk scarf tighten around his thick wrist, as if to assure himself he could escape if he wished to. Yarwyn trailed the ends of the scarf she held over his chest, then slid it under his arm, tugging the fabric gently across bulging muscles and roped veins, down the path to his left wrist. Their eyes met as she looped the ends through the fold, effectively noosing his hand.
"The storm is fading. We should be on the move."
Worry clouded her eyes. "The sun is not yet up. Surely we can afford just a little more time to ourselves."
She had gone to a great deal of work to arrange this, gathering an assortment of brightly dyed scarves from some resource within the castle he knew naught of, and setting dozens of candles around the room. A hint of cinnamon reached his nose.
He would not disappoint her. Seanen forced himself to relax, one muscle at a time, laying back into the pile of assorted brocade pillows. "'Twould seem the decision is not mine to make."
Yarwyn's grin promised him he would not regret his acquiescence. She knotted the ends of the scarf securely around the bedpost, stretching his arm out until he lay quite flat against the damask sheets.
Seanen raised his head as far as his restraints would allow, watching her tie his ankles to the lower posts in a similar fashion. His breath hissed in sharply with each knot, and his cock sprang to attention like a soldier facing review on the field.
There was no sound in the room save the steady whoosh of their breathing. Yarwyn lit the candles one by one from the lamp on the dressing table. As the heady smoke of the spiced candles filled the apartment, she stepped up onto the raised bed, standing above her captive, staring down into his eyes.
He still had no clue what she was about, she could tell. She had his attention, but all she could see was lust. Slowly, methodically, she ran through the litany she had memorized. Black. She would be black this time. Black as the night. Stealthy as the leopard stalking its prey. Bones twisted and stretched as the fur sprang from her skin, and still she held his gaze.
She growled softly as he twisted within his restraints, warning him that she was in control. She could tell he was afraid of her now, the lust overshadowed by fear of the thing she had become. He could fight her, probably break those bonds, but would he? Yarwyn narrowed her cat eyes, staring down at her victim, willing him to trust her. She dipped her head and very slowly ran her rasp-like tongue up the length of his sternum.
"Yarwyn?" he whispered. He shivered under the feel of her tongue, lust once again surfacing in his eyes. "This is not right. It is not permitted…"
She silenced his protests with a swipe of her tongue over his nipple. He bucked off the bed so hard she feared for the fabric of her scarves. "Yarwyn, we cannot–"
His nipples tasted hard and sweet, like little candies ornamenting the tables at one of those infernal receptions she was always being expected to attend. A jolt of lust tore through her, surprising her. This was supposed to be for him. She hadn't expected to feel–He smothered a cry as she sucked harder, savoring the taste of him. She rubbed her great furred head across the breadth of his chest, then down, watching his cock jump with desire, hearing his protests die as she touched the tip of her tongue to its head.
She ran her barbed tongue slowly up the underneath side of his rigid cock, watching the veins swell until they looked as if they might burst.
"Yarwyn…"
It was no more a protest, but more a plea for mercy. Tasting experimentally, she teased his balls with her tongue before she sucked them into her mouth. She could feel his body shaking with the strength of his desire. Her own lust would surely drive her mad at this rate. She'd never expected to feel so much. She lapped his balls against the roof of her mouth, watching his member surge helplessly as she savored the moments, gauging how far she could push him before her efforts would snap his control.
"By the seven gods, you will be the death of me…"
Yarwyn chuckled, though the sound came out more like a low growl. She released him, only to swipe her rough tongue over the inner surfaces of his thighs, licking him from knee to balls and all around his cock and back down the other side again without once touching his raging erection.
When she was sure he could stand no more without spilling his seed , she crouched down between his spread legs, so that he had to strain to see even the top of her head. Slowly, methodically, she rubbed her fur against his legs, touching him with as much of her body as she could, savoring the sensations of her cat's fur against his skin for as long as her desire would allow before she permitted the woman to rule again.
There were rules. In a clan filled with shape shifters, one had to have rules. A man did not mate with an animal. True enough, he could shift, even now, but one did not, simply did not, ever mate outside of one's own species. Two shifters might mate, but only if they were of the same form.
Yet Yarwyn had grown up without rules, an outcast both because of her birth and her upbringing. She knew rules only as things to bend to her will. His traitorous body obeyed only the force of her lust. He had never felt anything like the sensations of her huge barbed tongue abrading his skin. He shook with the effort of controlling himself. He could not allow this. He must not. Yet he had not t
he strength of will to attempt to snap the frail silk scarves.
He feared he might spill his seed as she ran her tongue over the sensitive tip of his penis, nearly shattering him with the strange sensations. "Yarwyn," he breathed, no longer knowing whether he asked for mercy or completion.
He was a fool not to have seen this coming. Of course she would want this. It was not her fault he could not shift with her. Wolves mated for life. She knew that. He had told her he loved her, yet he had not thought to find a way for them to join as his people would. He had not spoken of his regret for their inability to tie as wolves, yet she must have felt it too, this thing that was missing between them. This was as close as she could come to the pair-bonding he had not offered her.
Now she would take all that her newfound magic had to offer.
He closed his eyes. He would deny her nothing. He had not the strength. Whatever she wanted of him, she would have it. At least this time. He would try to explain to her later why such things should not be. For now he was her prisoner. For now there were no rules.
Still he nearly sobbed in relief as he felt her hands–Human hands–move up his legs, her fingers raking through the thick growth of hair shielding his skin. He shuddered as she stroked his balls again, lifting them as if testing their weight. Her eyes met his, still feral, as she rose to sink down over his hungry cock.
He surged up into her, straining against the silk bonds as she clenched around him, fighting to possess and capture her even as she rode him, taking all he had to give and demanding more. She cried out, her muscles gripping him with a fierce strength, determined to lock him within her. He rocked his hips as high as the restraints would allow, lifting her small body easily as he thrust into her, driving her over the edge again and yet again.
Way of The WOlf: The Northlanders Book I Page 30