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  I pressed a thigh between her legs, surprised by her wetness. My lover was more than ready for me. She had probably been thinking about me during the day, waiting to catch me alone later. She needed me.

  This time, I decided, Larna was not going to ravage me until I could barely walk. She had been giving me too much attention lately. It was her turn. But I knew that when she was this aroused, she would not just lie back and let me take care of her. She wanted more control than that. So I thought of a compromise.

  I allowed my lover to pull off my shirt and leggings, but when she tried to reach between my legs, I caught her hand. She looked at me like a scolded puppy, with sad brown eyes and a pouting lower lip. I caught the lip between my teeth and pulled her tight against me.

  “I want you over me,” I said in between kisses.

  “Over you?” Larna repeated, still distracted.

  “Mmhmm…” I squeezed the cheeks of her bottom and pulled up to show her what I meant.

  “But-” My brave lover looked nervous for a change. For some reason, that made me want her even more. Larna’s strange mixture of dominance and shyness made her more real, and more exciting, to me. I loved her – all of her. I wanted her terribly.

  “Please?”

  Hesitantly, Larna moved until she was kneeling over me, using her hands to brace herself. “You will tell me if you want to stop?”

  “Trust me, I don’t want to stop…” Because I knew that Larna was too unsure of herself to do it, I pulled her hips down until she settled against my mouth. At the first slow swipe of my tongue, her hips jerked, muscles trembling. She tightened, a sob catching in her throat.

  “Relax…” I examined my lover carefully, taking in all of the soft parts, colors, and textures. Everything was covered in a clear, shining coat of wetness. A proud, swollen nub stood out from the rest, pleading for attention. Taking it between my lips, I could feel Larna’s heartbeat against my mouth. I groaned, my head spinning.

  With a shuddering sigh, she tilted her hips down and pressed herself over me. Her fingers threaded through my curls, pulling me tight against her. Warm, trembling walls clutched at my tongue as I slid inside of her, fluttering wildly. I let her guide me to the spots that made her gasp and shudder and rock harder into my touch. Her warmth spilled over my cheeks and into my hair, but I was past caring.

  Desperate, she moved her own hand between her legs, straining for release. If her thighs had not been clamped tight against my cheeks, I would have shaken my head. That was my job. The flat of my tongue pushed her fingers away, started to flick gently over her tip – that was all it took. Her body seized, locking up tight, and my mouth was flooded with the wonderful, salty taste of my lover.

  When her hips finally stopped jerking against my mouth, I finished cleaning her and looked up. Her chest was still rising and falling in a rapid pant, and the muscles of her stomach shivered above me. She fell forward, releasing my head from between her legs. Regretfully, I let her pull away. My tongue circled my lips, searching for more of her taste.

  My Tuathe gathered me in her arms, pulling me close and snuggling against my side. Her breathing slowed and her warm skin, covered in a light coat of sweat, began to cool. “You smell like me,” Larna whispered, leaning closer. We both smiled, pleased that she had marked me with her scent.

  “I wish I could see the stars,” I said much later, staring at the fabric of our tent’s ceiling.

  Larna squinted, trying to imagine what the sky would look like without the tent to obstruct the view. She rolled her head to the side and looked at me. “What sign were you born under?”

  I giggled. “We just made love and you’re asking me my sign? You’re a little late.”

  Larna protested. “It is a flirtatious question…”

  “For new acquaintances, not almost-married lovers.”

  My lover frowned, looking confused, but not unhappy. “Almost-married?” she asked. “Does that mean we are not married?”

  “We haven’t had a ceremony,” I explained. “You are my mate.”

  “You want a hand-fast?” The thought brought a blush to Larna’s cheeks. I dropped a kiss on the closest one. “I could be giving you that.” Satisfied that she could provide what I wanted, Larna dismissed the idea from her mind. She was a practical creature. Like the imaginative romantic I was, I continued thinking about where the hand-fasting would be and what kind of dress I would wear.

  Her voice broke my train of thought. “You never told me what sign you were born under.”

  “Why do you want to know?”

  “Because I already know your favorite color,” she said, remembering one of our conversations from the past. “I am wanting to learn something else about you.”

  “Mm,” I said noncommittally. Tired, I nuzzled the base of Larna’s neck, pulling myself closer to her warm side.

  “The Stag’s Throne? The Lion? The Bear?”

  I yawned. “No.”

  “The Great Sword?”

  “The Three Witches.”

  My eyes were closed, but I could sense Larna’s smile in the darkness. “That is appropriate.”

  “What sign were you born under?” I asked, still drowsy.

  “Do Serians ask that question?”

  “I am not Serian,” I reminded her, “but yes. They call some of the constellations by different names. The Three Witches are The Three Sisters. The Stag’s Throne is a crown of some kind. Now answer my question.”

  This time, I opened my eyes in time to see Larna grin, showing her white teeth. “Which one do you think? The Wolf.”

  …

  Chapter Eight:

  We woke to the blaring of a horn in the night. Larna stiffened beside me, jerking awake. I could feel my lover’s quick heartbeat against my back. My own heart was racing. I untangled myself from her embrace, struggling to find my clothes. “Dinna bother,” Larna ordered. The sounds of metal weapons being drawn outside and several shouts drowned her out for a moment. “Just change.”

  The change to half-shape was slower than usual and painful. My furred flesh knitted itself around me, burning in my bones and muscles. I did not even take comfort in the familiar humming of magic. I was too worried about what we would find outside.

  Together, Larna and I charged out of the tent, teeth bared and claws gripping the hard earth. There were Shadowkin all around. Their smell clogged my nose and throat, and I whimpered at the unpleasant scent. There were Kerak, too, but I could not smell them over the Shadowkin.

  With another blast of the horn, Larna bolted away from me. The rebels were frantically trying to organize themselves. Some were wearing full armor. Others were in their nightclothes. All of them were scrambling for weapons to confront the enemy.

  Alone, I whipped my head around, trying to spot Larna. She had disappeared into the darkness. My instincts screamed for me to find her, to make sure that she was all right. I was not a fighter. I found no joy in battle. But I was a protector and the one I wanted to protect most was my mate.

  The smell of blood and rotting flesh hung so thick in the air that I could barely breathe. My eyes stung, but I could see well enough to get out of the way when a heavy Shadowkin corpse fell beside me, making the earth shake. The thing’s muscles quivered, then fell slack. Blackness oozed from its sliced belly.

  Using its hooked hands, a lanky brown Kerak heaved itself over the mountain of the Shadowkin’s body. Its beetle black eyes fixed on me and it whined in its long throat. I showed my teeth, hackles raised, muscles chorded and tight. When it swung its rope-like arm, I was ready. I ducked under most of the blow and ripped its torso open from shoulder to hip. Its hooks pierced my middle back, on either side of my spine, and tore. I felt skin split, mine and the monster’s, as its blood pumped into my mouth. It died, still latched on to me.

  With the Kerak’s wet blood matting my fur and my fangs stained red, I looked for Larna. I could not see her. Jett Bahari was fighting alongside his men. His twin swords were curved blurs as they
sliced his foes to pieces. Several members of the Farseer were trying to take down another Shadowkin. Jerico was easy to see. He was swinging a giant axe and scattering monsters left and right.

  Picking my way over corpses, I was startled when a warm body fell against me. I lifted my head and the body collapsed. I looked down into the pain-clouded eyes of Elaran. He was shaking badly, but smiled when he saw me. At first, I could not tell where his injury was. Then, I saw a red slit blossoming across his pale throat.

  Soon, the spilling blood covered his chin and shoulders. My head swam. There was so much blood… his voice did not come when he tried to speak. A wet, bubbling cough spattered his face with more specks of thick blood.

  I gave him comfort in his last moments, resting my head on his chest until his heart stopped and his eyes filmed over. Most of the heavy fighting had moved to our left. We were undisturbed for a few seconds. My heart ached. Elaran had been so young. Yesterday, death seemed so far away. Now, it was all around us, a cold black cloak of eternal silence.

  But I could not stay with Elaran’s corpse. Near us, bodies were still falling. Suddenly, I felt a sharp pain in my head. I pawed behind my ear, but there was no blood. The pain came again, almost toppling me. I jerked my neck to clear my swimming head. Somehow, I knew with chilling certainty that Larna needed me. She was injured and I had shared the pain.

  The battlefield was less congested as I pushed my way through. A human next to me fell, but I ignored him, searching for my lover. I tried to follow her scent, but the stink of Shadowkin and blood and death blanketed everything.

  And then, between two Shadowkin, I saw Larna. I was shocked to see Mogra riding astride one of the beasts. A southern wind blew through her black cloak, making it billow behind her like the ragged wings of a raven.

  Larna was bleeding from a head wound and she barely had the strength to dodge the huge black paws of the witch’s mount. Fire. I needed fire. I glanced around frantically, searching for a miracle.

  There.

  A smoldering torch, lying next to a decapitated body. It was almost burnt out. The last few sparks were dying.

  I grabbed the torch, almost dropping it with large, fumbling hands that were almost paws. I tried to coax the fire back to life. At first, it flickered out. I thought it was hopeless. Then, a spark. Soon, the torch was blazing with red-blue flames again.

  As I ran to Larna, I saw one of the Shadowkin scoop her up in its massive jaws. My blood froze. It shook its great shaggy head, throttling her. I remembered Farseer’s death. That would not happen to Larna.

  I threw the burning torch. Someone shouted and I realized that the noise was coming from me. Maybe magic guided my hand. The fire caught along the ridge of the monster’s spine, throwing Mogra to the ground. She shrieked, rolling on the ground to put out the flames. They engulfed her, crawling over her cloak and sending thick black smoke up into the sky. As she ran, I saw Jerico hunting her down with his giant axe, ready to slice her open if she survived the fire.

  The Shadowkin dropped Larna. Delirious with pain, it charged into the other demon dog. Shaking, weak from fear and blood loss, Larna crawled over to me. Weeping, I stroked her fur, trying to see where she was hurt. I could not tell – she was covered in blood. A lot of it was probably from her kills. Normally, Larna was too heavy for me to carry. Not this time. Desperation gave me the strength to drag her wolf-body away from the fighting.

  For a brief moment, I wondered if I should make sure that Mogra was dead. There was no time to look back and check. Surely Jerico’s axe had found its mark.

  …

  Hundreds lay dead on the ground, blood outlining the shapes of their bodies. The wind blew across the mountaintops, a swirling breath from the north. These poor souls had been blotted out like a dying fire. They would never see the sky and grass again.

  Still aching from the claws that had raked my chest, I stared at the eyes and faces of the dead. I did not know why Larna was not among them. Fate, luck. Scattered between the human and Wyr bodies were the twisted black corpses of the Shadowkin and the white piles of ash that had been the Kerak. Our enemies had fallen. At least the lives lost had not been wasted.

  Some of the rebels had only been children, I noticed sadly. There was one young boy to the left, no more than fourteen, who was not even bearded yet. Then again, had I been a child at fourteen? That was how old I had been when Luciana raped me. No, I had not been a child, but I had not been a woman either. It was too soon.

  I wept bitterly for the boy, for all of the dead, for Larna, and even for myself. The tears poured out of me, sliding over my slick cheeks and chin until I had no more to give. Others were nearby. Some had come to grieve, like me; others were claiming bodies to decorate from cremation. Others rushed to aid the wounded waiting in the tents. That was where Larna was. Where I should be.

  The red sun was just peeking over the black points of the mountains. Larna was waiting for me in the fifth small tent. They told me that she was not badly hurt, but I did not believe them. Seeing her fall beneath the claws and teeth of the Shadowkin was the worst moment I could remember. I had never felt so small and helpless.

  I felt ashamed of the fear and despair that had driven me away from the tent as the healers worked on my lover. My feet had walked me to the battlefield, an open grave, and the rest of me had followed. Except my heart. That was with Larna.

  As I watched the first sliver of the sun rising from behind the mountain, spreading a hot red glow, Aria came to fetch me. I could smell her without having to turn my head. She reached out to touch my shoulder, thought better, and settled back.

  “Well?” I asked. All that pain and fear in one soft word. I felt choked, heavy. “How is she, then?”

  “She is waiting for you. She is not bad off. She will be getting better.”

  I felt more tears ready to bleed out, but I choked them back. “Larna,” I whispered to myself, though Aria could hear, “what will I do?”

  Aria said, “Larna was giving you strength. Now you must use it.”

  I went with her to the tent where Larna was. I pushed through the loose tent flap and into the dark. The smell of blood and fear and pain covered me. Larna was near the back, because she was one of the last to fall. My warrior had fought bravely.

  When I saw her, the tears that I tried to hold back spilled out. I cupped her cheeks. Her drained white skin had patches of yellow and gray over it. Her face was burning, but when I reached for one of her hands, it was a lump of ice. Her face did not register pain, though, and I could see no blood, only a pile of used bandages waiting to be thrown out. Perhaps she had been worried about me.

  “Cate,” she mumbled. She gave me a needful kiss. Her lips were rough and dry as paper, but I did not care. It was overwhelming to feel her, solid and warm and alive.

  Larna and I clung together, tighter and tighter until neither of us could breathe. “I almost lost you, lover,” I whispered, mouthing more than speaking. We were so close that Larna could feel the words against her mouth.

  “You’ll never be losing me.”

  I could tell that she meant that promise, but how could she keep it? Larna could not fight death when it came. “There will be more fighting.” I tried to pull my face away from hers. Looking into her eyes was too painful. But she hooked my waist and held on tight. She would not let me leave.

  “It is who I am.” Larna looked sad, frightened, as though she had disappointed me and was afraid that I would be angry with her.

  My heart melted. “I love you for it.”

  Larna blushed and I forced a sad smile. “I canna… not fight, Cate. It would be tormenting me.”

  I held her close and kissed her hair, her ear, the base of her curved shoulder. “Shh… shh… I know, Larna.” And this would be my weight to carry. Because I loved her, I would let her go. Keeping her back would destroy a part of her that I admired and adored. I could never do that to my lover.

  “I forgive you, warrior mine. I will always be there.
After every battle, I promise.”

  Larna smiled, the heaviness lifting from her chest as it settled on mine. I accepted it, but with fresh strength this time. She would do everything she could to come back to me. For now, that would have to be enough.

  “You know what this means?” she asked. She no longer seemed helpless, but tightly controlled. Still, she seemed so weak, lying there on the bed… I reminded myself that Wyr healed quickly. Already, Larna probably felt the burning hum of magic as it mended her torn flesh.

  I knew what Larna was talking about. “There is a traitor here.” I hated to admit it, but it was probably a Wyr. The Farseer pack had only arrived days ago. “Yerta told me something yesterday,” I said, remembering, “Hosta left for three days.”

  Larna’s eyes lifted. “Left? He didna say where?”

  I pressed my lips together, setting my face. “I can guess.”

  “What are we going to do?”

  “For now, nothing.” I gave Larna a stern look. “You are injured,” I reminded her.

  “But…” Larna cast an annoyed glance at her bandages. “Fine. Jett Bahari will be moving camp because of the attack. The Queen must know by now… At the new camp –”

  “When you are healed,” I interrupted.

  Larna agreed. “When I am healed, I will challenge Hosta. If he was betraying us to the Witch, I will take his blood as payment.”

  “What if it is someone else?” I asked.

  She shrugged, wincing as she pulled a torn muscle in her arm. I helped her adjust herself on the cot, making sure she was comfortable again. “Hosta did it,” she said, sounding sure. Larna was determined. “I know it.” The words gave her an idea and she looked at me.

  “Is your magic telling you anything? Do you Know who the traitor is?”