Heart of the Wolf

by Saranne Dawson

  As they found a place from which they could watch Rina and the others perform, she commented to Daken on her observations.

  "It seems that the warrior blood in the Kassid has been awakened. I confess that I am rather surprised at that myself.”

  “But you don’t share it?” she asked.

  He shook his head. "I am still a reluctant warrior. But I will do what must be done."

  As the musicians and Rina’s troupe arranged themselves, Jocelyn thought about a conversation she’d had with Hammad prior to her departure. He had expressed those same sentiments. When she'd questioned how it was that the commander of the army could be so reluctant to go to war, he had told her in his blunt manner that that was as it should be. "A commander who wants to go to war is a very dangerous man,” Hammad had said.

  He and Daken will like each other, she thought. If only they could be meeting under better circumstances.

  Then the music began, and Jocelyn put all thoughts of war from her mind. After the solemn music of the previous night, she hadn’t quite known what to expect. But the Great Hall was filled with the sounds of pure joy. Some of the instruments were familiar to her, but others were strange and intriguing. It was the music of a people who loved life, and perhaps for the first time, Jocelyn did not feel that differentness that had so often troubled her.

  When Rina and her fellow dancers began their performance, the music died down to mere background accompaniment, and the sounds that filled the hall were the rhythmic tappings of many feet. Jocelyn had already seen the strange shoes with their thick soles and pieces of iron nailed on. She’d thought they couldn't possibly dance in such clumsy looking shoes—but they did.

  After the performance, Jocelyn and Daken sought out Rina, and Jocelyn saw that all of the performers were perspiring quite heavily. There was indeed a price to be paid for dancing so lightly in those shoes.

  Rina admired her father's costume and made him promise that he would dance with her after she’d had some refreshments and recovered from her efforts. Then she left with the others, and at the same time, the general dancing began.

  People danced in groups as they did at the palace, but with the much simpler steps, conversations were possible and there was much laughing and teasing of Daken and encouragement for her own efforts. When Daken circled her waist to whirl her about at one point, he bent close to her ear.

  “You did not tell the truth, Jocelyn. You dance as well as anyone here."

  So much, she thought, for trying to appear clumsy. She’d never been very good at dissembling.

  "And I have yet to see you trip over your feet," she replied just as they parted.

  Later, when she watched Daken partner Rina, she decided that his only problem was his size. He stood out even among the very tall Kassid both in height and breadth, and in the confines of the dance groups, he had very little room to maneuver.

  Next Daken partnered Tassa, who had dressed for dancing but had to be persuaded out onto the floor. Jakka, Daken’s young aide, asked Jocelyn to join him, and she was once again caught up in the merriment.

  “I am looking forward to visiting Ertria," Jakka told her, hastening to add that he wished it could be in peace. “What I want most is to see for myself what the sea looks like.”

  "If there is war,” she said, “it will be fought on the plains. The Menoans would never challenge us at sea and the Turveans are land-locked.”

  Then, seeing his disappointment, she told him that the city was on the sea and he would see it in any event. “Perhaps,” she added, "I could arrange for you to go out on a ship, though."

  "After we have sent Arrat back into his hole,” Jakka stated confidently. "I would like that.”

  She stared into his handsome young face with those same pale blue eyes and prayed silently that he would survive to take advantage of her offer.

  They were so confident, she thought. But weren’t all men like that when they ventured into battle? Even with death all around them, did they not believe that they would emerge whole? How else could they fight?

  When the dance was over and Jakka had escorted her back to where Daken and Tassa stood talking with some other people, Jocelyn stared at Daken and for the first time thought of the possibility that he could be killed.

  Jakka was Daken’s nominated successor, and he was about the age now that Daken had been when

  he'd become leader. That thought was chilling, and her expression must have shown it, because Daken quickly asked her what was wrong.

  She shook her head. "Nothing—only a stray thought. I am enjoying myself.” Then she went on quickly to talk about the differences between the dancing here and the highly stylized form practiced at the palace.

  But once that fear had arisen, it refused to be put from her mind. She could not bear to think that Daken could die protecting her empire. Somehow, war had to be prevented.

  The festivities were still under way when Daken caught her eye later, after she had danced a round with one of his advisors and listened to yet another statement about the certainty of victory.

  She knew even before he spoke that he was going to suggest they have their talk. Music and laughter surrounded her, and she resented the intrusion. But she met his intense gaze and nodded.

  They slipped through the crowd and walked back to the suite. The halls were empty and more silent than she’d ever seen. Jocelyn let herself hope one last time that she was wrong—then steeled herself to learn that she was right.

  He poured them both some wine, added a few logs to the fire, then turned to face her. She wished that he’d take her into his arms, but he remained apart—and there was no mistaking his nervousness.

  "For the first time in my life," he began in a low, musing voice, "I have found myself questioning the need for honesty. And I think too that I now see

  what it is to be ... different. That, I suppose, is the price we Kassid have paid for our isolation. If we had continued to live among your people, this conversation would not be necessary and we could instead be doing what we both want to do."

  He paused, and their eyes met and heat coursed through her chilled body. She started to rise from her chair, to go to him, but he put out a hand to stay her even as his eyes reflected his hunger.

  "From the beginning of time, Jocelyn, there have been those among us who are considered to be especially blessed. It is our belief that these blessed ones enjoy a special closeness to the old gods.

  "There are never more than fifty in each generation—and sometimes less. And they are always male. Why, we don’t know. It does not follow families; it just happens.

  "It has always been our tradition that the leader must be chosen from among the blessed ones, but I think that should change. The qualities that make for a good leader are not always found among us, and there are many not blessed who have those qualities.

  "Nevertheless, following that tradition, I have nominated another of the blessed as my successor."

  "The eyes,” she said in a near-whisper, thinking of Jakka.

  "Yes. All Kassid babies are born with eyes that color, but most of them change within the first few weeks of life. That is the first sign."

  He paused, then went on in a more hurried manner. "Wolves have always lived here in the Dark Mountains. We believe that they were here even

  before the arrival of the old gods and then formed a special bond with them. The gods were so taken by their grace and beauty that they wanted it for themselves as well. And so they used their magic to transform themselves into wolves whenever they chose. That gift was then passed on to the blessed ones among us.”

  He stopped, his gaze intent as it held hers in supplication. "I know you have cause to fear and hate wolves because they killed your brother. But we cannot control them; they are wild creatures. They will not attack any Kassid, perhaps because of that bond."

  She swallowed hard, trying to dislodge the painful lump in her throat. Her hands had turned to ice and she unconsciously twisted them in
her lap, trying to warm them. But a strange sort of calmness was stealing slowly over her.

  “The wolf I saw at the waterfall—with blue eyes. That wasn’t really a wolf.”

  "No, it was one of us. We didn’t know you were coming, and it was pure chance that he came upon your party. When he returned to tell us, we debated what to do—and so lost precious time that cost the lives of your guards.”

  “But how .. . ?” The question poured out before she could stop it. She knew what she had to know now. Why was she tormenting herself further?

  “It happens the first time at around the age of twenty. There is no way I can explain the feeling, Jocelyn. It is simply a knowledge that comes to us—and a need, a need that is even greater than

  the need a young man has at that age for a woman, and in some ways not so very different from that.

  "When we are young, most of us make the change often—just as we want a woman as often as possible. But as we grow older, the need lessens, although it can still be powerful.

  "I had not made the change in years—not since Erina's death sent me into the mountains for nearly a month. It was a selfish thing to do because Rina needed me then, but as I said, sometimes the need can be very powerful.”

  Belatedly, she realized what he was saying. "And you ... made the change after we went to the tower that time? That’s where you were?” She remembered how haggard he had looked upon his return.

  "Yes. I was greatly troubled." He paused, then went on softly. "It’s the freedom, Jocelyn—the freedom from pain. We are still ourselves, but different. It is as though two minds exist at the same time, and the other, the wolf-mind, numbs the pain. Wine can seem to do the same thing—but it is different."

  “Then you have to want to change?" she asked fearfully. "It can’t just happen?”

  "No, we must want it—and I could never change in your presence, or in the presence of anyone else unless a life were in danger. That usually happens only in battle, which is how the stories you heard came to be."

  He came over to her and knelt before her, taking her cold hands between his warm ones. “Jocelyn, you have nothing to fear. With you, I am only a man."

  "There were drawings in some of my storybooks,” she said in a thin, unnaturally high voice. "They showed a creature that was part-man and part- wolf."

  "No,” he said, bending over her hands and brushing them with his mouth. "It isn’t like that. "The change happens in the blink of an eye."

  “B—but how does it feel?" she asked, wondering if she could ever forget those drawings.

  His warm breath fanned against her hands as he laughed softly. "It feels, my love, the way it feels when a man and woman are joined. But I think you cannot yet understand that.”

  "No, I can’t," she whispered.

  “Then I will show you."

  He rose to his feet, then reached down to draw her up and into his arms. For a long moment, they simply stared at each other. Then he smiled gently.

  "I was so afraid you couldn’t accept me," he admitted.

  "I have no choice. I love you—all that is you."

  He kissed her then, a slow, lingering kiss that poured the heat of desire through them both. Then he lifted her into his arms and carried her from the room, down the hallway to his bedchamber.

  Chapter Eight

  Daken set her onto her feet and she stood there, swaying slightly on trembling legs as he lit the fire, then dragged the heavy quilt and some pillows from the bed to the hearth before turning back to her.

  She was suddenly unsure. Oh, she was certain that she wanted him—the heat that was spreading through her and causing her to tremble all over was proof enough of that. But she was unsure about whether she should give in to that strange feeling.

  All the times when, as a child, she had hidden behind draperies or around comers, listening in on conversations among her mother's ladies, tumbled through her mind. She saw the distasteful expression on her aunt’s face as she'd delivered her lecture to her orphaned niece on the subject of intimacies between men and women. And she saw too her cousin, weeping piteously on the morning after her wedding night.

  Daken came to her, and she involuntarily shrank away from him. He simply stood there silently until she knew that he was waiting for her to explain herself—or accept him.

  "I’m afraid,” she said when her confused mind could produce no other words.

  He reached out then to take her hand, and led her over to the quilt, then gently pushed her down onto it and sat down beside her, close, but not touching.

  "I too was afraid the first time,” he said quietly, then smiled at her look of astonishment. "Perhaps there are differences, but fear is fear. I thought I might hurt her; I’ve always worried about that because of my size. And I thought too that I would be .. . inadequate. I’ve never understood why men seem to have such a need to prove their manhood, while women simply accept their female selves— or so it’s always seemed to me.

  "I don’t know what you’ve been told, but I think it may be very different with your people. If fear is introduced at an early age, it must be difficult to ignore it when the time comes.”

  “I used to hide and listen to the women talk when I was little," she admitted. And then she told him about her aunt's lecture, and about her cousin.

  "But what about your mother and father?” he asked. "You said that your mother died when you were ten. You must remember something of them—of how they were together."

  She nodded slowly, wondering why she hadn’t

  thought about that. "They were happy. They loved each other very much."

  “But you forgot that—and remembered the fear,” he stated.

  “Yes."

  Once again, he took her hand, holding it carefully in his much larger one. "Let me show you how good it can be—for both of us."

  She nodded, although some of that fear and uncertainty remained.

  He piled the pillows behind him and drew her onto his lap. Through the soft, light fabric of his trousers and her dress, she could feel the rock hardness of his thighs—and then that other hardness.

  For a long time, they stayed like that, kissing and touching cautiously, his desire on a taut leash and hers building slowly. Daken feared that at any moment, some unconscious movement on her part, some involuntary sound, would snap that leash. Jocelyn struggled to understand the hunger that was surging through her—and then stopped trying to understand it.

  Their clothing fell away gradually, almost unnoticed by either of them until new sensations were revealed in their absence. When her dress had been cast aside, leaving her in the light shift beneath, and when his shirt had joined it, she pressed herself against his hard, bare chest and felt her nipples grow taut beneath their nearly nonexistent covering.

  He felt it too and drew her back, then lifted his mouth from hers and covered the aching tips instead, rubbing a tongue against that light veil. Joce-

  lyn cried out in pleasure, and when he mistook that for pain and withdrew, she clutched his head and drew him back again. He laughed softly, and his warm breath fanned against her sensitive skin.

  He lingered over every moment, savored every reaction, no matter how small. Never before in his life had he been so immersed in a woman, so attuned to her slightest nuance of movement and sound.

  Jocelyn’s total awareness of him told her that he too felt every tiny shudder of her awakening body— felt it and played upon it as an accomplished musician plays upon his beloved instrument. In his hands, she had become the instrument from which the very best was drawn for the pleasure of them both.

  Their remaining clothes became an unwanted barrier and joined the heap on the floor. Jocelyn stared at him as he stretched out on his side; she’d never seen a naked man before, and despite the evidence she'd felt beneath his clothing, she was unprepared for the reality. Those old whispers of pain came back to hiss through her mind.

  He saw her fear and took her hand, guided it to him, then felt her touch�
��soft and tentative at first, then increasingly bold and exploring. A groan of need driven almost beyond endurance escaped from him, and she drew back immediately.

  She thought that she had inadvertently hurt him, then understood that it was pleasure and not pain when he drew her back again. How very strange he felt—hard and smooth.

  Then with another groan, he slid his hands be-

  neath her and lay her down onto the quilt. Propped up on one arm, he stared at her in the light of the fire. His gaze traveled slowly over the length of her, then returned to her face.

  “You are beautiful," he said simply.

  She knew she was; she’d been told that all her life. But for the first time, she felt beautiful and knew that it had nothing to do with the beauty that others saw in her.

  He began to kiss her, moving after a moment from her mouth to her neck and then to the dark, hard nipples. He drew them into his mouth, each in turn, suckling them gently, and when he left them at last to trail kisses down over her rib cage, she protested and tried to draw him back again.

  But he resisted this time and moved lower, pausing to dip his tongue into her navel before moving still lower when she gasped with pleasure.

  His mouth had reached the thatch of springy hair before she quite realized that he was invading that most secret of places. She stiffened involuntarily. He raised his head and smiled at her, then moved on to caress her thighs, her knees and down all the way to her toes.

  The ache inside her was growing, but it had centered now in that secret part of her, as though everything she’d felt from the first moment he’d touched her had now come together in that place.