The Wolfen Lover Page 5

  Moving too quickly for the Wolfen to catch, Byron flew down to Laina and pulled her into his strong arms. He floated out of the cave with her while she screamed, and Byron could see other vampires flying toward the cave, ready to strike. The wolf ran toward them, running his hardest, and Byron watched him freeze as he saw the clan in the distance. The animal was hopelessly outnumbered.

  Byron felt Laina lose her will to fight, her muscles growing slack. “I will go,” she whispered in his ear. “And I will be your woman if only you leave him be. If not, I will kill you in your sleep. I swear it. I have learned the secrets, and you will die. So choose.”

  Byron watched the wolf stare up at the sky. He felt the power in Laina’s words, the quiet menace that seemed to come from another being, a stronger being . . . the Creator himself. Only legend to most vampires, the Creator was real to some, and if Laina had made her way to him, she may well know how he could be killed. He dropped her to the ground and made a quiet pact with her while the other clan members grew closer. “Tell him to play dead,” he ordered, making his decision. “Tell him to play dead, or we will drink his blood, all of us.”

  Byron watched Laina run to the beast and spoke with him quietly. He saw her lean into the creature’s fur and whisper to him, but he could not hear her words. He saw her draw her long, sharp fingernails across his throat and lean over the wolf, so that it seemed she was drinking his blood. “Scream,” he heard her order him, and he did, screams of death and terror that chilled even Byron’s cold blood.

  Byron cringed at the doleful sound, as Laina hunched over his throat, smearing it with blood from the cut she had opened on his belly. She stayed in place, seeming to drink, and smeared more blood about her own mouth and jawline, and then she rose. The wolf slumped, seemingly dead, and no more sounds came from his still body. Laina rose until she was in Byron’s arms again. Her face was bloodstained, and her eyes were hard. Byron held her tight until they joined the others where they floated, waiting. Byron grinned at them and ordered them home. They laughed at the sight of Laina, one of them once more, for it was clear she had been held by the Wolfen beast and had her revenge. And she stared at them, her eyes like ice, and they flew to the estate, to the king and queen.

  Byron brought her in, still in his arms, for she was weak with fear and loathing. His eyes blazed with triumph as he presented the beautiful princess to the clan. All the men who had gone on the mission watched to see how the king and queen would react. The queen’s eyes were glazed, as they had been so many times, an opium glaze that all knew well. It made her dreamy and pliable, and the king was in the same state. Byron hurried forward and made the speech he had planned during the long flight home.

  “My king and queen, I found your princess, held captive in a dank, cold cave. She found the courage to slay the Wolfen, perhaps the last of his breed, and to drink from him. We shall never need to fear their power again.”

  Byron watched the king, noting his puzzlement. “Indeed,” the king answered slowly. He watched the most royal of vampires fix his penetrating gaze upon his own daughter.

  “Yes, Father,” Laina whispered, her voice ragged. “I am home. Please forgive me for running away. I often struggle . . . with who and what I am, but I now accept my high station, and I will have Byron for my own, and rule here with you.”

  Byron waited silently as the queen came forward, looking closely at her daughter. She seemed tense under her bright, pleasant expression. He watched her lean close to her daughter, inhaling the animal stench that clung to her hair and clothes. Her nose wrinkled at the foul odor.

  “My goodness, darling,” she murmured. “Go and have a bath. I’ll send the others to fill up the tub.”

  * * * *

  Laina nodded obediently, anxious to leave the others. She craved the feeling of peace that a hot bath would bring, and she no longer feared that her brother would destroy her. She ran lightly up the staircase, never looking back. She had made a hard bargain with Byron, but in the end, she was joyful, because Michael lived. Whether or not Byron would try to kill him in the future, she did not know.

  Now, she must marry Byron in the dark ceremony she had always dreaded, and she would do it to keep Michael alive. I will do anything, she thought. It doesn’t matter what is required of me. I will do it. Only . . . I do not want Byron to touch me. That is the worst of it, and the thing I cannot face.

  As her attendants took her robes, leaving her in only a thin, cream-colored chemise, she shooed them away and was alone at last. She soaked in the water, scrubbed herself clean, and she could hardly bear to be parted from his animal scent, which was like a part of her now. She felt like crying, but she remained quiet. It was safer to portray no emotion. Smelling of lavender and verbena, she rose from her bath, not letting her gaze trail down her own naked body. It was hard, so hard, for her to forget the way Michael had touched her and loved her. It was torture to be anywhere but by his side, whether he was wolf or man.

  Just the thought of their mating made her cheeks burn hot and her nipples harden. She could feel her longing for him in her loins, and she pressed her thin chemise to her nose, breathing in its animal smell. Soon, it would be thrown away, and she would only have her memories.

  * * * *

  Laina waited for her father, and he came to her that night. He brought her a glass of wine. He told her he wanted to hear about the ways of the Wolfen tribe. The two of them had often talked of the old legends. They both knew that the Wolfens had great power in their animal form. Laina sensed his curiosity, and she knew must weave a careful tale about the events that took place while she was with Michael.

  Laina was certain that the other vampires had told him how easily she had won the battle with the Wolfen. “It was as though she had put a spell on him,” she had overheard Byron telling the king. “He screamed, a mixture of human and animal sounds of pain, just as on Hallows’ Eve,” he had said. The king must have laughed at that, Laina knew, remembering how her father had used the element of surprise to overtake their enemies. He would have remembered those screams and enjoyed the terror he caused. The screams would be like music to him, Laina thought. And the blood would be an exquisite blending of taste and pleasure . . . a potent brew, indeed, that he had no doubt developed a taste for.

  “Tell your story,” he said as he watched her face. His eyes seemed to penetrate her very soul. Laina combed out her damp raven hair upon her bed. “Tell me your story, my darling.”

  She felt unease, for the king was perceptive. She began to speak slowly, choosing her words with care. She would mix truth with lies so that he could feel some sincerity, but some things she would never tell.

  “I went to the caves looking for the Wolfens, the ones who escaped,” she said. . “I found one. It slept by the fire, and its silver pelt was so bright, so shining. I knew immediately it was not a pure wolf, but a creature of magic, like we are. I waited for dawn because I longed to see it change, and in the first light of morning, it stirred near the ashes and became a man, a great beast of a man, and I was afraid.”

  Laina saw that the king’s face was rapt with interest, for he had always been curious about the other tribe, and he had never seen their magic. She was careful to appear shaken by her ordeal. She let tears fill her eyes, and she saw him relax a little. She recognized the glassy shimmer that the remnants of the opium always brought to his eyes. “Go on,” he told her, and she laid down her tortoiseshell comb and continued her story.

  “I watched from the shadows, from a dark corner of the cave, as he changed, and I saw the magic, the moment when everything seemed to blur, and at once, he was something different. It only took a moment, but before me there was a man, fully human, or so it seemed, except for the eyes. His eyes were those of a wolf, and I could not stop staring at them, those animal eyes in a human face.

  “He came toward me. He sensed me immediately, I think, and I was poised to attack, to feed. But . . . he spoke to me, and he was charming, and I listened like one bewit
ched. I was spellbound . . . and he grabbed me, suddenly, and before I could overpower him or sink my teeth into his flesh, he had bound me with some rope he carried, and kept me prisoner . . . for many moons.”

  Her father looked angry. But she knew the anger was not directed at her. All his hatred was for the Wolfen kind, just as it had always been. He patted her shoulder awkwardly, for they did not often share such easy affection, and it was not his way. She grinned at him, her eyes wet with tears.

  Laina cringed as he asked her if the wolf had used her, as a man uses a woman. She had known this question would come. “Did he . . . take your maidenhead?” he inquired, his jaw tight. She had always been told that the gift of her virginity was to be for the next prince of the clan. It was not meant for some lowly creature in the woodland.

  “No,” Laina lied, her eyes downcast. “He did not abuse me, but asked many questions about us and seemed satisfied with the answers. He was as curious about our kind as we are about his.”

  “What powers has he?” the king asked. She knew this question was important. It showed that her father did not know everything about the magical tribe of wolves. The Creator had not allowed him to know. Laina tried not to show her relief, but she knew now that she could have some secrets. And that the secrets could help her protect her own love.

  “I do not know. He was gentle, mostly. He had a temper when he was a man, but he was not unduly rough with me, and he could have been. He kept his distance, asking so many questions and observing me.”

  “Was he very strong, like us?”

  “Yes,” Laina answered. “I could feel his strength, stronger perhaps than my own, but in the end, I tricked him, and I drank of him. In the end, I was the stronger one. We are stronger, my father, and there is nothing to fear from the Wolfen. Perhaps there never was, and all this bloodshed and hatred was for nothing.”

  Her father looked down, and Laina tried to read the thoughts hidden by his inscrutable gaze. She was sure the Creator had turned from him after that bloody night when he changed the fate of the Wolfen forever. She knew he had spent hours trying to access the veils between the worlds, without success. No more could he go to his Creator, no matter how much opium he took from his pipe, and no matter how he meditated. This made him very angry, she knew, because he must rule his clan by his wits alone, without divine assistance. In the old days, he had always had divine assistance.

  If the Creator was angry with her father, as she suspected, there was a chance for her and Michael. She shrugged aside her fears, and she felt stronger. Perhaps she could use all of this to their advantage.

  After a long silence, Laina’s father kissed her cheek. “Rest now, my child,” he said, rising to his full height. Her father was an imposing creature, tall and broad of shoulder, and his eyes were diamond bright and pale, so unlike Laina’s.

  “I will rest, for now I am home and safe. I am sorry I ran away. I was confused.”

  “See that is doesn’t happen again,” he said, shortly. “Now, I will send the queen in to see you, and she will be harsh with you, I fear.”

  “Please have her wait until the morning. I am weary to the bones, and I cannot face her now.”

  “Very well,” he said, turning to leave. “But remember, any disloyalty to us can carry a heavy price, and we have long memories.”

  “I know,” Laina said, dully. “I know you do.”

  The room was empty, and the windows were boarded shut so that she could not open them. A guard rested outside her door, and more vampires prowled the grounds in shifts to protect her, or perhaps to keep her here like a prisoner. Laina sighed, imagining Michael running through the forest on his four legs, seeking his prey.

  She longed for the freedom of the forest, where she and Michael could live as one. “I will be with you again, but will you want me, my love, when Byron has had his way?” she whispered and blew out the candle. I will never let him touch me, she thought, burning with the desire for her mate. I will never let him. I will kill him and my father. The others are not strong enough to keep me here, and then I will find you, if it takes all of eternity. I will never fail you, my love.

  Laina closed her eyes, for they never really slept, her kind, and she pulled her pillow close to her and hugged it for comfort. She longed to stroke Michael’s silvery fur in the first morning light and to feel him become a man and mount her, fur turning to warm flesh, and mate with her like an animal, his lips and hands rough and hungry for her. She felt the ache in her loins, the longing, and it was like fire, fire that burned from within. Michael, she thought, desperate with loneliness in her luxurious prison. Michael, I had no choice. They would have feasted upon your blood.

  Chapter Eight

  Laina was sequestered in the great house as everyone made hushed preparations for the wedding ceremony. Depression weighed down on her as the days passed, and she went through the motions numb and sad.

  Her gown was to be of garnet silk, the sacred color of blood, and her hair was to be braided with jet stones and grey pearls. Her ring, that Michael had given her, was hidden away, and she now wore a great ruby upon her finger to symbolize her link to Byron.

  Laina needed to get into town to find the town witch, Helena, whose powers were renowned, but she could not get free of the guards and the clan members who swirled around her preparing for the ancient marriage rites. She was not free to leave, and she pined for Michael and wondered how he was. She could hardly stand to live one more day without him in her arms, and the thought of her wedding night, when Byron would touch her body, and violate her, was unbearable.

  Byron had avoided her for days, in keeping with tradition, and he would see her on the night of their wedding. She was uneasy, for she could see his coldness toward her, even from a distance. She fantasized about driving the iron dagger into his flesh as he fed, of ending her captivity, and of stopping the wedding she dreaded.

  Byron was cold with her when they did meet, his rage still present. He looked upon her as one defiled, but still he lusted for her, and she feared he would be cruel and rough with her when he took her to his bed.

  She had heard tales from the others, who often whispered outside her bedroom door, about the terrible things Byron was doing to the town whores, who he raped and beat before he drank their blood. Never before had she heard such things of him, and she shuddered, for the vampires said he only chose the prostitutes who had long, raven hair, just like her own.

  * * * *

  Byron was cold and dissipated his eyes like icy diamonds when he stared into her face. He could barely wait to savage her, tie her wrists with silken cords, and have his way with her—it was all he thought about.

  He would teach her a lesson, and he would not be gentle with her as she had not been gentle with his own heart. He imagined her with the Wolfen lover, her body responding to the beast’s, and he felt hatred for her. He longed for the wedding night, when she would belong to him, utterly, for men still ruled in their clan, and women must submit.

  Byron had not been careful with the prostitutes. He had dragged them into deserted alleyways and pushed up their skirts and forced himself upon them, climaxing as he drank their blood. He left them half naked, dead, and drained of their blood, and the townspeople were in terror.

  * * * *

  The local witch, Helena, profited richly from this fresh wave of fear by selling useless amulets and charms and saving her true magic for her own protection.

  Helena lived in a fine house, and she could see the grounds of the vampires’ estate from her back garden. There, she grew herbs and other things she needed for her potions, and she built a fortress of magic against the creatures of the night. Byron was vicious like the others, and she had seen him in her visions, but she told the townspeople that there were such creatures everywhere and that leaving would do no good. And so the villagers stayed, set in their ways, and they came to accept the dark lottery that would claim some of them.

  Helena did not hate the vampires, for she was a
practitioner of black magic, and she had much in common with them. As well, her riches and her pleasant lifestyle were dependent upon the terror that they created. Helena had an uneasy alliance with them in her own way, placating the villagers with the simplest spells and curses, and keeping them in the town. But Helena knew she was not safe, and she took pains to protect herself as best she could.

  * * * *

  Michael moved through the forest, desperate to find the village. He would find the dagger he needed, even if it meant killing or stealing, and he would avenge this—he would avenge everything. He felt the pain where Laina had dragged her sharp nail across his belly, and he raged at the creatures who had stolen his mate. He had let her go to save himself, and he had been weak.

  They would have killed me, he thought. There were too many of them. Now he was full of anger, and he knew their secret, and he would make them pay. Laina had proved herself by saving him and making it possible for him to avenge his loss and reclaim his mate. I will get you back, he told himself, running faster through the forest, burning off his emotions, becoming only an animal. I will hunt and feed, and then at first light, I will dress in the clothes I carry in my teeth, and I will go to the village as a man, and I will kill them all. His heart ached all the while, even as he raged, for he was not safe in the little cave, with the princess to stroke his fur, and watch him all through the night.