NAGO, His Mississippi Queen: 50 Loving States, Mississippi (The Brothers Nightwolf Trilogy, Book 1)

by Theodora Taylor

  “I won’t, Halle. And if you agree to be my queen, I’ll be the king you deserve.”

  “I don’t want a king,” she whispered. “Or a prince—that was my mother’s dream. I want you. You and your wolf, no matter what condition he’s in. The both of you. All of you. That’s what I want.”

  He looked down at her with a tender expression. “I don’t…I don’t deserve you, but for some reason, you think I do. And from now on, I’m all about giving my baby whatever she wants. So if that’s me and this crazy-ass wolf of mine, then you have us. You have all of me.”

  For the first time since he stepped off the drone-copter ten years ago, she believed him.

  “Halle! Halle!”

  As they emerged from the woods, they both looked up to see her father running toward them. Huffing and puffing and waving his hands.

  “You’re okay! Thank God,” he said when he reached them. “I was so worried about you.”

  From the safety of Nago’s arms, Halle peered at her father. The filters finally off her eyes, allowing her to see him for what he was. He wasn’t so much worried about her as he was in cover-your-ass mode.

  And as if to prove her point, he rushed to tell her, “I tried to call Bill, but he wasn’t answering. Thank God you’re all right! But, ah…where’s Eric?”

  A beat passed, then without another word Nago turned and started making a diagonal line toward the bullet car he’d left parked at the front of the house.

  “Halle, are you all right?” her father demanded, chasing after them. “Why aren’t you answering me? If this is about your mother—”

  Nago cut him off right there. “Sir, you need to go pack your bags and be out of our kingdom house by sunset tomorrow.”

  “You can’t threaten me! Halle’s my daughter. And you’ve already signed over the kingdom to her! Halle, where’s Eric?”

  “Dead,” she answered. “He tried to kill me, but Nago killed him first. That was Eric’s plan all along. To kill me, then kill you and pass it off as a challenge fight.”

  Her father’s eyes bugged, his mouth opening and closing like a catfish. “I…I didn’t know. I shouldn’t have trusted him,” he said to Halle, sounding apologetic for once in his life.

  However, the effect was ruined when he glared at Nago immediately after. “But that doesn’t mean you can barge in here and start tossing around orders! Halle’s still my daughter, and I refuse—”

  “Sunrise, Dad,” she said.

  Arnold blinked, “What?”

  “Nago’s a really nice guy. He tried to give you until sunset tomorrow, and you didn’t take it. So now I’m telling you that you need to be out by sunrise.”

  “But…but you’re my daughter! I don’t have any money. And you wouldn’t be that cruel!”

  “Yeah, as it turns out I would. After years of trying to fix all your messes, I’m done. So just be happy you had twelve years to play me for a fool because those days are over now.”

  “But where will I go?” Arnold whined like a little boy, instead of the man who was supposed to have been caring for her all these years.

  “I don’t know, and I don’t care,” she answered frankly. “But Nago and I will be back to check the house—my kingdom house—at sunrise. And if you’re not gone, Nago here is going to kick you out with nothing but the shirt on your back. We’ll give whatever you leave behind to charity.”

  Arnold gasped like he was watching a movie in which some unspeakable crime against humanity had unfolded. “What kind of daughter would do that to her father?” he demanded.

  They had reached the car now, and Halle found she’d lost interest in having this conversation with her father.

  “Okay,” she said to Nago as the car’s winged doors automatically opened for them. “We’re all done here. Ready to get on with our lives?”

  Nago grinned wickedly, even as he set her down like the most precious of jewels on the car seat. “I’ve never been more ready for anything in my life,” he answered.

  They left soon after, the car kicking up gravel as it drove away from the soon-to-be-former King of Mississippi throwing the senior equivalent of a temper tantrum.

  But he might as well have been yelling at the wind.

  Her father was part of her past now, and Halle was done living there—or even looking back. All she cared about was the future. Which she’d be spending with Nago.

  There was a lot of fixing up to do in Nago’s future. Not just kicking Halle’s father out of the kingdom house, but also installing a new beta who wouldn’t be bribed into turning a blind eye by the first megalomaniac who came along.

  There was also the matter of coming up with a plan to install a BiFi tower and signing the executive orders regarding HeatAway and HeatControl.

  Alaska had been given to him fully automated to make billions per year. He had a council he trusted to make most decisions and other than hosting the annual New Year’s Party and Eskimo Games, and he only used the kingdom house as shelter.

  But Nago found himself looking weirdly forward to the challenge of turning around a mange state. And he and Halle excitedly made plans during the trip to Tallahassee.

  But first things first: they needed to get married.

  A few hours after leaving the Mississippi kingdom house, Halle and Nago were legally wed by the King of Florida himself. Of course, because the king had been woken up for the ceremony, Halle and Nago’s official wedding photos would feature them in jeans and the King of Florida in his pajamas—but as Halle put it with one of those smiles that never quite reached her lips, “They’re already gonna think we’re crazy for getting married after all that drama. Why not give them a picture, too?”

  Then proving money really does trump everything, Nago took her to spend their wedding night in the same room of the same Tallahassee hotel where they’d had their first heat night.

  He and his wolf were in full agreement about this. That for Halle, they needed to rewrite what had happened here ten years ago. To apologize and show her how much they worshiped her from the moment they laid eyes on her.

  That night they worked in tandem to make love to her, pushing their she-wolf onto the bed and burying their face between her legs.

  Had they ever wanted anything more? How many nights had they lain awake regretting that they never got to taste her this way? Together they lapped at their female, giving her what she deserved after being made to wait so long for their return.

  And though his wolf’s back went up, arching in pleasure when her hands nestled in his dark curls, it didn’t try to take Nago over. Seemingly content to sit and lap as Halle became more and more agitated around its human’s tongue. Together, they devoured her until she came apart. Until she called his name and begged him to come inside her.

  Nago and his wolf happily granted her wish, pushing her further back on the bed so he could climb on top of her. But when he tried to wrap her leg around his waist, his wolf stopped him. Its need so specific, it spoke to him as opposed to growling in a dark corner of his soul as it usually did.

  Claim her in the way of the wolf, it begged Nago. Make her truly ours.

  After ten years and three heat days of holding himself back, Nago was in complete agreement.

  “Turn over for me, baby,” he said to their mate, flipping her and pulling back on her hips, so she was splayed before him on her knees. Beautiful, they breathed together.

  He worked himself with one hand, testing his wolf to see if he would break. But his wolf stayed patient, calm. Seemingly not wanting to get shoved to the back of Nago’s conscious more than it wanted to take over this claiming.

  If they did this, they would do it together, Nago sensed. And it felt like he was giving his wolf a “good boy” when he finally sunk into Halle’s sex.

  He had to help his wolf then because her feral groan of pleasure nearly made it lose control again. But Nago grounded him in the experience, covering her back so his wolf could feel her, real and alive beneath his chest. Intertwining
his fingers with hers so his wolf would understand. She was precious to them, and shouldn’t be frightened away.

  Or let go.

  His wolf seemed to understand. It settled within Nago and soon lost itself in the experience of being inside Halle, of dominating her, of rutting her with the twin purposes of giving her pleasure and claim.

  But the wolf could only take so much. When she started mewing beneath him, her body bucking against his even as her cunt squeezed down on his cock, his wolf couldn’t hold back any longer.

  It bit into her shoulder, and all gentleness vanished as his body pounded into hers from behind. She screamed out in pleasure—not pain, Nago dimly noted as pressure built in his sac, shooting straight up into his cock until…

  His entire body spasmed as he released into her. His fifth time mating her, and she was no longer in heat. But there seemed to be double the cum this time, everything spilling out of him…his seed, his heart, his love—everything he was, he gave to her then.

  And to Nago’s surprise, his wolf released her from its bite. Wanting her mouth, wanting to feel every part of her against every part of him as he gave her its seed.

  She passionately returned the kiss, thrilling both the wolf and the man. But that passion soon turned into a scream as she started to come again. The wolf didn’t care. It continued to kiss her as she screamed. Guiding her through the storm and providing her with safe harbor until her body stopped bucking.

  And that’s when Nago’s wolf knew as Nago’s human had never stopped knowing that Halle was his. And forever his she would remain.

  “Halle?” he said, as they lay together in the dark.

  “Hmm?”

  “That story you started telling me at the cabin. About the Native American and the runaway slave in his magnolia tree? Can you tell me the rest now? I want to know how it ends.”

  Nago didn’t have to see his new bride in the dark to know her face wore an almost-smile as she said, “Sure,” and launched into the rest of the tale.

  31

  Mississippi 1847

  Maggie “Magnolia” Nashoba had grown to love her Indian husband, Joseph Nashoba, over the years. But not so very much that night.

  A full moon shone through the window of their cabin, and she could hear the howls of their four wolf children as she tried to push yet another child out of her crevice.

  They were married, her and the Indian. Not by state official, but in the eyes of her Lord. The pack preacher had come out to the farm and performed the ceremony for them at the magnolia tree. Joseph had said his Indian name then, and they’d taken it as a last name so the preacher could have something to write in his registry.

  Now their marriage had gone on near ten years, and it was known throughout Wolf Hills to be particularly blessed. None of the other wolves in this kingdom town had more than three children. But in ten years of marriage, she was on her fifth child. The fourth pregnancy had made the town paper. This fifth one had people coming out to the farm just to take a look.

  A rumor started that Joseph’s whiskey would bless a male wolf with many children. For Joseph had not only turned his she-wolf and mated her but also seeded her five times. And so his “wolf whiskey” started selling faster than hotcakes each full moon night after the fifth pregnancy was announced. He had to rent the next farm over to expand his field and make room for a bigger distillery.

  Hardly anyone knew Joseph did not drink his whiskey, or that even if he did, the union between the left-behind Indian and the runaway slave came down to more than potions.

  For while Joseph might have seeded her five times, the fact was Maggie had gone into heat five times. And if that was not a testament to the deep and abiding affection they felt for each other, she didn’t know what was.

  But this birth was unusual. The first baby born on a full moon night. Maggie had trained the ten- and eight-year-old to help tend to her, but both had been taken away by the moon, as had the midwife who might have come to assist. Though she never been needed before. Not until now. And though Joseph remained at Maggie’s side, he became quieter and quieter as the night went on.

  The baby was taking a long time to come. Too long. At the beginning of her labor, Maggie had been hot and pained. But now the sweat had dried on her forehead, and she shivered as her pushes got weaker and weaker.

  Her mind was like a field of cotton, and she was beginning to have a hard time responding to her body’s painful call to push. As the evening pressed on, Joseph began to chant. The language sounded ancient—from a time long ago like the songs some of the boat slaves had sung in their strange tongues before the other slaves introduced them to the songs of Jesus.

  Maggie had a sense he was praying to his gods and used some of her remaining strength to open her eyes. She found him at the stove, putting something together in a pot. She closed her eyes again. Confused, but too weak to ask questions.

  In what could have been minutes or hours later, Joseph’s tin cup bumped against her lips. And something foul sloshed into her mouth. It tasted of moss and weeds and mud. She would have spit it out, but he tilted her head back, sending it down her throat before she could think to do anything but swallow.

  “What was that???” she croaked.

  “You must drink all of it,” he answered in grim tones. “For the pain.”

  Again, he brooked no argument. Her usually gentle husband grabbed her by the hair and tipped her head back, forcibly keeping the liquid there, so she had no choice. It was either swallow or choke.

  He did not let her go until the cup was empty. And then he went to the bottom of the bed and stood there.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “Waiting,” he answered

  Waiting for what, she wondered. But then he morphed before her eyes, his head becoming that of a hawk. The same as the one that carried off one of their chickens last winter. “You are a wolf,” she said. “Why do you have a hawk’s head?”

  In response, he reached between her legs and pulled, and despite the strong medicine he’d given her, it hurt beyond any pain she’d ever known, including the whip. The back of her head hit the pillow as she screamed in agony before passing out.

  The baby boy had been turned round feet first. A dangerous position for him and his mother.

  But when she awoke the next morning, she found herself under freshly laundered covers, the ten-year-old walking the floor with the wailing baby.

  “Give him here,” she said to the girl, reaching out on sleepy instinct.

  “Oh, Mama, you’re awake. Thank the skies. I didn’t know what to do.”

  But Maggie did. She took the squalling baby to her breast and nursed it to peace. She’d seen the sadness of babies left behind by mothers after childbirth in both the human world and this one. But happily today, this boy would not be one of them.

  She slept on and off for the next few days. But soon needs had to be met.

  Joseph offered to send their oldest daughter to the river to fetch water and heat it up in the tub.

  But Maggie found she did not want a hot bath on a hot summer’s day. “Can you help me walk to the river?” she asked him.

  They bathed together, mother and son, while Joseph stood on the river bank keeping a close eye. This would be her last baby, she sensed. Their time of heat and miracles were done. But as she cleaned the both of them off in the river, she couldn’t be sad.

  She looked to the magnolia tree and stopped, crooking her head. For a moment, the sun shone funny in her eyes, and she saw three brothers in strangely cut white suits waiting on three brides. Their little farm would be filled with chairs and people. More chairs than any Indian could ever hope to build in one lifetime. There would be happiness here on that day. Love even brighter than the one she and the Indian shared.

  Visions like these would visit her for the rest of her days. And at one point the Indian would apologize, telling her this was why, among his people, the medicine he’d given her was never given during childbirth
. But Maggie did not mind the visions. Especially those that told of freedom and change and better things to come.

  And anyhow, the visions only crossed her path for a tick or two before fading back into the sun.

  “I think his bible name should be Moses,” Maggie said as her husband in the eyes of the Lord helped her step back onto their small patch of glory.

  “This is a good name for a full moon baby,” Joseph agreed with a nod. “Being born on such a night means he will go on to become a great leader.”

  Which Moses Nashoba Nowamalata, or as the lupine history professors call him, Wolf Walking Bright, did.

  But that is another story for another time.

  THE END

  Dearest Reader,

  I almost didn’t write this letter, because I am so sad to let go of these characters. Nago has been my secret favorite Nightwolf triplet since Wolf and Prejudice (ssh! Don’t tell Knud and Rafes), and he waited super patiently for me to tell his story. I mean, this dude was even cool when I told him Fensa had to go first. What a sweetie! I’m so glad he and the plucky Handy Princess figured out how to be happy together—even if he no longer looks like a gummi bear.

  But the real surprise of this story for me was Joseph and Maggie. When I first realized that HER VIKING WOLF would spawn more stories, the one thing I didn’t want to write was any type of slave narrative. Having grown up on them as a near exclusive example of African-American history, it was important to me to tell stories about black women that had nothing to do with one of the darkest periods of American history. However, this story was just “there” one day. It hit me like a freight train a couple of weeks before I was slated to start work on the Nago romance, and by the time I began to outline the book, everyone, including Nago, was in agreement. For whatever reason, this story just HAD to be part of this book.