by Jean Johnson
She had mentioned it before, but Wolfer decided it could wait. He had more important things to investigate. A dip and an impatient tug of his fingers, and her breast came free of its confining cup. She gasped as he claimed her breast once more, this time in warm, wet, full intensity, his mouth feasting on her flesh. It pleased him that he had such an immediate, devastating effect on her.
Alys cried out, wrapping her arms around his head. This wasn’t her uncle bouncing revoltingly on a serving wench. This wasn’t Cari and that client of hers doing shocking things in that brothel. This was her Wolfer doing an incredibly exciting thing to her! The way she responded, clasping him to her, seemed to go straight to his head. As his soft brown hair feathered against her skin, he pulled her other breast free and lavished it with his attention as well, growling in that way that said big, hungry wolf. Licking, nipping, he devoured her with his sensuality on his hard bedchamber floor.
Each tug of his lips, each scrape of his teeth, each laving swirl of his tongue shot silken lightning down to her belly, to that place between her legs that was her core. Her knees squirmed wider, propelled by that lightning-writhing need, making his hips slip down between her thighs. The way they parted for him made him groan and growl hungrily, pressing his groin into her.
Once, twice, and a lingering, rotating third time, he pressed in just the right spot, that same spot he had rubbed while she had ridden him in stallion form . . .
Her head thudded against the floor as she cried out, hips thrusting up into his. Wolfer gasped, releasing her flesh from his mouth, his whole body tightening with the pleasure of having her buck convulsively against him in the depths of her pleasure—he had to be inside her! Now. As she slowly sagged and relaxed under him, his hand dove for his half-tied laces, eager to unknot them once more—
Knock knock knock! “Wolfer? Have you seen Alys?”
“Jinga’s—” Biting back the rest of the curse, Wolfer stopped undressing and braced himself over her with both arms. Breathing hard, struggling with desire, he fought with his baser instincts. It didn’t help that he was staring into a dazed, uncertain but blissful look on Alys’ face, a look he had put there, to her almost bewildered satisfaction.
“Wolfer, is Alys in there?” Kelly’s voice demanded again from beyond his sitting room door. She banged on his door again. “I heard you swearing in there! I better have interrupted you before you got very far!”
Wolfer scrambled off of Alys and charged the outer door, growling with masculine rage. Yanking open the only entrance to the corridor, he snarled at his twin’s wife, exactly like an enraged wolf.
Typical of the odd, extra-dimensional woman, Kelly didn’t react with fear. She snapped her hand up and pinched his ear. Hard. And then yanked him down to growl herself in his ear.
“Alys is a sweet young woman who is very shy about sex, because she was almost molested by her uncle—do you understand?” the strawberry-haired woman holding him so painfully asserted under her breath, her near-whispered words pitched for his ears alone.
Wolfer started to snarl back for her to mind her own business. Until her meaning made it through to his brain. Dread froze him in place. Molested. Her own uncle? His anger drained right out of him with shock and dismay.
“I said almost,” Kelly asserted, reading his reaction with remarkable accuracy. “She was very smart and held him off, by reminding him he would get more by selling her to the highest marriage-bidder if she were still a virgin. So she’s not only hesitant about sex, she’s also a virgin. Now, I don’t want to have to chaperone the two of you, if you can’t keep your pants closed,” she added with a pointed look down at his half undone laces.
They were visible below the hem of his tunic, which was still rucked up from where he had shoved it out of the way to undo them once again. Thankfully nothing showed; he wouldn’t have cared to explain to his twin why he’d given his sister-in-law an eyeful. Kelly released his ear, as he quickly tugged his shirt back down.
“I do believe you had breakfast to make for today’s chore? I, for one, am getting hungry,” she stated pointedly.
Wolfer bit back several choice replies. He chose the most diplomatic his whirling mind could think of. “Suffer.”
Slamming the door shut between them before she could grab his ear again, he leaned his forehead against the panel. Almost molested! Jinga, I swear I’ll kill Broger of Devries! He’s not fit to exist anymore!
Her breasts tucked back into her corset, her tunic held over her chest, but not yet donned again, Alys peeked around his bedroom door. She had been too caught up in the shudders of her second taste of pleasure ever to have heard what had been said at his suite door. Not in such low-spoken words. Still, even though the timing had been awkward, she was curious about what the interruption had been for.
“Wolfer? Who was that? What did they want?”
Guilt slammed through Wolfer, warring with the lust roused by her voice alone. “I, uh—I’m sorry.”
Of all the things she had hoped to hear . . . that was not one of them. Alys blinked. “You’re sorry?”
He nodded, his head still resting against the door.
“You’re sorry?” Anger rose up in her, fueled by humiliation. “You had me on the floor, sucking on my . . . my—and you’re sorry?!”
Wolfer frowned. That didn’t sound like a timid, scared maiden. Come to think of it, she hadn’t reacted like a timid, scared maiden—he was experienced enough to know a cry of pleasure from a cry of fear after all, even if it had been a number of years. He rolled his head a little and peeked at her. She certainly looked like an insulted woman, not a timid maiden. Her hands had planted themselves on her hips in an unconsciously Kelly-like motion, and those gray eyes were glaring at him. The only defense he could think of was the truth. Sort of. “I . . . um, I thought I was scaring you.”
“Scaring me?” Alys raised her brows, then lowered them and stomped over. “I’ll scare you, you—you—ooh!” Dropping her tunic to the floor, she fisted her fingers in his own clothes, hauling him away from the door and down to her level. Her mouth mashed into his, forcing Wolfer to grab her to balance the two of them. That mouth was more than willing . . . but she moved it with very little imagination or experience as she mashed it against his own. Proving that at least some of Kelly’s claim was true, regarding her inexperience.
Wolfer cupped her head, gentling the kiss. He showed her how by leading her with his own experience. Perhaps not as much as Trevan had managed to learn before their exile, but he did have more than his Alys did. This time, when he licked her lips, she responded with a sigh and a lick of her own. Her fists flattened, smoothing against his chest; her touch made his heart pound harder with the need to reach her. His hands slipped down to her shoulders and arms, around to her back, then down to her trouser-clad backside as her hands slid up to clutch at his shoulders. Pulling her intimately against him.
“Wolfer, where are you? I am not making breakfast on my own, dammit!”
Evanor’s magic-projected voice in his ear made him jerk.
Alys pulled back, her bravery losing ground to uncertainty. “Wolfer? Is something . . . ?”
Wolfer rested his forehead against hers, closing his wolf-gold eyes for a moment. Opening them, he met her gaze. “Evanor’s calling me. I have to go make breakfast.”
“Oh.”
It was a tiny, disappointed sound. Wolfer leaned in and kissed her gently on the lips, then on the tip of her nose. “We will do this later, and we will go as slowly as you like. If you want us to continue . . .”
“Oh.” Alys swallowed, cleared her throat, and firmed her courage once more, staring at his chest and the rumpled lines of his tunic where she had fisted it. Her fingers smoothed the material, tracing the muscles underneath with unconscious seduction. “I, ah . . . yes. I want us to . . . to continue.”
Wolfer groaned. This was not helping him to let go of her.
“Wolfer! Get your backside down to the kitchen right now!”
Leaving her in his room. Alys touched her lips, licked them, blinked . . . and slowly smiled. Then grinned, and spun around in the morning light spilling in through the sitting room windows, arms spread out, uncaring that her tunic was still discarded on the floor, leaving her only in her under-bodice and trousers.
He wanted her!
It was a conspiracy of silence at the breakfast table. Everyone slanted looks at Wolfer and Alys, but no one said anything, beyond, “Pass the pancakes, please,” “More honey, anyone?” “Let me pour that for you,” and similar, ordinary, casually murmured words.
Saber finally wiped his mouth with his napkin and spoke, mentioning something besides food. “The traders are due today.”
“Who gets to break the bad news to them about the salt?” Kelly asked. “I’d love to do it myself—”
“You are staying here,” her husband asserted firmly. The freckled woman opened her mouth to argue. Saber cut her off quickly. “They’ll probably try to kill you the moment they so much as see you, so you’ll stay up here. For now. I’ll handle the salt,” Saber added. “But I’ll need some help. I did it all on my own once, shortly after you arrived, and it was not something I’d care to repeat. Not while it’s still technically our honeymoon. Some of the wagons also need their propulsion spells renewed. Morganen?”
“I can’t help you right away,” the youngest of them pointed out, wiping his own mouth, smothering a yawn behind his napkin. There were faint, dark circles under his eyes, hinting at a restless night. “Kor, Ev, and I were working late in the forge last night with Rydan, trying to make a mirror that would focus exclusively on Dominor, and so extend our scrying range for finding him. We didn’t get very far, though we tried all night. What we really need is some of his blood . . . and naturally we can’t get any, since he’s not here. So we’re still tired. We’ll join you in a few hours, though, after we’ve napped.”
“Fine. Trevan and Wolfer, then. You’ll have to come down to the beach with me,” Saber said, flicking a glance at his twin, then at the woman on his twin’s other side. “Stay here with Kelly, Alys; it’s safer for both of you to be inside the castle walls. At least, for now.”
Alys glanced at Kelly and ventured to speak. “Your wife and I were talking about getting some cows. For fresh milk and cream? I could tend the cows and the chickens, to earn my keep.”
“I doubt the traders will be happy to pay for salt blocks with a small herd of cattle,” Saber muttered. He shook his head. “We’d need to clear out a pasture for them to graze in for the first step, anyway, and get enough grass to grow high and long enough for grazing and for harvesting against the cold season. Not that it gets nearly as cold here as it used to back down in Corvis Lands.”
“Well, I can do that, too,” she offered. As the others looked at her, Alys shrugged. “I’m good with animals, and good with plants. Magic-wise, I mean. Not great, but at least a little good.”
Kelly smiled. “Alys has also generously suggested she take over the feeding of the chickens, to make herself useful. I, for one, would be happy to have anyone else tending them besides me.”
“My poor, henpecked wife,” Saber sighed.
His brothers choked on their laughter. His wife pinched him. Not hard, Alys noted, but she did nip him lightly on the earlobe with her fingertips. Saber caught Kelly’s wayward hand and kissed it, then kissed her on the nose when she mock-narrowed her eyes.
Wolfer spoke up, his bass rumble cutting through the suppressed merriment. “How soon do I have to be down on the beach?”
“Right after breakfast, same as usual, just in case they come early on the incoming tide,” Saber pointed out.
Wolfer glanced at Alys, who blushed and dropped her gaze. Dammit. You’d think Destiny would arrange things so I could be with her, if she’s my fated bride.
A horrid thought crossed his mind at that moment.
What if she isn’t my bride-by-Destiny? What if it’s supposed to be someone else and not her? The thought was not a pleasant one. It couldn’t be, after all—the very thought repelled him, thinking of her walking the eight altars with someone else. In such a short, short time, his childhood friend had come to mean so much more to him than just a youthful companion. She had to be the one, his Destiny. Wolfer was not going to let someone else come into his life and take her away from him!
Unfortunately, there was nothing he could do about it right away; he had to go to the beach today.
But he still needed to talk to her. When breakfast ended, as those assigned to the chore cleared the table and the rest left, Wolfer managed to catch Alys’ hand and tugged her into the nearest room, a chamber now crowded with its own furniture plus what had been in the dining room before it was restored.
“What is it?” she whispered, curious to know why he needed to talk to her alone, even though he was due to leave immediately.
“Will you . . .” Wolfer’s palms were feeling sweaty; he wiped them on his thighs. He wasn’t sure if he should kneel or not, but didn’t dare take the time to do so, just in case they were interrupted by the others. “Uh, that is, would you do me the great ho—”
The door opened behind him, and his twin stuck his head inside. “Beach, Wolfer. Now.”
“Jinga’s Balls!” Wolfer swore, making Alys widen her eyes as he whirled on Saber. “What do we have to do to get some privacy around here?!”
His twin blinked, his dark gold brows rising at Wolfer’s outburst. Those bemused steel gray eyes shifted to the mist-gray eyes of the other occupant in the room. Saber sighed and shook his head. “You’ll have plenty of time for that, Wolfer. After the traders have come and gone.”
His twin growled hard in frustration, directing it straight at the source of this latest interruption.
“Oh, shut up, Wolfer!” Saber snapped, scowling at his brother. “I have to abandon my wife to see to my duty in dealing with the traders! You can suffer, too.” Saber opened the door wider, the picture of impatience as he waited for Wolfer to join him.
Snarling under his breath, Wolfer stalked out. He stopped long enough to glance back at Alys as he passed through the doorway, then growled some more. The second born of the brothers snarled all the way to the western courtyard, climbed up on the cart next to Trevan, rumbled his anger at his twin as Saber joined them in the cart, and growled as they left the castle and started down the hill.
Halfway down, on a flat, level spot on the western road, Saber tapped the fifth born of them. Trevan lifted his foot from the speed lever and pushed on the brake lever, stopping the cart the brothers had enchanted for transportation on the horseless isle.
Morning noises from the jungle surrounded them: leaves rustling in the breeze, insects chirruping, birds twittering . . . Wolfer growling.
Saber stared heavily at his twin. “Do you mind?”
“Yes, dammit!” Wolfer snapped, losing his temper. “I was going to propose to her!—And you had better stay well away from her, and keep your rod in your trousers, or by the Gods, Trevan, I’ll rip it out by the roots!”
Trevan pulled back his light auburn head at the tirade; he studied his elder brother a long, silent moment, then turned and eyed Saber, who was riding in the back of the cart. He was sitting next to the few magic items the brothers had managed to make for sale in the past two weeks, distracted by the prophesied Disaster and its aftermath. The redhead sighed and shook his head. “It’s just sexual frustration. It’ll go away as soon as they have some privacy.”
Wolfer tipped his head back and howled out his frustration. He snarled and glared at his brothers, lowering his head as his cry echoed and faded through the forest. He bared his teeth at them, the veins on his muscular neck standing out in the morning light filtering through the trees, as he roared at his blood kin. “That. Is. The. Point!”
Trevan eyed him askance. “My.
Aren’t we grumpy today?”
Whirling, Wolfer leaped out of the cart. He was in wolf form even before his paws touched the ground. Diving into the underbrush, he loped into the forest, determined to exorcise his frustration with a bit of exercise. Instead of tearing literally as well as figuratively into his blood kin.
Seated on the cart, Trevan and Saber glanced at each other. Shrugging sublimely, Trevan gripped the steering reins and pressed down on the acceleration lever with his toe, sending the cart forward once more.
“Sexual frustration,” the copper-haired man confirmed sagely.
Saber didn’t know whether to grin or feel pity for his twin. He settled for both, glad Wolfer was no longer within view. It wasn’t fair of him to find amusement in his twin’s suffering, but from the moment of her arrival, even Saber could see exactly who was the next agent of Destiny in the family.
Little Alys of Devries. All grown up into a woman now. A woman who had her sights just as set on Wolfer of Nightfall, as Wolfer had his sights on her.
Who would’ve thought it?
Deep in the jungle, Wolfer leaped over a fallen tree and loped through the clearing it had made. He startled a trio of summer deer from one of the two wild herds that grazed Nightfall Isle, one sticking to the western side of the elongated island, one to the eastern, only coming close enough to intermingle every now and then at the far northern and southern ends and avoiding the swayback pass that the castle was perched on between the two mountain ranges. A covey of plinka birds took flight, their red, black, and yellow plumage contrasting starkly with the forest greenery. They were swift, too, darting up among the branches as he drew near.
His fangs snapped at a leaf that whacked his muzzle in passing. Bounding up a hill, he had to pick his way down the steep slope on the far side carefully. One of the harmless tree snakes slithered quickly out of Wolfer’s way as he used a log fallen at an angle against the hill to descend more quickly. His toenails clicked as he trotted across a section of the curving, flagstone-laid road, then crunched softly over fallen leaves on the forest floor. A pipka, looking much like an oversized mouse, flashed across the earth in front of him, but he wasn’t hungry enough to give chase; though for a moment, his wolfish instincts were tempted. The crunching of bones in his jaws might have been some form of physical outlet for his frustration, but it wasn’t the outlet he wanted to use.