Daughter of the Moon (The Moon People, Book Two)

by Claudia King

  "Your warriors still guard this tent," he said.

  "They know not to enter. The sounds of fur tearing, wood breaking, even my own screams," she shook her head faintly, "would not be enough to make them rise from where they sit." Her eyes closed slowly, the woman lost in her own heated vision. "The spirits allow it. On this one night, they let us speak the unspeakable. Until the sun rises, within this tent, you may do anything you please." She opened her eyes, piercing him with a gaze that matched the sting of her fingernails digging into his bare skin. "With the woman who would make slaves of men like you."

  The heat in her voice was so genuine, so tempting, that Caspian's skin prickled in response. He had relished many intimate things over the years, but nothing like what Octavia was trying to lure him into. Even though he did not chase women as often as most, he enjoyed exploring ever more exotic pleasures with the special few he took a fancy to. Perhaps it was the essence of the celebration working its way into his thoughts, but he had to admit he was enticed.

  The corner of Octavia's mouth curled slightly. "I can see you want it. So many men do, deep down, when they look inward. Take me. Do with me as you please. Whatever happens will never leave this tent."

  Caspian raised his hand to her cheek, running a finger along the line of her jaw, before bringing it to her lips. He traced the outline of her soft mouth, feeling for the pulse and ebb of her body. Despite the woman's overt desire, there was still a tension in her, lingering like a coiled serpent beneath her skin. He felt it in there, buried deep, writhing ever more passionately in response to his touch. It was in the way she moved, the way she breathed, even in the subtle scent of her body. Tiny things that a less observant man would have overlooked, but that his wolf latched on to instinctively.

  Octavia leaned forward, taking his finger into her mouth and sucking with a passion born of need, but tinged with fiery anger.

  "You really would have me ravish you," he murmured, withdrawing his hand suddenly.

  Octavia's eyes flashed open. She lunged at him, raking her fingernails down his sides so hard she almost drew blood. "Do it," she hissed. "Hate me for all I have done, punish me!"

  Caspian batted one of her arms away with a growl of pain, the fire beneath his skin rising. In an instant he had his hand around her throat, gripping tight, as if holding a thrashing animal at bay. "Why? So that you may hate me in return? Is that what you think you need?" He bared his teeth, letting the wolf rear up inside him. "You truly are a unique woman, Octavia, and you are right. This is a night for dark passions." His voice was low, rumbling with the distant thunder of his inner beast. "I would do what you ask. I would. I will not lie, it tempts me. But only for a woman whose heart I knew." He released her, and a little of the wildness seemed to ebb from Octavia's body. She knelt there looking up at him, hands falling to clutch the edge of the throne. Her breast heaved with a sigh. Caspian expected anger, a redoubling of her efforts, perhaps even submission to his alpha authority. But the most powerful woman of the Moon People said nothing. He could not be sure, but he sensed the coiled anger in her fade. It was not gone, for it seemed an inexorable part of Octavia, but it settled enough for the woman's dark lust to falter.

  "You are not the brute I took you for," she said after many long moments of silence.

  "No, though it is hard for me to tell what I am these days." Caspian grimaced.

  "You are not a slave to your den mother as my men are to me, or you would have done as she asked. Not a slave to your women, and yet not a brute who would use me as his plaything."

  "Men like me are not so strange."

  "Oh, but you are," Octavia said with a touch of bitterness.

  "Not all of us would treat you and Adel as outcasts. Whether an alpha is a woman or a man—it matters not to me."

  "Not all of you," she said, "but enough. You know it in your heart."

  "It must be easier for you to believe that."

  Octavia glared at him. "I wish I did not have to, but the world has taught me otherwise. You will learn it for yourself if you continue to follow Adel. She has their respect for now, but it will never be enough. Men—no, wolves—cannot stand for females to share their status. It is not in their nature."

  "The world has not yet taught me the same lesson. Perhaps you are right, and perhaps it will, but that day has not come yet."

  Octavia shook her head. "I think you are right in saying you do not know who you are, or what you want. Go, leave me. I shall find another man to take your place."

  Caspian's blood still pumped with the surge of his wolf, and he felt himself pulled by his instincts more than the sense of his waking mind. The heated encounter had left him breathing heavily, stirred by the tension, the arousal, and the aggression. "No, I know what it is I desire this night, Octavia, but I will not find it here. For reminding me of that, you have my thanks."

  The woman wrinkled her nose, but she said nothing. Friend or foe, who could say. But those were questions for another man on another night. Whether Caspian was a loyal companion to Khelt or Adel, advisor or warrior, safe or struggling, he knew that one thing would always remain the same. The one thing he had allowed to become confused and lost. The simple truth that mattered above all else. Octavia's enticement had crystallised it for him. It was the night of the summer fires, and this night, better than any other, existed to strengthen the bonds that mattered most.

  He pushed the tent flap aside and strode past the women lingering in the camp, letting his wolf rise and burst through his skin. On four legs he avoided the admiring glances of the celebrants, breaking into a trot as his nose led him after one scent among hundreds. It was not hard to find, for he knew it better than any other.

  * * *

  Even with the euphoric aid of Fern's potion, Netya was still slow to warm to the advances of the other celebrants. The group of young men—wanderers and runaways who had aspirations of forming a new clan of their own—were bold and eager, overly keen to join those of higher status at the centre of the gathering. They might have made fools of themselves had they approached anyone else, but Fern and Netya, despite their witchly pretensions, were too welcoming to turn them away. Indeed, perhaps it was a wise move to join up with the young men. They were easily impressed, reeled in by Fern's seductive charm, and before long her noises of pleasure were filling the air as three attentive partners cradled her body between them, lavishing the young woman with all the attention she could ever desire.

  Netya did not move quite so fast. Though she had learned plenty about seducing men from Fern, it was difficult when it did not feel wholly natural. The reminder that she was there at Adel's behest hung heavily in the back of her mind, like an obligation that kept her from slipping smoothly into the spirit of the celebration. So she sat with some of the others, making idle talk with a man who had moved in before any of his companions, caressing Netya's bare leg as he attempted to coax her down on her back.

  "Listen to your friend," he said. "You could be enjoying yourself just as much as her, and I please my women far better than any of those fools she is with."

  Netya smiled at the boast. Even though she had grown to realise that such claims were rarely true, they still had at least part of their desired effect on her. She enjoyed the brash confidence behind such words, and it reminded her of the few men she had known who were able to back it up in their actions. But no such men surrounded her that evening, and so the boast rang with a hollow core. It lacked the bite that should have latched on and dragged her deeper into the embrace of lust. It lacked the raw, subtle attraction that the animal part of her craved now more than ever. Netya's wolf seemed to know what she wanted, and these young men were not it.

  Still, was it not time she learned that lovemaking was not always about the deep and pure pleasure she had come to associate it with? It was also a tool, a way to win men's favour. A way to make them notice things they would otherwise overlook. It seemed a cold lesson to learn, but it was what Adel had taught her. Leaning forward, she pu
t her hand around the back of her admirer's neck and allowed him to kiss her. It was pleasant enough. Enthusiastic on his part. Accompanied by a satisfying squeeze of her breast. She tried to focus on the flicker of passion within her, and with a little stirring it glowed slightly brighter.

  Then the pad of heavy paws reached her ears, accompanied by the growl of a wolf. The sound startled Netya's partner, and he broke away from her to find Caspian rising up on two legs in front of him, the larger male's coat of fur melting away from his body as he retreated from his animal form.

  "Find another woman for tonight," he said directly, fixing his gaze on Netya. "This one is mine."

  The tug of passion she had been missing all evening yanked suddenly at her core. Even though she was surprised by Caspian's sudden appearance, there was nothing hollow about the words he uttered.

  The young male prickled with aggression, rising up to meet his rival for Netya's affections, but he quickly realised that he was outmatched. Caspian had the bearing of a man who knew what he wanted, his animal side baring its teeth beneath the surface, and clearly he had no patience for posturing or challenges. Without waiting for the young man to object, he bent down and hefted Netya into his arms, his grip firm and tight about her.

  "What are you doing?" she said under her breath as her hands moved instinctively to his shoulders.

  "Who else would I have on this night?" he replied, showing a smile that mirrored the confidence in his voice. He carried her away from the central fires, leaving the heart of the celebration and Netya's faltering companion behind them.

  "But what about Adel? She said you were to be with Octavia, is that not important—"

  "Forget about her, just this once. I know how I want to remember this celebration, and so do you."

  They did not go far, but far enough to leave the growing rumble of the festivities behind them. Caspian carried her to a small lean-to draped in striped furs, one of many that would soon be occupied by those who desired privacy with their chosen partners. There he set Netya down, and this time she needed no encouragement to nestle back against the furs, opening her mouth for Caspian's kiss as his broad body bore down atop her. Their tongues danced, hot and eager, then he drew back and brushed a loose strand of dark hair from her forehead, gazing down into her eyes with primal passion.

  "I have felt torn by so many things these past months," he said under his breath. "Questioning who I am, what it is I want. It has not been the same between us for a long time."

  Netya bit her lip, nodding reluctantly. In the closeness of his strong embrace she no longer cared for the distance that had grown between them, or her upset the night she had found him fighting. Fern's potion and the spirit of the celebration had worked their way deep into her, and they had been waiting for this. Not trusting herself to speak, she let Caspian continue. It seemed he knew what to say for the both of them.

  "Khelt asked me to come back to him the night he arrived, while Adel would have me stay and be her warrior. I could be both, or neither. I still do not know." He took a deep breath, tracing his gaze and fingers simultaneously down her neck, caressing the twine of her pendant all the way to the wooden symbol that lay upon her heaving breast. "What I do know is that our lives have changed, and so must we. I cannot be the man I was, just as you cannot be the same girl who first captured my heart." He looked back up at her, the colour of his eyes as deep and mysterious as ever beneath his handsome brow. "Perhaps all those things made me forget why we are here now. Because wherever we are, whatever troubles surround us, you will always be the one that matters to me most. I do not want anything to come between us. What does it matter which alpha we follow, which pack we call home, so long as you are there with me."

  Netya's heart ached upon hearing his words, but it was a welcome pain. One she wished she had felt more of recently. "Forgive me if I ever made you question it," she said. "I know sometimes it may seem Adel is the one who—"

  Caspian shook his head. "Forget her, forget everyone. What does it matter, even if the world were to end tomorrow. Now is the night of the summer fires. Let us celebrate that, and remember what we live for."

  As he said it, a great weight lifted from Netya's soul. Not just one burden, but a great many. The worries would be there again waiting for her when the sun came up. Perhaps better, perhaps worse. But until then, what purpose did they serve? She wanted nothing more than to join Caspian in making a memory of their love, and nothing else mattered.

  "You don't need to fear your wolf this night," he said, the soft, gentle tone of understanding leaving his voice now that it was no longer necessary. His hands moved down her arms until they found hers, clasping and caressing without hesitation. "Be one with her, and with me. Like on the morning by the river. I want you like that again."

  She nodded, forgetting the fear, the dreams, and the coldness that had kept her animal side submerged. Like a bounding pup her wolf reared to the forefront, inhabiting Netya's body from head to toe. The beast halted just short of breaking through her skin, but Netya felt no danger of changing shape unless she wanted it. Caspian gave her confidence, his inner wolf attuned with hers.

  The surge of animal instinct arched her back reflexively, pushing her midsection up against the perplexing cover of furs hanging around Caspian's waist. Baring his teeth with an eager growl, he all but snapped the toggles securing the garment around his hips as he cast it aside, bringing the swell of his straining manhood free to press against her belly. She opened herself for him, growing desperate for the consummation as he hitched her legs apart and braced them open with the force of his thighs. Without waiting, without the gentle coax shown a virgin or the slow build that might rekindle an aged passion, he pressed himself within her and drove deep, straight to the spot that longed to grip him.

  Netya's body tensed and her hold tightened, clutching at his shoulders as she let loose an animal yelp, the sound rippling up her chest and bursting from her throat in a cry of elation. With the passion of a wolf and the heart of a lover, he took her. She fought for the taste of his lips and the press of his chest against her body as the two of them writhed like beasts, the world tightening into nothing around them as the glow of their passion burned at the centre of it all. She was on fire with it, as searing as the sun and as warm as the kindest ember. The strokes of him driving deep within her dragged at her core like fur torn between fingers, tearing it bare until she broke with climax, ankles locked around Caspian's back in a song of shudders that only grew stronger as he crushed her hard against his chest, growling with passion against her ear as thrust after relentless thrust pierced her open.

  Not one peak was enough to sate him, nor was it enough to tire her, and even after he spilled his warmth into her depths once, twice, however many times, their own fire of celebration continued to burn hot. It was not a night of lovemaking, just a night of love. Passion, pleasure, and above all the melding that made two lovers one in both body and spirit. Whether Caspian was claiming her, holding her, whispering words or uttering growls that meant the same things; whether they were delighting in each other's bodies with their mouths, tongues, fingers, or palms, it was all part of the same glow, and it was everything Netya's soul needed.

  When her energy ebbed and she opened her ears to the night around them in a moment of respite, she heard the song of a hundred other lovers weaving its way through the trees. So many voices raised in pleasure, so many different sounds uttered in different tongues, but all filled with the same quality of raw emotion. There was a purity in it, she realised as she threw her head back, savouring the bliss of Caspian's mouth upon her neck, his lips and tongue tracing a wonderful path along her collarbone. So much of the world was harsh, complex, challenging, and not always honest. But surrounded by the passions of her new people, there was little that could be said of the celebration other than that it embodied everything they lived for. Those peaks of life that could only be surmounted so rarely, rising above the clouds of worry and hardship. Even if many of her b
rothers and sisters were unable to share the same all-enveloping intimacy she had with Caspian, she doubted it mattered when their cries broke with ecstasy in those heady moments of release.

  She felt she was part of something greater on that night, if only for a short while before the rhythm of lovemaking absorbed her again. Even if she was not pure of the Moon People's blood, her spirit still joined theirs in the dance among the fires, celebrating life in its purest, most honest form.

  As wonderful of an eternity as the night was, it could never be long enough. Netya clung on to the pleasurable glow for as long as she could, her body entwined with Caspian's as they finally succumbed to exhaustion, breathing in tandem beneath a glistening blanket of perspiration. How ever she might feel in the morning, it would not change the night they had shared. It would be a good memory, just as Caspian had said. She would try her hardest to cling on to it, and remember what it was that they lived for.

  —20—

  Miral's Threat

  It was only a short while after dawn when Netya awoke, despite having been up for most of the night. The gathering was even more peaceful than usual in the early hours of the morning, and a thin haze of mist and smoke hung over the guttering remains of the bonfires. The celebrants napped in the arms of friends and lovers, most of whom would be forgotten by the same time the next day. But a precious few would remain together, holding on to something special that had been forged within the light of the fires. Netya was glad to be counted among them.

  The heady escape of the previous night still lingered within her, clinging on like the warm fog swirling in the air overhead. She could have remained there in Caspian's embrace all morning, but but she was sore from the fervour of their mutual passion, and she needed to wash and relieve herself. Romance could not stave off the mundanity of life forever, she mused with a smile.