Way of The WOlf: The Northlanders Book I

by Shelby Morgan

  Her nipples stood out in harsh relief, jutting like two flames of desire needing his touch, but he had no way to reach them. Regaining her perch on her knees, she rocked forward, thrusting the greedy peaks hard against his chest, raking them across his own small hot buds. He bobbed his head, trying to reach her, feeling like a child playing party games. Her hips jerked hard against his as he finally captured one nipple, sucking it deep into his mouth so that she could not easily escape, teasing its tip with hard thrusting swipes of his tongue.

  Yarwyn cried out, shuddering hard against him as she squirmed, whether to escape or attempt to get closer he was no longer sure. She rose up on her knees, the cool air of the room hitting his cock in a cold wave of shock before she drove back down again, her control shattering as the waves of release washed over her. His own control snapped. He thrust into her with short, hard jabs while he grazed her rigid nipple with his teeth then sucked it hard again.

  Seanen sucked desperately for air, still reluctant to let lose of his captured prize. The room went dark again, though the candles were but half burned. The sound of the blood rushing in his head made a noise like waves crashing on the shoreline. He wondered briefly if he might pass out. Then Yarwyn's fingertips found his nipples, pinching, twisting, demanding. He screamed out a roar of both pleasure and pain, blending with her cry until the two were one song, one note, one long wave of ecstasy they rode out together.

  When at last their breathing calmed and the room grew brighter, this time with the glow of the rising sun, Yarwyn raised her head enough to meet his eyes. "Perhaps when we meet up with Evalayna the Mage might lend us his magic that we might truly join as wolves. I would honor the traditions of your people in this."

  "I love you, Yarwyn. To tie with you as my life mate is a tradition I would be honored to share." He smiled up at her with a sly grin. "Perhaps the Mage might allow me to join with you as a cat. I would know you in all the ways that there are."

  Yarwyn ran her tongue over his nipple, as if daring him to respond, though he expected more might be too much for either of them. "I think I would like that."

  He forced his voice to sound relaxed as she untied the silk sash from about his wrist. "There are other traditions my people share with yours."

  She cocked an eye at him, at least willing to listen.

  "In the one I am thinking of, we stand before a priestess, agreeing to join our lives as well as our bodies, for as long as we both shall live."

  Her hands paused on the knot. "What?"

  He tried to make his voice project a confidence he did not feel. "Marry me, Yarwyn. I am already bound to you in every way that there is. Marry me."

  Her eyes opened wide as she stared at him, the silence stretching on too long.

  He was a fool. She'd already lived twice his lifetime. Seen more of the world than he could dream of. He was but a plaything to her. She hesitated now, trying to find a way to tell him gently, to save face. She was an ambassador. Diplomacy was her line of work. "You don't have to answer me right away. I don't mean to rush you into anything. I understand how–"

  "Yes!"

  He laughed as she dove in to kiss him, pouncing on him like a playful kitten. "Yes?"

  "Yes! I love you, Seanen. If you'll have me I'm yours."

  "When?"

  "Now! Today! This morning."

  He laughed again, snapping the bond that held his wrist with the sharp sound of ripping silk. "Not that quickly. I want you to have a real wedding. The kind you dreamed of as a girl. We will stand up before your priestesses. There will be feasting and dancing far into the night. All of Talismar will know you are the Lady Yarwyn Lindall."

  She grew quiet, her hands falling still in his hair. "Seanen, I have no family to give me such a wedding."

  "We will ask Lady Evalayna to present you, as you were a member of her household when we met. I have family to spare. I will loan you a few. We can invite all of your guild sisters to attend. They dare not refuse an invitation from the High Houses of the Northlands."

  Yarwyn cuddled her head against his chest. "I love you Seanen," she repeated again. "You don't have to do this for me."

  "Finally I have something more to offer you than a hollow title and a name you dare not mention in public. I want to do this for you. For us. I would not have it any other way. I love you, my beautiful Elf. More than life itself."

  Chapter Seven

  The noise brought Cassadara awake instantly. It was a loud, undignified screech. There could be no other word for it. She rolled to her feet as she reached for her staff. Nor could there be any doubt as to the owner of the voice. The screech had issued from the esteemed Lady Evalayna Lochinvar.

  Cassadara emerged from her tent in time to see Tranorva take a protective step backwards in defense of her charges.

  "Mother! What in the name of the gods are ye doing here?"

  Ayailla raised one eyebrow, surveying Evalayna and her Warrior with something akin to temper in her eyes. "I might ask the same of ye, Daughter. Ye took long enough deciding to wander back. Half the day has gone by while we sat in wait for ye. We abandon our lives and our livelihoods to trek halfway across the tundra at thy Summoning and when we arrived, we find naught but a cold fire and a shivering child awaiting us. Could ye not at least have taken the time to conjure up a few tents? Where in the name of the gods have ye been? More to the point, where did ye dredge up the remains that trail at thy heel?"

  Evalayna's hasty attempt at affronted dignity crumbled in the face of her mother's raised eyebrow. Her voice hadn't quite regained its normal low, dignified tones of power. It was more fury that took control of her tone now. "Where indeed?" She waved her hand at the Warrior who stood at her side. "I suppose ye know nothing of this? Ye would claim innocence of the lie that kept us apart these last decades? Tell me ye did no' order Shammall to carry out this deception!"

  Tyrell moved to his grandmother's side, ready to defend her, just as Seanen silently moved to stand behind Evalayna, Yarwyn at his side, her hands resting on her ancient bow. But it was the huge man who had followed Evalayna into the circle of tents surrounding the fire pit who moved now to stand between the battling women. Cassadara drew in her breath sharply as the ancient, tattered Warrior who could be none other than the legendary Roahr VinDall himself held up his hands, palm out, to silence the opponents.

  "M'Ladies. Please. Do not allow this evil creature's deceptions to come between you and cause division within your clan. Let us leave the explanations to the perpetrator of this crime." His voice was as deep as the earth itself, and rumbling with power. Though he spoke in her own native tongue, his odd, clipped accent made the phrases sound strangely foreign. Cassadara shivered as she felt both the cold malice and raw power in the Warrior's words. Despite his ridiculous garb–she could swear mother had loaned him one of her own robes to wear beneath his tarnished mail shirt–he would not be one to be easily reckoned with. "Let the lying tongued vermin speak for himself 'fore I feed his carcass to the scavengers of the tundra."

  At that Tranorva stepped forward, her axe at the ready, her weight on the balls of her feet, slightly spread. "Whatever lies have been told and retold through the years, blame no' the messenger. Ye shall no' touch what is mine, Father."

  Oh, no. Not Tranorva too. By the gods this was bad. Cassadara raised her staff to issue a command of quiet, but Mâkakao's hand on her shoulder steadied her.

  "Diplomacy might work better, my love."

  Mâk smiled down at her as if he could read her thoughts. Cassadara bit her tongue and allowed the tip of her staff to rest once more beside her, though still at the ready. She could have sworn he was laughing as she forced her fingers to relax their grip. By the gods, this trusting thing was not easy.

  Mâkakao stepped into the circle of angry Barbarians, feeling small for the first time in his life. Only Ayailla herself did not outsize him, though she was but a few inches his junior. Fortunately, he was not in the habit of relying on his size to intimidate his opponen
ts on the diplomatic field.

  "Ladies. Lord VinDall. Please. Let us discuss our current situation calmly, as befits our rank and station." He might have quit there, given them a chance at rebuttal, but he cared not to listen to their protests. Instead he continued, allowing his voice to win them over to his side. "Let us begin first with the proper introductions." He turned his attention fully on the legend himself, Roahr VinDall. No matter how odd the man looked, Mâkakao was quite sure that if Roahr lost his temper, it would take the combined powers of all the Shamen present to keep the man from ripping Shammall limb from limb.

  "I am Mâkakao, Lord of House Yarishet, and husband to your beautiful youngest daughter, Lady Cassadara, formerly of House Lochinvar." Cass inclined her head slightly, eyeing the old bear with an assessing gaze. Mâkakao reached out his hand to clasp the huge Warrior's in his own, but allowed Roahr no time to speak. "I am honored to find myself in the presence of such a renowned Warrior as yourself, M'Lord."

  Mâk turned to face the other members of the pack, for he felt them as such, now, though he was not sure just what kill they were circling. "Lady Evalayna you obviously have become reacquainted with. I know you will remember well her Lady Mother, Ayailla of House McTofflinn, formerly of House Lindall, which is, incidentally, no longer in disgrace."

  Ayailla, for once, merely inclined her head, keeping her caustic tongue well within her mouth. Mâkakao said a silent prayer of thanks to the gods as he quickly moved on. "Your son, Tyrell, Apprentice to House McTofflinn, now apparently First Shaman of House Lochinvar, as your reappearance creates political changes that shall be felt across the entire realm of the Wolf Clans. You met your daughter, the Warrior Tranorva, last evening, I understand. Tranorva, by a strange twist of fate, is now both High Priestess of Élahandara and now moves from First Apparent to House Lochinvar to her rightful position as head of your own House VinDall."

  Mâk spoke too quickly to do much more than mesmerize and confuse as he twisted the intricacies of family loyalties to his advantage. "At Lady Evalayna's side stands the Ambassador from Talismar, Lady Yarwyn, and her betrothed, Seanen, Sister-Son to the Lady Evalayna. As Seanen's mother, the Lady Travanya, had adopted the Lady Ayailla's second house, House McTofflinn, and as the Lady Travanya died without giving birth to a daughter, Lord Seanen is now heir to both House Lindall and House McTofflinn."

  Leaving that one to settle as Seanen and Evalayna exchanged quick questioning glances, Mâkakao turned to face the last player in the grand game of family politics. "And last but not least the bondswoman Dalai stands before your daughter Tranorva's betrothed, the Mage known as Shammall, or Élandine. Now personally, since I bear the estimable Mage no particular good will, myself, I would not mind if you were to end his miserable life."

  Here Mâkakao paused for dramatic effect as the crowd stared at him in consternation and utter confusion. "Unfortunately, Lord VinDall, you shall have to wait your turn to kill the deceitful Mage. For you see he is already dead."

  * * * * *

  The Warrior woman who was his daughter hissed something at the dead thing and it moved back into her shadow. Her hands on her axe, she stood before it, shielding its body from him, death in her eyes. Her upper lip curled back in a snarl Roahr knew only too well.

  The orator, his–his son-in-law?–Lord Mâkakao–had managed, in those not so few words, to remind Roahr of exactly why it was that he had never been welcome within Lady Ayailla's family. The politics made his head swim. He would not play her game, pitting one faction against another. Roahr raised his head slowly to meet his daughter's eyes as he stepped toward her, his hands well clear of his weapons.

  "I have never been a creature of politics, Daughter. I have always followed my heart. Yet my heart leads me two ways now. I would have my revenge for an old wound, the one that has separated my family these many years, until we are no more than courteous strangers. Yet what is revenge but a dry and tasteless meal if it cost me my family once again?"

  "I will not let ye have him, Father."

  She would not make this any easier for him. Roahr sighed. "What is he to you?"

  Defiance shone in her eyes, and worry. He knew she was assessing him as an enemy, judging his weaknesses, preparing to defend her territory. "Mâkakao has spoken no more than the truth."

  Roahr softened his tone, trying for something that sounded friendly, perhaps even understanding. "I would hear the words from your lips, Daughter, see the truth in your eyes."

  Tranorva squared her shoulders self-consciously, standing eye to eye with him, so close now that he could read the strain in her cheeks as she swallowed once, hard. "Whatever he was to ye, Father, to me he has been a teacher, a friend, and a lover. Élandine owns my heart, and I would defend him with my life, as he did me. He fell in battle at my side, and only the strength of his Fey will has preserved his body. We travel now to ask the King of the Faerie to restore his spirit, that I might once again hold his love in my heart."

  Roahr let his focus drift from her intense gaze to study the thing that stood behind her. "I fear my reappearance has already done you a great disservice, Daughter. You are my first-born, and by all rights heir to all that I own, which is precisely nothing. There is no House VinDall, nor any other House left standing within the circle that was once the Clan of The Bear. Those of us who are left wander the earth, singing a song of heartache for what is lost. I know what it is to lose everyone you love. I cannot take from you the one thing you have left. Nor can I kill what is already dead. Yet a great crime has been committed against our family, and the guilty must be punished."

  Some of the tension eased from Tranorva's shoulders. "Géndalaine of Élahandara told a fantastic tale of holding thee and thy brethren hostage in her dungeons. Is that why ye did not return to us?"

  "Géndalaine…" He swallowed hard, remembering those long years. "I should have fought to the death, as becomes a Warrior, but 'twas not to be so. I was captured in the last great battle of the Dark Elf Wars, even as Talandar fell. 'Twas in the dungeons of Élahandara that Shammall found me some years later and helped me to escape. He told me then of your supposed deaths. I wandered for a time as a bear, until I heard that others of our people yet lived within Géndalaine's dungeons. I thought to free our people, or die at their side. Instead I joined them again for a time. But that was long ago. I have lived ever since near that mountain, exacting my revenge on those who stray too far from the fortress."

  Roahr lifted his eyes to survey the crowd gathered about. He read distrust in Tyrell's eyes, and a cool distance from Cassadara. "Géndalaine told me that you yet lived, but I thought her words a lie, meant to further my torture. Still, I could have come in search of you these many years gone by. I could have made sure of the truth of the Mage's words. I do not expect you to forgive my cowardice. I see now what I have lost. Tyrell, I regret that I was not there to see my son grow into a man, and Cassadara, you cannot know what it means to have missed seeing you open your eyes for the first time, or running for cover the first time your power unleashed itself. I will understand if you have no need for me now. But know that I love you, and you were never far from my heart."

  Ayailla stepped forward to break the uneasy silence. "I never liked ye, Roahr. Never did. Ye were a fine Warrior, but I never thought ye were good enough for my daughter. No social position. Just an aimless, wandering man from a tribe of gypsies. But ye were my daughter's husband, and the father of my grandchildren. I know not why the Mage would have reported thy death were it not so. But know that I was no' part of this deception, if deception it was. Let us no' judge him till he can speak for himself."

  Roahr glanced over at the animated corpse. "It would seem a bit late for that. He's dead."

  Tyrell tried vainly to smother a laugh. "We go to recover the spirit of the Mage. That is the mission that has drawn us together."

  Roahr studied the lines of worry in his daughter's face. "I will not seek personal retribution against the Mage. Yet if he was responsible for destroying my
family, he must be punished. When the Mage is himself, he must answer for his crimes."

  Tranorva nodded slowly. "Élandine must have a chance to clear his name of this suspicion. He will answer before the Clan Elders. Will this satisfy thee?"

  Roahr nodded. "I will accept the Clan's judgment in both his guilt and his punishment. I will do no harm to your betrothed, Daughter. By the seven, this I swear."

  Tranorva's hands slowly lifted clear of her weapons. She raised them toward him, palms up. "I know 'tis no' light thing for thee to give up thy revenge. I am in thy debt, Father."

  Hands trembling, he reached out to capture her fingers, bringing them to his lips. She was shaking as he pulled her into his arms. "I love you, Daughter. I have never ceased to love you."

  Ayailla broke the uneasy silence. "Perhaps we should get on about it, then? 'Tis a long time for an old woman to stand about in the snow."

  Roahr grinned as he released Tranorva. "Where do we go?"

  It was Evalayna who answered. "Mother Earth spoke to me in answer to my pleading. 'Take his body to the source of his life, with all those you hold dear about you, and make your pledge to his king. He may grant you the gift you desire.' When I sent out my Summoning I dared not hope for such wondrous results. The gods have restored my family to me. All those I hold dear are indeed gathered around me. We travel once again as a pack. We go in search of the King of Faerie."

  "Faerie." Roahr looked thoughtfully about the gathering once again. "I don't suppose any of you know where to find this Faerie King."

  No one answered. He closed his eyes, wishing for a moment that he might go back to being a bear once again. "Do any of you know anything at all of Faerie?"

  "I do."

  All eyes turned to fasten themselves on the source of the timid words.

  Roahr dropped to one knee before the strange little creature, his voice carefully pitched so as not to frighten the child. "What do you know, child? Have you been to Faerie?"