by Zoey Daniels
Whenever that happened, the smaller wolf had to rush to keep up. Hard as hell to keep a straight face, yes ma’am. Harder still not to linger on the images left behind in her mind’s eye of the bare male bodies she only saw snatches of as the wolves -- men -- ran through the wheat. Long, firmly muscled legs; sleek hips, strong chests and broad shoulders. Mischievous smiles and a flash of knowing eyes.
No hardship for Lainey if they chose to run naked. Must have left those clothes behind them in town, and no doubt they’d been borrowed off some unguarded clothesline anyway.
Yes ma’am, Lainey thought, enjoying the view. Naked suits them well.
It would have been hardest of all to ignore the growing heat in Lainey’s belly, or the liquid warmth wetting her cunt. There were prettier words for a woman’s parts, but she’d never cared for them. Besides, “cunt” fit. This was a plain world with plain rules… and there was a certain wildness to the word that she liked.
She expected the wolves would like it, too, once they understood the subtleties of the language.
Still. The more Lainey watched, and the more familiar she grew with their musky, rangy scent as they followed her cart, the slicker her thighs grew. These two were a treat, and a woman who worked hard as she did had the right to play hard.
But she wanted to play it right, so she said nothing, and didn’t look at the wolves straight on. Except, that was, for when one pounced out of the weeds and nipped a few inches away from her good steady mare. Didn’t bother the mare much; she snorted and kicked.
Lainey took a different approach. She pulled her wagon to a halt and stared at the wheat fields where the wolf had gamboled back in. “None of that,” she said, “Or you can just go home. Understand?”
She’d heard a quiet wolf whine, followed by a flash of white teeth. Chuckling silently to herself, she clicked her tongue to urge the wagon forward. There. They knew for sure now how far to push her.
And they wouldn’t be put off with a sharp word; something more to like them for. They followed still, just far enough distance not to tease her mare, but to play plenty with Lainey.
So beautiful, she thought. Wild and free and full of the same sort of boundless appreciation for a woman as Leman itself, opening its arms wide to let in the women that it treated kindly. Lovely as wolves, and breathtaking as men.
The tips of Lainey’s breasts ached, her nipples hard, but constrained under the leather vest she wore. She didn’t mind. A little pain -- a little, on her own terms -- with her pleasure made the growing need in her cunt a pleasure and made her shiver with excitement.
Could they smell her? Oh yes, Lainey thought, for sure they could. She saw them in man shape more and more as her arousal grew hotter than the sun. Yet she was like embers, too. Banked for now but with a little fuel, she’d burst into flame.
When the time was right.
It’d reached nearly full dark by the time Lainey’s cabin hove into view. Lainey lifted her eyebrow to see the wolves hanging back then, not disappointed, but plenty intrigued. Now what did those two have in mind?
They gave her plenty enough time to consider it, too. Made her wait and wonder while she brushed and curried her mare, and secured her in the barn with a net full of wheat straw and a handful of oats to munch on. Lingered long enough to get her impatient and amused as all hell wondering what they were up to.
Clever, clever wolves, putting the shoe on the other foot, weren’t they?
She wasn’t surprised -- pleased, but not surprised -- to see the pair of wolves sitting at either side of the broad, shallow wooden steps that led to her front door. Guarding it like some sort of temple dogs.
“Don’t you get cute,” she told the wolf who’d dropped two sets of clothes beside him and panted at her, muzzle open in a broad canine grin.
His companion put one paw on the steps, and stopped right quick when Lainey shot him a stern look over her shoulder. The other whined, sounding curious, and tried his luck.
Lainey reached the top of the steps and turned, hands on her hips but not in anger, the wide spread of her fingers displaying her curves and all ten of them pointing toward her womanhood. Tempting them even as she played the game.
“I am not that easily won,” she told the wolves. Mostly, by now, it wasn’t true, and she knew they knew, but partly it was the truth and they needed to know she wasn’t going to give in as easy as falling off a log. That was no fun.
The smaller wolf wrinkled his muzzle; the larger wolf sat up straight and barked.
“You’ll see,” Lainey told them. “Stay outside. I’ll let you know when I’m good and ready.”
Bolder than his companion, the larger wolf bounded up the stairs to butt Lainey’s legs with his head. He lapped at her hand, inviting her to scratch behind his ears, then turned around as quickly as he’d come to bound off into the wheat stalks.
Lainey couldn’t hold back the laugh any longer as the pair of wolves romped away. She stretched her arms over her head, reaching for the setting sun and the waxing shapes of Leman’s moons.
Call it instinct, but she had a feeling that this night was going to be one of the best of her life.
* * *
Homesteader’s law allowed Lainey to claim a cabin that’d been left behind. She supposed those who made the laws thought it was a joke. A little more indulgence of the women, and, she suspected, their way of discouraging those who might show them up.
To be sure, the little cabin Lainey took for her own had been in bad shape. And? she’d asked, looking up at it. Nothing hard work can’t fix. She’d show them, and shown them she had. The hands she’d once kept so soft were roughened now from hard work and she’d tanned herself a deep brown, but never burned under Leman’s sun.
Anyone who looked at Lainey’s cabin might think it shoddy, unless they looked a second time, and looked inside, and seen it in good-as-new shape. No, better than new. Lived in, and lived in well. Comfortable. Inviting. Like the world itself, these homey pine walls stained a warm dark hue seemed to enfold themselves around those who appreciated it.
Lainey ran her hand down the walls of the front room, feeling the roughness of the wood beneath the firmness of her flesh, soaking up the sturdy pleasure of being here, savoring the thought of what was sure to come.
Too bad she hadn’t brought in the tin washtub, but she had a smaller basin, a fresh dried sea sponge, and gentle soap made from saponin-rich flowers she’d harvested herself. She had a kettle big enough to fill the basin with hot water, and in two shakes she’d have a fire to place that over.
She had other things, too. A soft crimson pillow to kneel on. A scarlet robe that caressed her bare skin when she shed her dusty work clothes. A ribbon to bind up her hair with and bare her shoulders.
Lainey had been a successful courtesan -- successful enough to buy her way. She was the best, and not ashamed to admit it. She didn’t know if the wolves who were men would appreciate a show, but she did love to give one. It pleased her, if no one else, and she wanted to draw out the anticipation just a little more. Long enough to drive them all half mad with waiting and wanting.
As she settled before the newly kindled hearth and waited for water to warm in the kettle, Lainey tipped her head to listen for signs of activity from the outside world. She thought… yes, there… she heard soft scuffling on her porch, the sound of tough paw pads on wood. Wolves sneaking to the one good glass window her home boasted and jostling for space to peek in.
Nowhere near as subtle in their spying as they’d like to think they were, were they? The thought made Lainey’s smile soften and made her shiver with another peak of anticipation.
The water took its sweet time to heat, but once Lainey poured it into the basin over the shredded soapbark, she was satisfied it’d been worth the wait. Curls of steam warmed her cheeks, the fragrance vaguely like chamomile and fresh-mown hay. Natural and gentle, no frou-frou about it, but feminine all the same.
It was pure pleasure for Lainey to let the crimson ro
be slide off her shoulders to pool around her waist and to run the sponge over her breasts. Posed as she was, mostly in profile with her back turned to the window, the wolves wouldn’t be able to see more than a hint of the fullness of her breasts and the supple flex of limbs.
Lainey tipped her head back and ran the sponge along her throat, then raised her arm to skate the sponge down her smooth flesh. She might be closer to forty than thirty, but age mattered not a bit when a woman knew how to use her charms -- knew, and enjoyed to the fullest.
A small wuff! outside made her laugh.
“You wait your turn,” she murmured. She drew the sponge in a line down her belly, trailing fragrant soapsuds in its wake, and turned to look over her shoulder at the wolves framed in her front window. Lingering there, she smoothed the sponge down one shoulder and the tops of her breasts.
Oh yes. Want. No less recognizable from wolfen eyes than from a man’s, because while these might be wolves they had a man’s intelligence, a man’s needs, and a man’s desires.
Just as Lainey had a woman’s.
She closed her eyes in pleasure and basked in the still warmth of the night that embraced her, the beads of water that ran down her skin, and the quiet crackling of the fire. Imagined the press of lips to her body, the touch of a worthy man’s hands, and the stroke of his tongue, wherever he and she pleased. The daydreaming made her breasts ache and her cunt slick, eager for the wolves who were men. Who would take her first? It’d be fun, finding out.
You wait your turn, she’d said, and she’d meant it.
But she wouldn’t make them wait too long.
* * *
Lainey settled the robe back over her shoulders. Her skin was still damp from the bath, but she’d dry, and she rather liked the way the fabric clung to her now, displaying her breasts, her hard nipples, and the curve of her waist.
It’d gone silent outside. Surely they hadn’t gone. Lainey hadn’t known them for a day, but she was certain the wolves wouldn’t grow bored and lope away. She’d retired because she wanted to, not because she’d lost her ability to hold a man’s attention.
She padded barefooted to the window and laid her palm against the glass. Outside, two of Leman’s three moons shone bright as chips of ice. They waxed toward full in a sky of black velvet sprinkled with diamond stars -- a sky that looked as lush and rich in its darkness as a panther’s pelt. Below it, her fields spread out as far as the eye could see even in this cool night’s light. Wheat, left to grow wild, not harvested for two years or more, coming back from seed and sweeping out in an ocean of gold.
Yet amongst all those riches, she saw no wolves.
Then she heard a rustle. A growl. Playful barks and the rustling rush of a chase through the tall stalks of gold. Lainey chuckled. “All right. You made me look. Rascals, both of you.”
She didn’t mind. Not as long as she could take her fill of watching them, and Lainey could see them more clearly now, tumbling through the tall wheat grass as if they were puppies. They didn’t look alike as wolves any more than they had as men, one long and sturdy and silver-black, one almost russet and smaller, but lean and wiry, tough as nails, like the man, she’d bet.
Were there more to their pack? Doubtful. Lone wolves, she’d say. A pair of outcasts who’d joined together to make a pack of their own. Maybe for more than one reason. Every now and again, after one or the other scored a point, Lainey could see affection in the way the one comforted the other, then nipped his flank to get him back in the chase.
Once, when they stood in a mostly bare spot of soft earth, illuminated by moonlight, she saw the russet wolf licking and biting at the muzzle of the silver-black wolf.
If they were men, they’d be wrapped about one another and taking their time with a hard, sweet kiss. Lainey hummed, well pleased. Most men she’d known pretended to scorn those who loved their own sex as well as the other. Most of those men had been denying desires of their own.
How good it was to see two souls enjoying themselves as they liked, with no one to tell them no, that’s not right. How fine to watch them play. How exciting to see the way they cared for each other. Wanted each other.
Lainey slid her hand between her thighs and stroked the soft curls over her cunt. Only teasing, still. Drawing it out. What folks didn’t know about this world, abandoned by all who weren’t tough enough to take it, could fill a book.
The wolves raced halfway to the house before the russet jumped the larger wolf and rolled him over. They leapt away and faced off, growling as playfully as puppies and cuter than they had any right to be -- and knowing it, too.
“Got tired of waiting, I expect. Now you’re trying to get me to come out and play, aren’t you?” Lainey murmured, stroking the smooth coolness of the window glass.
As if he’d heard, and understood, the larger of the wolves lifted his head and howled. He danced a few steps forward, then back. He couldn’t have invited her more clearly if he’d projected words clear into her head: Yes, yes; come play with us. Run with us.
Mate with us.
Lainey stroked the heavy neckline of her crimson robe. The tips of her breasts strained against the softness that restrained them; the weight of the velvet molded itself along the warmth of her body, and an ache deepened between her legs that would have made Lainey’s mind up for her if she hadn’t already chosen her course.
She smiled broadly, savoring the sight of the wild wolves -- the men who’d claimed her -- cavorting on the land she’d claimed. These were wild wolves, to be sure, but they wouldn’t hurt her. She’d stake her life on it.
Afraid? No. Excited? Oh God, yes…
Lainey stepped away from the window, ready -- more than ready now -- to take pity on them, and on herself. She made it three steps toward the door before she heard something new -- the scream of a bobcat, not five feet from her porch. A true wild beast, enraged, and on the hunt…
Chapter Three
Pure instinct had Lainey dropping the robe and pulling the rifle down from the wall. She’d heard that bobcat before, and never without something living around her place suffering for his presence. Last time she’d shot at him, he’d nearly gone for her.
That bobcat made her uncomfortable, the way the men who’d been here before her were discomfited by the wolves. An icy chill tickled the back of her neck, but it was chased away right fast by anger.
Nothing came on her land without her say-so, damn it!
She’d practiced enough that the rifle felt natural in her grasp, and she could run without shooting herself or the walls. Not as good as a pistol. Why hadn’t she brought in her goods to keep them safe, or at least the sturdy shotgun she’d bought? Lainey swore at herself and pressed her shoulders flat to the wall by the side of the door. Open it and shoot --
A bark that made her ears hurt worse than a shotgun blast ripped apart the still of the night. Startled Lainey enough to pull her out of her stance and look head on out the door.
What she saw made her laugh. Then, made her proud. The shorter and stockier of her two wolves -- yes, she’d started thinking of them as hers -- stood foursquare in front of the steps, snarling in a low growl so deep it vibrated through Lainey’s bones. The taller, leaner wolf had come to a stop at the boundary where clear space ended and the overgrown wheat fields began. Through a trick of the moonlight, Lainey could see him clearly, his teeth bared and his ears flat.
That was a fine thing, but finer still was the sound of a bobcat’s retreat through tall grass. It stopped every now and again to voice a challenge, but by the Lords it kept going until Lainey could barely hear the rapid rustling of wheat stalks.
The russet wolf closer to Lainey sneezed and shook himself like an ordinary dog. It swung halfway about to check on her and stopped, cocking his head to eye her in her nakedness with an all too human-like -- and extremely male -- interest.
Lainey didn’t try to hide her amused smile -- or put down the gun, though she did point it away from her wolf. “Get this finished first,”
she told her wolf. “Finish one thing before you start another.”
The russet wolf sneezed again and wagged his tail. He faced forward and barked, loud, short and sharp, aimed at the bigger wolf. Well. Lainey didn’t have to guess what he might be saying, and she didn’t feel inclined to waste time questioning how he understood her or they understood each other.
Nor did she think that bobcat would be bothering her again.
Out by the wheat fields, her tall wolf shook himself from shoulders to haunches. Lainey frowned. Was that a streak of blood on his foreleg? “That damn cat got a bite of him,” she said, thinking twice about putting down her rifle.
The russet wolf swung around to trot up the steps as free as he pleased; well, Lainey supposed he’d earned it. She rested her hand atop his head, finding his pelt to be both soft and scratchy at once. Reminded her of a man’s whiskers when he hadn’t shaved for two or three days. Neither beard nor stubble, kinder and more exciting against a lover’s skin.
“All right,” she murmured to her russet wolf, hanging the rifle back in its place. “I won’t shoot. You feel like telling me why? I wouldn’t hit him.”
The russet wolf wrinkled his muzzle. He took her hand in his mouth, so gently and so quickly she felt the light pressure of his teeth before she’d known he was moving at all.
Lainey held very still. “If you try it, I will shoot you.”
The russet wolf sighed. He let go of her hand and nudged her hip, guiding her to look out at the taller wolf. The taller wolf ignored them save for one quick peek back. He barked at the wheat fields. And stay out! Made Lainey laugh.
The taller wolf wagged his tail once, twice, three times, and took off running, making a full circuit of the perimeter, and around the house. If the bobcat had bitten him, he didn’t seem to be bothered, but Lainey could tell for sure he was marking his scent all around the boundaries of her home.
Well now. Lainey had to watch, and as she did her pleasure grew, as did her smile. Rosemary had been right. They’d protect her.