Werelord Thal: A Renaissance Werewolf Tale

by Tracy Falbe

  In the morning everyone awoke to him cleaning another deer. The bloody puncture holes where his hefty jaws had crushed its windpipe were bright upon its neck. Pistol wagged his tail approvingly.

  When Altea went back inside, Thal said, “Mileko, take this deer to trade for supplies for our journey. We’ll leave when you get back.”

  “Very good,” Mileko said, looking the closest to happy that anyone had seen him.

  “Regis, Raphael, and Carlo will go with you,” Thal said.

  “Why?” Mileko demanded, glancing unhappily at the musicians.

  “So you can get them a drink,” Thal said, and his friends heartily approved.

  “They will attract attention,” Mileko argued.

  “Then make sure they’re not memorable,” Thal said with a meaningful look.

  “We’ll be good,” Raphael said and Carlo nodded.

  Regis had easily guessed that Thal’s motives went beyond merely getting him a mug of beer. “Mileko, don’t be dense. Our friend Thal needs some time alone with his lady,” he whispered and winked at Thal.

  Thal hated the thought that he might be blushing and maintained a stern glower. He cut off some meat for them to cook.

  When they shared a meal Thal handed Altea pieces of roast that he cut for her. With both hands and some creative finger placement she was able to feed herself now.

  His friends cheerfully helped Mileko pack the deer carcass onto his horse and hustled him out of camp. Altea was surprised when she saw them all go.

  Thal’s back was to her. He was banking their fire so it could be saved for later. When he brushed off his hands and turned, her nervous excitement reflected his own.

  “Do you feel well enough for a walk today?” he asked.

  She could only nod. He approached her and carefully took her hands into his.

  “I want you with me always,” he said.

  “Sometimes I think your mother’s magic has bound us,” she said.

  “I doubt she had matchmaking on her mind when she recalled me from the forest. It’s your magic that claims me,” he said.

  She hugged him, and he kissed her. Warm arousal thawed the restraint that had kept them apart.

  “Come with me,” he said.

  Arm in arm they strolled. Thal took her into a grove of trees where the air was especially cool. At its heart a great and gnarled tree much thicker than the others pushed past the canopy with a glorious green crown that overlooked the other trees. Its roots bulged and twisted in every direction and heaps of old leaves made soft beds around its mossy feet.

  Thal spread his wolf fur upon the leaves and drew Altea down on it. She leaned back against the soft fur with Thal beside her. Their mouths met and they descended into the joyous place where their cravings could be satisfied.

  Thal caressed her face and breasts and loosened her clothing. He ran his hand through her long hair while kissing her neck. She moaned and ran her crippled hands down his arms. Her squirming body beckoned him with needy lust, and he felt ready to burst out of his pants.

  Gasping, he pulled away from her and moved back onto his knees. He took her foot and pulled off a shoe and then he removed her other shoe. Altea watched him with dilated eyes as he ran a hand up her leg underneath her skirt and began to draw down a stocking. The gentle slide of his fingers down her bare leg made her shiver with anticipation. Every new place he touched made her want to know more of what he could do.

  After both stockings were off, his strong hands moved up her thighs and pushed her skirt up all the way. His caresses lingered on the tender softness of her inner thighs. She arched her back. Her slack-faced willingness invited him to claim the prize his body demanded.

  He rubbed a palm upon her pubic area. The coarse curly hairs beneath the thin fabric welcomed him to her secret place. His thumb slid into her warm crevice. He smiled at her sweet high pitched cry and soon felt moisture in her underclothes. He drew them off and then lay beside her again and unlaced her shirt. When he took it off her, he was mindful of her delicate thumbs as he pulled her hands through the sleeves.

  The bindings on her chest came off next. Significant bruising remained but was much lighter. On both sides of her body dots of fresh red scars started at her shoulders and ran down to her thighs. Thal nuzzled the bounty of her breasts and spent time drawing each nipple into his mouth. Her gasps and sighs were musical. He wanted each peak of pleasure to be an apology for the pain he had caused, but it was more than that. He wanted to honor her. She deserved this gentle invitation to ecstasy and so did he. Everyone did.

  Awkwardly with her injured hands she pulled him back to her lips. Thal shoved her skirt off. She kicked away the tangle of fabric and tugged at his clothes.

  He stood up and unfastened his clothing himself, knowing it would be painful to make her fumble with it.

  The light in her hungry eyes was hard to interpret when his erection popped out of his dropping pants. She was both afraid and impatient. Thal fell to his knees and pulled her legs around his hips. The scent of her helpless excitement demanded that he express all his male passion.

  Careful not to put his weight upon her torso he slowly penetrated her. Altea was tense and tight and trembling but he inexorably pressed himself inside her.

  His groaning deepened as she enveloped him completely. He had never felt so safe and free of care. In tandem they moved against each other and discovered the nuanced inner pleasures of their new connection. Their mutual momentum accelerated until Thal was thrusting at her rapidly.

  She cried out and he paused, fearing he was hurting her. But she quickly shook her head. “It doesn’t hurt,” she encouraged, and he resumed. He found a rhythm that made her cry out many times until he could concentrate no more. He leaned back so that he would not accidently press down on her and then gave into the primal demands of his lust. Her squeals goaded their ecstasy until Thal gasped at his finale.

  The pleasure erased his cares for a timeless moment. As his body pulsed inside her throbbing hot wetness he crushed his mouth against her, grateful for her physical generosity.

  Finally they separated. His head was on the fur next to hers. They petted each other’s naked bodies while catching their breaths.

  Altea eventually broke their adoring silence. “You didn’t ruin my life for this is the most beautiful and alive I have ever felt,” she said.

  He smiled, sharing in the sentiment. “I’m so happy you’re with me. I need you,” he said.

  Altea had never felt needed before. She pressed her face into his chest and kissed his hard pectoral. A thin sheen of cooling sweat vented his inner fire.

  “We have a long road ahead. There will be dangers,” he warned.

  “You will protect me,” she said with great trust.

  Thal took her chin. “Yes, but I must also teach you to protect yourself,” he said.

  The notion excited her. The world had damned her but the blessing of heretofore forbidden possibilities awaited her.

  They returned to lovemaking. The comfort and pleasure of their safe union made their lives new again. The fear and violence that had brought them to this place were diminished by the trust and kindness nurtured by their shared ecstasy.

  In the cool shade they napped until a green acorn fell from high up and hit Thal’s thigh.

  “Ow!” he cried and picked up the nut.

  Altea awoke and said, “It’s a good sign. Something good will grow from our joining.”

  He tucked the acorn into a pocket of her rumpled skirt. “Keep this to remember this day. Mayhap you shall have a home again where you can plant it,” he said.

  His words made her think of the home she had lost. Her chest of finely crafted linens had been packed with false hopes and was gone forever. She tried not to think about her beloved handiwork that would never furnish her home.

  “I have nothing to give you,” she lamented.

  “You give me everything. Your love reminds me of what is good in humanity. Too often does br
utish greed and hateful killing lure a man to bad deeds,” Thal said.

  “You killed for me,” she pointed out.

  Thal did not like that fact. He sat up and reached for his shirt. “You were put in that cage by cruel men meaning to make others cruel,” he said. Standing up, he pulled up his pants. “We must be vigilant to avoid such traps,” he added.

  “How will you not get caught when we travel?” she worried.

  “The musicians attract the most attention, and people want to like me. We’ve done this before. Plus Mileko has skills that I don’t fully understand but he will help us. My father has sent him for this purpose,” Thal explained.

  “And what will people see in me? A harlot?” she asked.

  “No!” Thal said. He helped her stand up. “People will see my wife.”

  To his dismay, she shook her head. “No priest will do the ceremony,” she lamented.

  He pitied her shame that she could not avoid because of her upbringing. Drawing her close, he gestured around the grove of trees. “Is not your God’s creation the finest temple? Did we not join here in joy? I need only your consent and true acceptance to be bound to you. This I promise,” he said.

  In Thal’s world she was not judged for indulging in the physical expression of her heart. Perhaps he gave her more than she had lost. “And I shall call you husband,” she said.

  Their gentle kiss finished their ceremony. And supported by the courage of the other they set forth upon the road to the castle of Sarputeen.

  ******

  Thank you for reading Werelord Thal: A Renaissance Werewolf Tale. Your enthusiasm for my fiction has helped me earn my way in the world. Please tell other people about my novels and leave ratings and reviews online.

  Journey of the Hunted: Werewolves in the Renaissance Book 2

  Good news! Werelord Thal has launched the Werewolves in the Renaissance series. It continues in Journey of the Hunted: Werewolves in the Renaissance 2.

  Releasing November 8, 2014

  Return to the dangerous world of the 16th century Holy Roman Empire and join Thal and Altea as they make a desperate attempt to reach Sarputeen. He lives in the castle Vlkbohveza, but Thal must cross Bohemia and Moravia to reach his father in the remnants of the Kingdom of Hungary. But more than the rising price on Thal’s head threatens him. Tekax, a rival sorcerer to Sarputeen, now knows of Thal’s existence and will do anything to stop him from reaching his father, even if it means working the darkest sorcery and creating an undying fext immune to werewolves.

  Special Offer

  Look for the preorder special on Journey of the Hunted at your favorite retailer. Preorder it now for automatic delivery on November 8.

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  Excerpt from Journey of the Hunted

  The group continued. The banter of Carlo and Raphael subsided and everyone walked in thoughtful silence until Thal suddenly burst into a run and shouted, “Pistol, no!”

  The small brown and white dog trotted back into the road. Fresh dirt coated his nose and paws. He went obediently to his master’s heels and they waited for the others to catch up.

  “What is it?” Regis asked as he arrived first.

  Thal pointed into the tall grass. The trees were few in this spot. Timber had been harvested in recent years. Among the stumps was a mound of soil with a crude wooden cross stuck in it. The green sprouts on the grave were still small, attesting to its recent digging. Thal could detect a whiff of dead flesh. Pistol had only begun to disturb the burial and Thal was glad that nothing had been uncovered.

  Carlo and Raphael regarded the grave sadly.

  “I wonder who it could’ve been?” Raphael murmured.

  “A suicide maybe?” Carlo whispered. Such a one would not have been allowed to be buried in a consecrated churchyard.

  Mileko came up leading the horse. His dark hood shaded his eyes from the bright sun. The cowl accentuated his long nose that protruded above his thin mouth.

  “It is likely that someone simply died on their journey and their companions had little choice but to bury him,” he said. He was not spooked by the grave like the musicians, who seemed to feel everything and see a story everywhere.

  Altea from her vantage point higher on the horse had a good view of the lonely burial.

  “The grave is small,” she observed, and imagined the dead child. Out of habit she raised her hand to cross herself, but then aborted the action.

  She looked away from the grave and saw that Thal was watching her.

  “Let’s not linger here,” Thal said. “A village is not far and I’m looking forward to hearing Regis sing for our supper.”

  His cheerful comment was forced, but he did not want his companions to see this fresh grave as a bad omen for their journey. Death was in all places. A wolf knew that well and did not fret over it.

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  I have also written eight other fantasy novels set in the magical world of the rys. For epic adventure please read The Rys Chronicles or Rys Rising series. You can get free ebook samples from these series at my website. To ask a question or send me a comment about my fiction, you can contact me at www.braveluck.com.

  I’ll be busy writing more novels.

  Excerpt from Rys Rising: Book I

  With polite humility, he asked her only to remove the remainder of his tattoos. He said nothing as Onja worked on his skin. Gendahl paid attention to the sensation of having her magic touch him. She was blocking the pain as she burned the pigments bit by bit from his flesh, and then healed the skin as she went. The stags with their blue antlers gradually disappeared, and Gendahl forced himself to accept the end of his old life. It was the only way he could even attempt to go on. Gendahl could not be forgiven.

  A breeze stirred and it was cool against his sweaty skin. He stared at his hands. The absence of his tattoos made him feel different. When his skin was tattooed, he had been only a small boy, and the painful task was one of his earliest memories.

  This is my earliest memory of my new life, he thought.

  With Onja’s firm slender fingers massaging his hands, Gendahl wondered if it had been the will of Jayshem, the God and creator of Gyhwen, that he experience a life other than being Lord of the Lin Tohs.

  “Does it comfort you to think that your God willed your suffering and loss?” she asked.

  Taken aback by her knowledge of his thoughts, Gendahl pulled his hands away. “What else can I think?” he asked back.

  She lifted her eyebrows thoughtfully. The slight stretching of her eyelids sharpened the beauty of her features. His answer intrigued her greatly.

  To change the subject, Gendahl examined his hands and thanked her. “I could not go on with my lord-born markings. I am lord-born no more,” he announced.

  “You are still what you were, Gendahl,” Onja contradicted. “Tattoos did not make you a lord.”

  “But they showed others what I was. I am something new now, but I know not what,” he said.

  “You are Gendahl, my friend,” Onja said, and she smiled.

  Her smile seemed to reveal a vulnerability that he would not have expected from her. She was alone as well.

  “Your friend,” he said although he had no smile to give. “But call me Gendahl no more. I am Amar.”

  “Amar,” she said and liked the name.

  “I must go,” he said. He scanned the trees, rocks, waters, and mountains around him. Onja’s presence enchanted the landscape and made it more beautiful. It was a good place to die and to be born. “Back to the world of men,” he added.

  Onja nodded with understanding. The time would come when she would go back to her kind as well. “If you want my help before I go back to Jingten, I will be here until the day equals the night,” she
said, still hoping that he would make a request of her.

  “Thank you, Onja,” he said and stood up.

  Onja reached into his pile of gear and pulled forth his weapon. Proffering it, she said, “Your sword, Amar.”

  Receiving the weapon from her opened a door in his mind, but he did not yet dare to look inside. He was not ready to receive any knowledge from this awesome being. As he took the sword from Onja and strapped it over his shoulder, he looked into her eyes that sparkled with powers to which no man could aspire. He would miss her.

  Amar said, “I start a new life today. It is not a life I want, but perhaps if I keep living, the path to vengeance will present itself.” He decided that he needed this goal to keep going. He would view his smashed domain and take to the bandit life, and he would look for a way someday to hurt the Patharki and Ginjor Rib.

  He parted from Onja without any more words. Planning to follow the stream through the hills, Amar walked away along the bank. When he turned back, Onja lifted a hand in farewell and he waved back to her. Onja sensed among his many harsh emotions his sadness at leaving her. It was good to have a friend.

  You shall have your vengeance, she thought.

  ******

  For a free ebook of Rys Rising: Book I please visit www.braveluck.com.

  You can also find any of my novels at your favorite online ebook retailer.

  Best wishes and thank you for reading.

  Sincerely, Tracy Falbe

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