Gladiator Wolf (Gladiators Book 1)

by Marteeka Karland

  “That depends.” Brandwulfr faced his second in command. “How do you feel about her? Astrid seems to think our people will see her as an insult.”

  Jorak shrugged, toeing a pebble. “I suppose some would see it as such. Have you ever known any group of people to agree on anything? Likely it will be those who crossed with you back into our realm who protest the loudest. There aren’t that many, so I wouldn’t worry. Besides, the heart wants what it wants.” He glanced up at Brandwulfr. “If this woman stirs you enough to need her as a mate, who am I to protest?”

  “If the protests get too loud, I’ll leave. But I’m not giving up Miranda.”

  “Assuming we find her before the men you led over do. There are a few who might harm her despite what you did to the last three who tried.”

  Brandwulfr picked at his collar again. “I can’t do anything until I get this damned thing off.”

  “Consider it done. I have metal cutters at your wagon ready for you.”

  “Keep everyone away from this area. I’ll need to get a scent on her when I get back. Spread the word that, if anyone harms her, I will make them beg for death before I give it to them.”

  * * *

  Miranda had no idea where she intended to go. In this world, she was a stranger, a misplaced woman with no skills whatsoever who’d run away from her protector. Just thinking about how Brandwulfr had left her and gone, naked, to that magnificent woman sliced her heart to shreds. She’d thought before that any pleasure he’d gotten from their sex had been from his own actions rather than hers. Looking at Astrid and the openly lustful way she appraised Brandwulfr, Miranda knew she was a woman who knew what to do to a man’s body to drive him wild.

  When he’d left her, Miranda had quickly donned the light gray leather pants he’d brought for her, along with the matching leather vest. The material hugged her legs, but wasn’t as restrictive as she’d imagined they’d be. In fact, the ease of movement was nearly ridiculous. It was as if she were nude, moving with unimpeded motion with every step. The pants laced up the front, riding low on her hips. The vest laced as well, leaving an expansion of her midriff bared. He’d also left her soft, knee-high boots that were more comfortable than anything she’d ever had on her feet, yet protected her from the rocky ground.

  As she walked over the meandering trail winding through the forest, she pondered her next move. She could hike for days and never find another portal. Considering no one here seemed to know any more about them than her own people—other than the slavers, who guarded their secrets ruthlessly—the odds of her finding one, then finding one open, were astronomically not in her favor. Couple that with the fact she had no idea how to survive on her own in a land she was familiar with, much less this alien one, and she knew she’d have to go back to Brandwulfr. She’d left with the intention of simply leaving him, but as her ire had cooled, she’d realized that simply wasn’t possible.

  Unfortunately, her anger had turned to hurt. She was only waiting for it to turn back to anger again before she headed back. She’d be damned if he’d see her crying over him after this.

  She’d just turned to go back when the noise of battle caught her attention. Careful not to make too much noise, she cut through the woods until she caught a glimpse of the road. A big, ornately carved wooden carriage looked to be under siege. Three soldiers fired arrows from the top of it as more than a dozen men fired back. Another two men with swords stormed the back of the wagon, trying to get inside to the passenger. When that failed, the archers fired flaming arrows, more than one of them sticking into the wooden structure. The men clad in brown who had been pulling the wagon joined the fight, withdrawing swords of their own to engage the archers. Soon, a vicious sword battle raged all around the wagon.

  The passenger threw the door open, jumping out with his own sword in hand. He closed it with a swift shove. Immediately, he engaged the closest swordsmen, dispatching him quickly and moving on to the next. The way he moved reminded her so much of Brandwulfr she winced.

  One of the archers on top of the carriage fell, an arrow protruding from his throat. Of the eight men pulling the carriage, five had fallen, leaving only five guards and the passenger to defend anyone still inside. Though they’d killed several of their attackers, they were still outnumbered and, with the men in brown obviously not very skilled with weapons, likely to fall themselves.

  Miranda was just inside the line of the trees out of sight, but so near she could hear the grunted curses of the men fighting. As another two of the men on the ground fell, the man who reminded her so much of Brandwulfr ordered them all together in a tight group. All the men now brandished swords. The archers brought shields with them from atop the carriage, but other than that all of them had little protection.

  As the bandits closed in on them, something caught Miranda’s eye. The wagon had the same symbol prominent as the main symbol on Brandwulfr’s carriage, only instead of a wolf in front of crossed swords, it was a wolf in front of a crown. This was obviously someone important. And he was being assailed by bandits.

  A warrior Miranda was not, but over the last week, she’d learned so many things about herself. She might not be skilled, but she was strong. And she was no coward. And she absolutely stood up for what was right, no matter the cost to her.

  Looking around her for anything to use as a weapon, she hastily discarded large sticks and overly large rocks. She didn’t have the muscle to throw heavy rocks, and taking on a swordsman with a stick was just too laughable even for her. She was able to find several smaller rocks with a bit of weight to them. It might not do much, but maybe it would distract the bandits enough for the king and his guard to rally.

  Stepping from the tree line, she hurled the first rock. It missed, but landed in between two of the bandits. One noticed, but barely gave the rock a passing glance before tending to more pressing matters. Like a black-clad soldier trying to take off his head. The next rock hit the back of one of the bandits, stinging enough that he whirled around. Her third hit the same guy in the chest. The fourth the guy next to him. With that, they realized they’d have to do something besides give her a passing glance. One of them left the battle to stalk in her direction, a menacing expression on his face. Miranda didn’t stop chucking rocks though. With the guy approaching her with that sword, her only hope was to get a lucky shot that knocked him silly.

  As he batted off her attacks easily enough, she realized she hadn’t planned this out very well. Not only had she not given the king the opening he needed to fight off the bandits, but now she had one ready to kill her. Or capture her. Either way she had no doubt she’d not fare well.

  With a battle roar much like the ones Brandwulfr had given in battle, the king let loose with a volley of two-handed swings at his attackers, his body beginning to grow, his clothes shredding. Miranda had a moment to marvel at how much larger he was and how fast the change happened. How had Brandwulfr been able to hold his off? Bandits scattered, giving the now enraged king a wide birth. Their offensive attack was suddenly a defensive one, and they didn’t seem to know how to handle it.

  The bandit who approached her quickened his pace. Judging by the menacing expression, he was intent on killing Miranda quickly so he could get back to his companions. Miranda had time to throw one more rock, which he batted away easily with his sword, the backswing intending to take her head. She ducked under, snagging a couple of rocks with her as she went. With a vicious yell, she hurled one straight at his face. Apparently, he’d not expected to miss killing her and hadn’t been prepared for her continued attack. The rock struck him in the head and he staggered back a couple of steps, but kept coming.

  With a shriek, Miranda ducked once again, but he anticipated it, snagging her hair and yanking hard. She had time to get off a scream of pain and fear before he hit her with the hilt of his sword, making her world reel. Her scream seemed to echo all around her, as did the sounds of the continued fighting not that far away from her. Miranda was dragged by her hair to
ward the larger group. Clutching at her scalp she tried to ease the tension even as pain exploded through her head.

  Then, from the woods, a roar of pure, unadulterated rage split the air. The bandit’s head whipped toward the tree line, eyes wide. He backed away a couple of steps but that was as far as he got before a huge figure bounded free, leaping high to land on top of the bandit. In a spray of blood, Brandwulfr ripped out his throat, leaving the bandit on the ground to die in a pool of his own blood.

  Brandwulfr, followed by Jorak and several other guards. He was here in all his glory, just as she’d first seen him all those days ago. Had she thought the king moved like Brandwulfr? The differences in their fighting were like night and day. While the king seemed to be looking for quick kills, every swing or slash with his claws intending to end his opponent immediately, Brandwulfr seemed interested only in taking out the enemy any way he could, coming back later to finish them off. Everyone fought with savage intensity, but they all paled in comparison with Brandwulfr, the Guardian. With an unholy roar, he raised his face to the sun, rage seeming to funnel out of him with deafening intensity. But he never changed to his battle wolf form like the king had. No. This was all the gladiator--savage, brutal male that he was. Instead, his eyes glowed that eerie blue as he stalked back toward the woods…and Miranda.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “My female!” Brandwulfr hardly recognized his own voice. A haze of battle lust and rage that she’d been in danger once more from his own people still beat through his mind, and he struggled to control it. The need to bury himself deep in the haven of her body was overwhelming.

  “Brand,” she breathed out. Dimly, he realized she wasn’t running, but she wasn’t welcoming him with opened arms either.

  “Mine!”

  “Stop!” She held up her palm as he approached. He started to simply throw her over his shoulder, but she fought. “I said stop, Brand!”

  Her hand was so small resting in the middle of his chest it was laughable. Nonetheless, he stilled. Stayed by the tiny hand of a human woman. The warmth of her skin touching his was electric. Need and want slid from her hand to his chest as if she were the one holding him prisoner with her beguiling beauty and sweet innocence when in reality, he might as well be her jailer. He’d brought her there knowing his people would likely reject her violently, yet he hadn’t been strong enough to give her up. Even now, he knew he’d reject his own people rather than see her leave. When she’d run, it had maddened him almost more than seeing her fighting bandits along the road.

  “You will come with me, Miranda,” he growled, his voice husky and rough as he fought the change to his beast state.

  “No! Go find your other woman. The one who’s a wolf like you. A warrior.” As she spoke, he watched in horrified silence as one tear leaked from her eye to spill down her cheek. “Your people will accept her where they never will me. You knew this! You promised you’d protect me, and I believed you when you said you’d take care of everything. Did you bring me here only to get revenge on my father? Do you still think me no better than he was?”

  He couldn’t seem to think beyond the fact that his woman was leaving, that he’d hurt her again in some way. Thinking clearly and keeping control of the wolf within him now was even more important than when the collar had nearly choked him.

  “I have no other woman. You’re my woman,” he bit out. He leaned in to smell her, to make sure she wasn’t injured. A cut marred her temple, but she seemed otherwise unharmed. Still, that cut nearly put him into another rage. He hadn’t been fast enough to kill the bandit before he’d hurt Miranda.

  “What about Astrid? You went to her after you’d made love to me. And you were naked! That just screams ‘relationship’ to me!”

  She was angry? His woman was angry. At him. Because of Astrid? Shaking himself, he rid his mind of the last hold of the battle wolf trying to roar to the front, needing to think clearly more than he needed to kill or protect.

  “Astrid is nothing more than a friend, one of my warriors. You are my woman, Miranda. Only you. Always...you.” He could tell she wasn’t convinced, but had no idea what else to say. There was a pause while Miranda searched his face for something he had no idea how to give. If he were in her position, he’d have doubts too. “Miranda.” He sighed. “I told you it would be difficult, but not because of Astrid, for god’s sake. I won’t deny she wishes there were more between us, but not because she loves me. She sees me as a means to an end for the power she craves. Even before I realized that, however, she meant nothing to me other than a trusted friend. Now, even that is in jeopardy.” He reached for her again, needing the contact to assure himself she was indeed all right. “Going to her naked, with my body sated from yours, showed her she couldn’t arouse me, that I belonged to you. Please, Miranda.” His voice was a mere thread of sound meant only for her, not the growing crowd around them that included his king. “I love you.”

  She was still for another moment before her bottom lip started to tremble. Then she launched herself at him, sobbing uncontrollably. How did one ever get used to this? How did one deal with it to begin with? Every tear was like a dagger to his heart. Still, she clung to him like a lifeline and it felt so good. He clutched her to his chest, burying his face in her hair. Unexpectedly, he felt his own eyes prick. He’d nearly lost her. Again. For some reason, this time seemed worse than the others. Probably because she’d fled him because of his actions when Astrid had found them. Miranda was new to his world, his culture. Had he lost her without being able to explain, what would he have done?

  Behind him, Leif, king of his people and Brandwulfr’s best friend, cleared his throat. “Care to introduce us to the lovely woman who saved my life?”

  No. He didn’t care to. He wanted to run off into the woods with Miranda and claim her all over again. Mark her with his seed inside and out until neither of them could stand. But how could one refuse the king? Jorak and his men backed off, forming a loose circle around the king’s carriage yet staying as unobtrusive as possible. Dimly Brandwulfr wondered if they were there to keep bandits out or him inside with Miranda.

  Reluctantly, he set her down and scowled, noting for the first time how the pants and vest fit her like a second skin. Had he known how tempting she’d look in them, he’d have made sure to dress her in a long, full skirt and loose blouse as the older women wore. As he turned to the king, he noticed one of the brown-clad domestics draping a robe around the king’s shoulders, his fine garments having been shredded during the change.

  “Leif, my woman, Miranda. She’s a human from the realm where our people remain prisoners.” He deliberately didn’t mention her relationship to his captor or her role in his escape, leaving his king to put the pieces together in front of the men there.

  Leif raised an eyebrow, his tone nonchalant when he spoke. “Truly? This is the woman who kept you and your brothers in slavery? They tell me she’s guilty of many heinous crimes.”

  Miranda stirred beside him, but Brandwulfr put a hand on her shoulder to still her. “It is, my liege. Surely you can see for yourself how vicious she is.” He rolled his eyes, but kept his voice neutral. Only Leif would understand his inappropriate humor.

  “Indeed.” He nodded. “Any woman who attacks a pack of heavily armed bandits by chucking rocks isn’t someone I want to piss off.” Leif’s tone was dry, the sarcasm he peppered his language with evident in spades. “So tell me again how she wishes nothing for our people but that we are in chains at her mercy. I suppose if any human could accomplish it, it would be this one.”

  “I’ll leave that for you to determine, since it was your life she defended.” Brandwulfr couldn’t help the quirk of his lips as he spoke. No one ever accused the king of being in possession of a silver tongue. He often said exactly what was on his mind. Some found it disquieting, but most found it refreshing. Probably why the people followed him in the first place.

  Leif turned his gaze to Miranda. Brandwulfr knew well the weight of those
green eyes when the king needed answers. “So, little Miranda. It appears you’ve snagged the heart of the Guardian. Care to tell me how you did that when you personally saw to his five-year torment?”

  Miranda glanced at Brandwulfr as if trying to determine how to handle the situation. Finally she simply shrugged. “I guess the pussy was just too good to pass up.”

  The king’s eyes widened, then he burst out laughing, nearly bending double in his mirth. Before long, tears streamed down his face as more of the guards joined in the merriment. Of all the things Brandwulfr expected her to say, that wasn’t it. Maybe everything she’d been through had finally caught up with her. Maybe this was her true personality. Or maybe she had just had enough and finally snapped. Little did she know, that was exactly the way to deal with a wolf pack. If she wanted respect, she had to show strength. Now she’d done it in spades. Not only had she defended the king of their people, but she’d shown no one could cow her with words or deeds.

  Brandwulfr couldn’t be prouder.

  * * *

  Miranda had no idea why she’d responded to the king the way she had. Fortunately, he seemed to take it as a sign of strength or something because he draped an arm over her shoulder, the other arm over Brandwulfr’s and laughed as they walked back to his carriage.

  “You never did things the conventional way, my friend.” Leif slapped Brand on the back as they climbed into the carriage and sat. It all seemed commonplace here. No one mentioned his change, nor did they seem surprised by it.

  “Why did you shift when the bandits did not?” Miranda asked the king, genuinely curious.

  “It’s likely they thought their numbers would be enough to stop any threat to them. Brandwulfr’s timely intervention happened too fast for them to realize just how much danger they were in. We can’t shift at will in most cases. It takes a life-or-death situation, and those bandits didn’t feel that until it was way too late.”