It had all seemed so simple the night before when she’d guided Eric here, and did just about everything but give him a handdrawn map detailing exactly where she would be. But now…
Now…she found herself wondering about her mother. Her mother who’d clawed her way up in the pack from the poor daughter of kingdom house servants to a beauty queen who landed the prince. Back then Arnold had been the most practical choice Keri could have made for herself given her humble background. And she took pride in her royal status—even if it was only mange-state royalty.
Because of her background, Keri had fought an uphill battle to groom her less-pretty daughter to marry well. Yet how easily her mother had abandoned them both when her fated mate appeared at the kingdom’s gate.
A janitor. Her mother, who’d always seemed so snooty and above her station, had left Halle and her father behind in the middle of the night without so much as a note. All for a Nigerian janitor by way of Canada. And all because her tactical marriage had, in the end, been more miserable than triumphant.
And now here was Halle trying to seal a tactical marriage of her own.
But her life wouldn’t turn out that way. She would make certain of this.
Halle would finalize this important alliance with Eric’s family. She’d have Eric’s baby. Eric’s baby. Not the baby of the boy who’d left her behind without so much as a note of apology or explanation. And she’d never be stupid for love again.
As if to punctuate her resolute decision with an exclamation mark, the door to the tiny cabin crashed open.
It was Eric, breathing hard. Both the neckline and the armpits of his white t-shirt were soaked through with sweat.
“I found you!” he declared, raising both arms to strike a triumphant pose in the doorway.
“You found me,” she agreed, tacking on a smile. Because she was happy. As she should be.
“No thanks to the weather,” he said slamming the door shut behind him. “Dear God, it’s hot out there! How do you people live like this?”
“Well, most of us Mississippi wolves don’t feel the heat like you northern ones do…” she started to explain.
Only to trail off when she saw Eric had his eyes raised to the ceiling in the universal sign of someone using his bioware.
“Are you…trying to bio someone?” she asked.
“Yes…but my chip won’t establish a connection,” he answered with an annoyed frown.
“Wolf Hills doesn’t have a BiFi tower, and the house’s network doesn’t extend this far.”
Eric’s frown deepened, “Well, that’s something we’ll have to fix when I’m king.”
But then he smiled cheerily. “No worries, dear. My father is tracking me, so he’ll let our followers know I found you and send them coordinates.”
Now it was Halle’s turn to blink, but for a different reason. “He’s going to make an announcement about our mating? Like…an official announcement?”
Eric shook his head. “Isn’t that how Chivarees are supposed to go? Guy hunts down his mate then all the people who came to watch have a party outside while he seals the deal?”
“Well, technically yes…” she admitted, “But—”
“Wait, is this it?” Eric suddenly asked. He was looking around the cabin as if he’d walked into a one-star motel room. “Just a bed and a table?”
“It’s a pre-Civil War era cabin,” she pointed out. “Built by hand for a single man. I don’t think my ancestor was necessarily thinking about much more than the basics.”
“I don’t mind rustic, mind you. But this place is verging on squalid.” Eric huffed. “Please at least tell me your family made some upgrades, and there’s a bathroom.”
She squinted at him, not exactly sure what he didn’t understand about the term “pre-Civil War era cabin.”
Instead, she strained to use her most polite tone to ask, “Do you need to go before we do this? Because there’s an outhouse around back…”
Eric’s nose wrinkled, his disgust evident even as he seemed to consider the possibility. But then he said, “Nah, let’s get this over with and then I’ll find a tree or something. I mean, I hunt with my dad and brothers all the time. Really, it’s no big deal.”
And here came another whisper of doubt. This cabin was one of her favorite places on Earth, and Eric was acting like he was doing her a favor by deigning to stay here. It unsettled her. But she knew she hadn’t made a mistake. Eric and her added up. She reminded herself of that even as his, “let’s get this over with,” comment echoed in her head.
Not exactly the heat night you imagined as a teen, her wolf sullenly pointed out as they watched Eric sit in one of the hand-crafted chairs and start removing his big, black boots.
A silly, love-struck teenager, her human countered. And remember how that turned out?
Yes, yes, Eric was so much better than Nago, her practical human insisted, forcing another smile when Eric came to a stand in nothing but his boxer briefs at the side of the old but still sturdy bed.
“Are you planning to get out from under those sheets, dear?” he asked with a teasing smile.
Oh, right…this was supposed to be her big moment, and she was still in bed beneath a ton of blankets.
So now Halle needed to throw off the quilts, and remove her extra clothes because she was crazed with lust, and wanted more than anything to get mated…by Eric. Yeah…
She pushed the blanket and sheet down, revealing her top half. And for once proving he wasn’t as reserved as she’d previously thought, his eyes heated at the sight of her naked breasts.
“Good, good…this is going to be good.”
“Yeah, it’s going to be so good,” she agreed. It was going to be fine. They’d mate, and that would solve everything.
“So…?”
She looked up at him, not understanding the question.
“You still need to come out—all the way out from underneath those covers, silly.”
Oh yeah. Of course. How could she have forgotten that part? Again…
She was in full-on heat. She should be beyond desperate to have sex—with any male wolf who would have her. But here she was, making casual conversation with Eric and forgetting to throw herself at him. A kernel of concern sprouted in the back of her mind as she wondered if the mate bond she’d stupidly established with Nago was interfering with the one she wanted to establish with Eric.
It doesn’t matter, Halle assured herself as she climbed out from under the covers, awkwardly wiggling her hips as she pushed the double layer of leggings and sweatpants down her thighs.
As uncomfortable as it was doing this in front of him, she felt somewhat vindicated when her heat smell erupted inside the room, and more of Eric’s reserve fell away. “Good girl,” he said. “Now on your hands and knees so I can claim you.”
Exactly what needed to happen next, she agreed. So why did she feel like a sacrificial lamb when she turned to do his bidding? And why did her wolf cringe hard when she felt the bed depress behind her. Cringe so hard she had to focus all her concentration on not pulling away when Eric’s sweaty hands found her hips.
Just like Nago’s had that day in the hotel—
She bit the memory off, refusing to think about that time. About him…
Squeezing her eyes closed, Halle dropped to her forearms, raising her ass higher in the air. To present to Eric for his claim because she wanted to please him. Wanted to live an average life with him. And have his average babies.
He rubbed a hand over the small of her back. “I’ve been waiting for this,” he said with a chuckle.
So had she, she reminded herself even as she squeezed her eyes shut tighter.
But then the cabin door suddenly crashed open, hitting the wall behind it with a crack. And a new scent violently filled the room.
Nago!
By the time Halle turned to look toward the door, he was already at the foot of the bed. Grabbing the Ohio Prince by the shoulder and spinning him around.
> “Nago, no!” she screamed.
But it was too late. A sickening, bone crunching sound ricocheted around the small room as Nago’s fist smashed into Eric’s face.
15
Mississippi, 1837
“You can come down from there,” the naked Indian said. They’d been staring at each other for a long stretch by then. Her on her branch, him down below.
He didn’t look angry—or growly like before. In fact, she sensed laughter lurking behind his words even though he wasn’t smiling. But she didn’t answer. Didn’t move. Just clung to her branch, shivering in the morning dew.
“You stuck?” he asked after another long while of her staring down at him. “Need me to come up and get you?”
He had a Mississippi accent like the working class white folks she’d seen. But it was flatter as if he was still getting comfortable with it.
“All right then,” he said when she still didn’t answer. And he turned his back on her to pick up a pair of trousers. She crouched, preparing to climb down and sprint away while he wasn’t looking.
But he only wasn’t looking for a tick or two. Sooner than expected, he had the trousers pulled up and then he came right back to the tree.
“You’re bleeding,” he said as he finished buttoning his trousers and pulled the suspenders over his tanned shoulders. “Come on down. Let me have a look. My mother was a medicine woman.”
How did he know she was bleeding? As balled up tight as she was in this tree, he shouldn’t have been able to tell from all the way down there.
Still, she gave no answer.
But her stomach had not received the message about not talking with the now half-naked man below. It grumbled a tale of skipped meals, louder than her voice ever could.
“You hungry?” he asked, another smile almost, but not quite making it to his lips. “I got suppawn brewing. All ready to eat.”
She was hungry. She’d skipped both the morning and mid-day meals on account of helping the house staff prepare for Massa’s dinner party. And then his son had come at her before she’d had the chance to pocket a hunk of bread and some of the leavings from the plates she was washing.
And that’s why her empty stomach refused to stay quiet on the subject of whether it wanted the corn porridge the Indian offered. Which was how she came to be seated at a small table in a one-room cabin she hadn’t noticed only a few steps beyond the tree until the Indian offered to share his suppawn with her.
The interior of the cabin was surprising to her. Small but neat, considering it was only him living there. None of Massa’s sons were ones for picking up after themselves, but this man’s floors were bare and well swept, with a hearth set up for cooking and a made bed at the back of the single room.
“Go head and sit,” he said, nodding towards a little table with one chair. She wondered if he’d built them himself. Both the chair and table were made of rough-hewn wood and looked more like sticks tied off with strong twine than the fine pieces in Massa’s house.
But at least he had furniture. The slaves at Briarleaf ate outside on the ground, without Massa giving them so much as a stick of wood to make tables and chairs. The Indian’s spindly chair did her just fine. Though…
Her eyes wandered to the large bed in the corner, wondering what he’d be wanting in exchange for the hospitality he was showing her.
Probably same thing Massa’s son wanted just because she was in his daddy’s house.
She shouldna have stabbed him. Shouldna fought back. She weren’t nobody or nothing. And life would find a way to teach her that lesson before all this was through.
However, all thoughts of “shouldna dones” left her head fast when the Indian set down a bowl of corn porridge in front of her. He even produced some honey in a small beehive-shaped container to go with it.
She gave him a quiet thank you, and then set herself to the business of eating, taking the spoon in her left hand on account of the right arm she’d used to fend off the wolf still hurt something fierce.
She expected the man to eat with her. Maybe while standing since he’d given her his only chair. But he went back to the hearth and started fussing with a collection of jars on the shelf above it. A few minutes later, he returned to the table with a strip of cotton in one hand, and a tin bowl filled with water from the large clay pitcher in the other. The strip of cotton cloth was slathered thickly in corn porridge and a whole bunch of plant speckles she didn’t recognize.
“Keep eating,” was all he said as he set the cloth aside on the table and took her right arm.
His touch was firm, and he pulled her arm all the way out, even when she gasped in pain. But it was also gentle when he dipped the bottom of her overskirt into the bowl of water and cleaned the wound with it. Next, he took the strip of porridge cloth off the table. He had fashioned her a bandage, she realized, her eyes widening as she watched him wrap the cloth remnant around her arm, porridge and all.
The porridge and whatever else he put in it burned, then soothed as it settled in on top of the wound.
Then he left to make another porridge cloth.
“Leg, too,” he said when he returned to the table with the second bandage. But how could he have known it was hurt, hidden as it was under her skirts?
She’d finished off her bowl of porridge. It had disappeared in a fury of ravenous hunger. This meant she had nothing left to do but watch as he cleaned the deep gash on her leg. The words “angel” and “demon” swirled around her head, and she couldn’t tell one from the other.
“So which one is it?” she asked him.
His eyes raised to meet hers. A question asked without words.
“You a angel or a demon?” she demanded, the food and easing of her pain making her bolder than was likely wise.
Another smile that never fully appeared. “More a lone wolf,” he answered.
And they stared at each other some more. What happened in the night sitting between them.
KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!
She jumped in her seat and then looked to the cabin’s door. The Indian had a visitor.
Her first thought was to hide. Then her second thought was “but where?”
The cabin was neat but small. And the bed wasn’t raised high enough for her to fit under.
And then it was too late to hide because the Indian was up on his feet and pulling open his door.
A white man in a fine waistcoat and wearing shiny black boots stood on the other side.
She abruptly jumped up from the table, but the Indian raised his palm at her. Bidding her to stay with one motion as he said to the white man, “How ya, King.”
“Good, my thanks to you for inquiring, Joseph,” the man the Indian had called King answered.
The white man’s eyes strayed to her crouched by the table, then back to the Indian. “It would seem we had visitors from Briarleaf last night. A search patrol, from what I understand. They were looking for an escaped slave girl.”
She could only see the back of the Indian from her vantage point at the table, but he still hadn’t put on a shirt, and his back tightened beneath his suspenders before he answered, “Full moon. Not a good night for visitors.”
“No, it was not. Do you know anything about this woman they were looking for, Joseph?”
The Indian’s answer came in a lazy instant. “No, King, I have not seen her.”
The white man’s eyes shifted then. Off of the Indian and on to her. “Are you sure about that?” he asked. “They are still looking for her.”
“I am sure and certain,” the Indian answered. “I have seen no one matching that description around here.” The Indian moved then, lowering his hand. Which at first she thought might be his way of telling her to run. But no…he bent down. Grabbed a stoneware jug from the floor.
“I offer you this to take back for your kingdom house table.”
The white man’s eyes stayed on her.
A few moments ticked by. Each one seeming to swing her life back and fort
h on a pendulum.
But then the white man’s gaze finally dropped away so he could take the stoneware jug the Indian offered him. “They seem mighty determined to find her, is all. I have some concerns about them coming back with their dogs, asking more questions if they do not like the results of my investigation.”
“Well, now that I think on it…” the Indian said.
Her body tightened, preparing to run even though she doubted she had a hen in a fox den’s chance of getting past them both.
“…I did not see my canoe in the river this morning. Somebody must have taken it.”
“Hmm,” the white man said, looking over his shoulder in the direction of the river. “Then I suppose she must have made it cross the river. They will not be happy to hear the news of a stolen canoe, but I cannot account for their happiness, can I?”
“No, you cannot, King,” the Indian answered. “You did as you said you would. Looked into it. Got them the answer they needed.”
“That I did,” the white man agreed.
He glanced at her again, the wide-eyed black woman in the Indian’s cabin…
Then he tucked the stone jug under one arm and walked away.
She did not have any notion of having held her breath until it rushed out of her mouth. So fast, it made her head light, and she had to sit a few moments after she had been prepared to run.
“Want another bowl of suppawn?” the Indian asked. He closed the door and walked back over to the table for her answer.
She raised her eyes to his, too weak with relief to do anything but nod.
He grabbed up her bowl and went to the hearth’s black pot to fill it once more. “Eat,” he said, setting the bowl down in front of her. “Then we must walk to the river and see about that canoe.”
“You going to give me your canoe?” she asked, truly shocked at his continued generosity.
But the man’s faced darkened. “No. But I will need your help to push it out into the river. Then I will flip it over, and give the patrollers something to find.”
NAGO, His Mississippi Queen: 50 Loving States, Mississippi (The Brothers Nightwolf Trilogy, Book 1) Page 8