Lust Potion For the Alpha

by Alice Coldbreath

  “No. I mean, he made me jump. But I think he was just as startled as we were.”

  “Hmmm,” Jorah sounded aggrieved still but a little distracted. His hand curved over her hip to cup her bottom.

  “Still tired?” he asked solicitously. She would have smiled at his obvious intent if she wasn’t still anxious about the effects of that damn lust potion. She hesitated.

  “Do I smell … funny to you?” she asked hesitantly.

  “It’s a werewolf thing,” he answered swiftly. “Don’t let it bother you. Ran’s young and speaks whatever comes into his mind. When he said you smelt delicious just meant you smell like a sweet, soft woman.”

  “Is that what I smell like to you too?” she pressed.

  “No. You smell like my sweet, soft woman,” he growled, rolling on top of her and pinning her with his weight. “Last chance to tell me if you’re tired,” he warned her. “I feel like asserting my husbandly rights.”

  “Well you’re in luck husband,” murmured Issy glad the dark could hide her soft blush. “For I feel like indulging in my wifely duties.”

  He laughed briefly at her words before giving her a soft yet thorough kiss.

  “I feel lucky,” he breathed against her neck as his kisses slowly trailed down her body. “Very lucky indeed.”

  Isolde was introduced to her youngest brother-in-law Ranulph at breakfast, or Ran as everyone called him. He was seventeen and had not yet filled out to manhood nor was yet full grown. He did not have Jorah or Baris’ moodiness or height and grinned at her as Alfric introduced him formally.

  “Lord, I’ve already met my new sister Alfric, no need to be so proper.” He kissed Issy’s hand and gave her a puppyish grin. She warmed to him immediately.

  “You do not seem to be suffering any ill effects from your ‘skinful’ last night,” she commented with a smile.

  “Nor you from my brother’s mauling,” he answered cheekily.

  Issy choked on her pottage as Alfric leant across and cuffed Ran around the back of the head.

  “Have some respect, Jorah will throttle you.”

  “He already tried last night,” complained Ran rubbing the back of his head. “He almost twisted my ear clean off!” He eyed Issy contemplatively. “Did you bring any ladies in waiting with you sister?”

  “Sadly no,” she dimpled at Ran’s hopeful expression. She hoped he would not ask after her miniscule dowry as her father’s frugality meant she would contribute very little to the renovations of the Keep. In the light of day she could see how shabby and worn most of the furnishings appeared. It did not seem as though the castle had been looked after as it should have been. In truth it looked very neglected indeed.

  “I could give you a tour of the Keep sister,” offered Ran obligingly. “After we’ve breakfasted.”

  Issy cast a look around for Jorah but he had no sooner wolfed down his breakfast then he’d wandered off with Alfric.

  “They’ve gone to the study,” explained Ran. “Jorah’s itching to start making plans.”

  Issy nodded

  “I would love a tour,” she smiled. “Thank you Ran.”

  They started on the ground floor and worked their way up. The castle had many rooms and a spacious layout. Issy was impressed by whoever had planned its construction.

  “Did your father build the Keep, Ran?”

  “Nay, our grandfather. I’m named after him – Ranulph Mallon-Garth. His portrait,” said Ran pointing to a painting of a fierce looking man with a bushy beard.”

  “You don’t resemble him,” mused Issy.

  “No, thank the gods,” agreed Ran. “But if Baris were to grow a beard…”

  Issy laughed.

  “Baris is far handsomer.”

  Ran snorted.

  “Don’t let him hear you say so. His head’s already swollen from his reputation with women.”

  “Is Baris such a womaniser?”

  “Aye. Or at least… he was,” frowned Ran. “The last couple of years he’s been different. On a pledge or some such thing.”

  Issy thought fleetingly of the conversation she’d overheard when she’d feigned sleep the night before. Interesting. What was this vow of celibacy Baris had taken?

  “These are our parents, Frieda and Joffrey.”

  Issy stared up at the full-length portrait.

  “Were they both … werewolves?” she asked staring at the bold , vivid beauty of Frieda Mallon-Garth.

  “Aye that they were,” shrugged Ran. “I don’t much remember them truth be told. My brothers and my uncle raised me.”

  “Your sire was very handsome,” mused Issy. “He looks a little like Jorah, around the jaw I fancy.” His pale fierce eyes were like his mother’s she thought.

  Ran squinted.

  “Maybe,” he agreed off-handedly. “Apparently m’mother thought him an uncouth brute.”

  “Oh.” Issy tried to hide how taken aback she was. “Well, I’m sure she became accustomed to his ways,” she added tactfully. “Marriage is about compromise after all.”

  Ran cocked an eye at her.

  “For women maybe.”

  Issy pulled a wry face.

  “With an attitude like that you may find it hard to find a bride Ranulph.”

  Ran laughed.

  “Is Jorah so amenable? That’s not his reputation.”

  “He’s been very good to me so far,” she found herself rallying in defence of her husband. “It has been three years since you’ve seen him,” she pointed out. “Perhaps he may surprise you.”

  Ran gave her a thoughtful look.

  “He already has,” he answered cheekily.

  “By marrying a human?” Issy asked boldly.

  Ran coughed.

  “Maybe,” he admitted. You’re the first in our family.”

  Issy blinked.

  “Is that so?” she pondered this as they walked along the long gallery. What did that mean? She wondered. Why had Jorah picked her? She glanced back over her shoulder at the portrait of his parents. His father so broad and strong, his mother’s proud beauty. Were all werewolf women so stunning, she wondered uneasily? And if they were then why had Jorah not married one? She thought guiltily of the small glass bottle hidden in the toe of her blue stocking. Was it her potion’s fault?

  “And what of you Ran?” she rallied, noticing her brother-in-law’s gaze grow curious at her silence. “How do you spend your time at the Keep? Do you have studies? Lessons?”

  His expression darkened.

  “Aye, more’s the pity. My Uncle Cedric is the scholar of the family. He tortures me daily with the books. Now Jorah’s back I can resume my weapons training at least.”

  “Where is Uncle Cedric? Does he live here in the castle?”

  “Nay, the old buzzard likes his own company. He lives at the dower house close by. With his books for company.”

  “Is he a widower?”

  “Never married,” shrugged Ran. “He’s half monk. Always threatening to pack his bags and join the nearest monastery. Said he was only waiting till the three of us were fully grown.”

  “That was good of him,” Issy replied. “My aunt moved in with us when my mother died. It’s good to have family around you.”

  Ran grunted.

  “Is he your father or your mother’s brother?”

  “M’mother’s. He’s a Greyson not a Mallon-Garth.”

  They had only the attics left to explore by this point. Issy wasn’t surprised to find they were full of tattered furnishings and ornaments. The Mallon-Garths had not thrown out anything for years it seemed. She needed to make an inventory she thought tapping her chin. There were surely things that could be renovated, mended and used to furnish some of the bare, empty rooms below.

  “How close is the village to the castle?” she asked as they descended back down to the ground floor.

  “Couple of miles.”

  “And are the villagers …?”

  “Werewolves?” asked Ran. “Lord no! At leas
t… “ he broke off. “There may be a couple now.” He admitted cautiously.

  “How so?”

  “Well you see…”

  “There you are!” Jorah bellowed from the great hall below them. Issy walked over to the edge of the balcony and leaned over.

  “Ran’s been giving me a tour,” she called down.

  Jorah frowned.

  “I meant to do that,” he said distractedly. “I lost track of time.”

  “I’ll show her the grounds next,” added Ran, turning to her. “If you like.” They were descending the main staircase now. Issy opened her mouth to assent.

  “You will not,” interrupted Jorah with a frown. He was standing at the foot of the stairs looking up at them.

  “Why not?”

  “Because it’s not safe,” growled Jorah darkly. “I’ve been hearing about the farms raided on the estate.”

  “Lord, not in broad daylight they weren’t!” protested Ran. “And no-one was hurt!”

  “I don’t care,” scowled Jorah. “My wife won’t be careering around until we’ve sent out a strong message that our lands are well-defended.” He held out his hand imperiously to Issy.

  “Well, will you show me around then?” she asked Jorah as she placed her hand in his. “You must be riding out soon to survey the lands?”

  “Within the hour,” he admitted. “But we won’t be looking at the views Issy. We’ve work to do.” He drew her into the great hall. “Once everything’s been secured I’ll take you around and introduce you to all the tenants. You’ve just had a three day ride across the country. You should rest.”

  Issy frowned.

  “Jorah, I’m a healthy young woman who is used to exercise,” she answered with quiet dignity. She lowered her voice noticing that Ran was watching them with open curiosity. “I’m not fatigued or infirm or a child.” Or a pet, she thought, her heart thudding. I’m not your cosseted little pet!

  Ran made a choking sound and Jorah glared at him.

  “It will take a while for you to make sure everything is as it should be.” She continued. “Won’t it seem strange to all your people if I’m not introduced to them from the outset? And I should like to see it and meet everyone.”

  Jorah gave her a steady look.

  “We won’t be paying social visits, Issy. We’ll be taking stock of the land.”

  She looked gravely back at him.

  “I see.” She turned to his brother giving him her smile. “Thank you for the tour Ran.”

  Jorah ground his teeth as he surveyed yet another tumbled down wall. He signalled to Geoffrey to add it to the list of repairs. His squire was hastily scrawling already on the paper.

  “We should call in at the Ropers farm,” suggested Alfric. “Enquire after how much loss they’ve suffered.” He turned to Baris. “You said they’d had livestock taken and grain and that was twelve months ago.”

  “Aye,” his brother agreed. “And likely had more since.”

  Jorah nodded briefly, glancing over at the nearby farm which showed in the distance. In truth he could not place the Ropers. His human tenants he had always left to be dealt with by his steward but in the light of his defection he would have to get his hands dirty.

  “Aye,” he agreed briefly, dragging his thoughts back from his dissatisfactory lunch back at the castle. Despite Isolde’s composure he had heard her accelerated pulse and picked up on a thousand indicators of her displeasure and he had felt it like a slap in the face! Gods knew why – a woman’s displeasure had never affected him before. If she’d railed at him or argued they could have had it out, but instead she’d just gone very quiet and withdrawn. He hadn’t liked it he realised with surprise. He hadn’t liked it at all. He hadn’t even realised he’d become so attuned to her mood, when the hells had that happened? He slackened his reins as Warrior took up a gallop towards the Roper farm giving him his head. If he could call his wife a shrew, or yell at her it would have been much more straightforward he brooded. Why had she taken umbrage with him anyway? It made no sense. He felt like she’d pulled a sneak-attack on him which irked him but oddly not as much as the idea that he might have inadvertently angered her. She had no reason to be put out – he hadn’t done anything wrong! And she’d been all sweetness and light to Ran, he reflected with annoyance. Issy had no right to be taking up his thoughts like this when he had so much else to deal with! He’d chosen her because he’d wanted an amenable wife who would know her place and not try to take over his life! He realised he had a glower on his face as they approached the farm and a broad, grizzled man in his fifties came out to cautiously greet them.

  “Roper,” Baris hailed him. “Lord Mallon-Garth has returned to the Keep. Brother, this is Gideon Roper.”

  “Roper,” nodded Jorah, narrowing his eyes as he saw the curtains twitch inside the cottage and an anxious face appear at the window. He caught scent of something and shot a sharp glance at his Beta.

  “My Lord,” answered the farmer giving him a clumsy bow and baring his head.

  “Who is within? Your family?”

  “Aye m’lord. My wife …” he hesitated. “And our two grandsons.”

  “I see. You have sworn fealty to me Roper?”

  “I have m’lord.”

  “Am I right in thinking at least one of your grandsons should be in training up at the Keep?”

  The old man stiffened.

  “We had no such summons.”

  “Summons?” Jorah sat up straighter in his saddle. “Are you telling me you are unfamiliar with our ways?”

  The farmer scratched his head avoiding Jorah’s angry gaze.

  “Truth be told m’lord, since the old Lord died and you’ve been away some of them ways has been relaxed so to speak…”

  Jorah shot a look at Baris who shrugged.

  “Have we no cubs up at the castle?” he asked incredulously.

  “Not that I know of,” admitted Baris at last. “Since most of the men left there’s been no one to do the training …”

  Jorah made an angry exclamation.

  “This is unbelievable.” He raked a hand through his hair before making a quick decision. “Baris, you will resume the training of the new pack members.”

  “Me?” Baris exploded angrily. “What do I know of cubs?”

  Jorah shot him a furious look.

  “You really want to discuss Varkash pack business now?” he asked furiously. In front of an outsider? was the unspoken inference but from Gideon Roper’s tight expression he knew exactly what Jorah meant.

  “How old is the boy?” demanded Jorah.

  Roper glared mutinously back at him.

  “How old?” he bit out.

  “Six year. They’m both six year,” he mumbled dispiritedly.

  “Both?” asked Alfric with interest. “Twins?”

  “Aye.”

  “I will expect them up at the castle within the week,” said Jorah coldly.

  The old man paled and bunched his hands into fists.

  “Aye m’lord,” he muttered bitterly. He did not raise his eyes, an act of defiance Jorah let pass as he signalled to Baris and Alfric that they were leaving. “Geoffrey, you stay and find out from Roper how many times they’ve been raided in the last twelve-month. Meet us at the next farm.”

  “Aye my lord.”

  “We’re visiting every farm and property on my land,” he told Alfric and Baris grimly. “We need to take stock and I don’t just mean of the land.”

  No wonder the pack was depleted he thought enraged as he rode towards the next small-holding. All of the old ways had been let slip. Pack members were growing up outside of the pack, ignorant in their ways! It was a disgrace. He had much more to repair then a few broken down fences he realised savagely. Their whole pack way of life was had been left to erode away. The very fabric of their existence! He yanked his thoughts abruptly back when they crept towards the subject of Isolde. Fond of her as he was growing, his wife had to learn her place.

  Isolde was
starting to feel her way about the Keep now. From what she could make out almost all of its inhabitants were werewolf. The kitchen maid, Dilys and the housemaid Matilda were both human and came originally from local farms on the estate although they now lived in the castle. Almost all of the tenant farmers were human families, but their interaction with the Keep seemed to be minimal. Isolde could not quite make the relationship out. Clearly Jorah was their overlord and they were under his protection, but the tributes of fruit and vegetables received up at the Keep were very small Isolde guessed because most of the household were carnivore. When she’d asked about feast days and community events her words had been met with a blank stare. Clearly the relationship between the humans and the werewolves needed working on.

  She had not been one week at the Keep before she’d figured out that without the human maids, service at the castle would almost have ground to a halt. The housekeeper, Bronwen was a sullen she-wolf who seemed to resent being bothered by household chores and spent most of her time gazing out of the windows and moodily staring into space or stealing away and disappearing for hours on end at a time. It was the quiet, serious minded Matilda who flitted through the rooms at early light to change the candles and dust and airing out the rooms. Even though she was a house maid she seemed to have taken on the additional housekeeping duties simply because no-one else was doing them. From what Isolde could make out, half of Matilda’s time was spent mending and cleaning throughout the castle and making huge lists of repairs and provisions that would be needed for the upkeep of the place which Bronwen then just stuffed in a cupboard and neglected. As for merry Dilys she kept the kitchen going, roasting meats and boiling broths and keeping the fires burning. She kept the copper pans shining and the huge range blacked and ever ready. The lack of accompanying dishes for her meats was due to the chronic under-staffing of the kitchen rather than Dilys’ fault Isolde realised almost at once.

  “It would be nice to have some honey-bees at the Keep, don’t you agree Dilys?” she asked one morning as she stood at the kitchen table making up a large batch of dough for bread. She had been at the Keep now for one whole week. Bread-making was another thing that was neglected she’d found to her dismay.

  “Bees, milady?” echoed Dilys looking up from the joint she was basting.