Daughter of the Moon (The Moon People, Book Two) (5 page)

Caspian was quick and nimble, hopping through the shallows from one side of the sparkling watercourse to the other, kicking up flurries of dry pine needles behind him as he bobbed and weaved across the forest floor. At first catching him seemed like a hopeless task, but Netya soon found that her legs were not growing tired as quickly as she had suspected. She was able to keep pace with him, having difficulty gaining, but never falling behind either. Her body was fast and nimble, and she began to wonder whether she might just stand a chance at catching him up after all.

He was playing with her, darting to and fro across the stream, trying to make it difficult for her to follow, but in doing so she noticed that he lost a little speed every time. When she pushed herself hard to close the distance between them on open ground, it was simple enough for Caspian to match her sprint and maintain the space between them, but he would not be able to do so if she saved her burst of speed for the right moment.

Holding herself back, she kept the impulses of her wolf in check, restraining the motion of her legs as the animal inside her yearned to run faster. Warm breath huffed through her muzzle, compelling her to catch up with Caspian's bouncing tail, but she held back, conserving her energy. The next time he tried to hop across a shallow spot in the stream, she lunged.

Caught unawares, her companion seemed to sense that she was gaining on him, jerking his head to the side as she rapidly closed the distance between them. The water dragged at his paws, preventing him from gaining the distance he needed, and an instant later she was alongside him.

Barking with elation, Netya pounced, landing on his side and nipping playfully at the back of his neck, thrilled with how she had used both her cunning and the determination of her wolf to overcome someone who was both faster and stronger than her. She knocked Caspian to the ground on the bank of the stream, coming down clumsily on top of him as she panted and tried to pin him beneath her.

Then she felt his body tense. Her wolf knew what was happening before her waking mind could make sense of it, and even before he moved she somehow knew she had been tricked. Rather than being driven to the ground beneath her, Caspian rolled to the side, sending Netya tumbling off him and into the carpet of pine needles.

A yelp of frustration left her muzzle, legs kicking in confusion as she landed on her back. As if her pounce had been nothing more than a predictable motion in a dance, Caspian took to his feet again as quickly as he had fallen, the motion so smooth it almost seemed like he had intended to be caught. He rolled Netya over again with a firm nudge of his muzzle, settling his considerable weight on her back as he pinned her, paws against her shoulders and teeth on the back of her neck.

A low growl rumbled in the back of his throat, reproachful, but patient. She shut her eyes in frustration and snorted a few dry needles from her muzzle. He did not need words to convey what he was thinking. She read the rumble of his growl and the language of his body with absolute clarity. Even the scent of him in her nostrils seemed to impress upon her what her companion was thinking.

The point of the game had not been to catch him. She had gotten so caught up in her own supposed cleverness of holding her wolf back that she had completely forgotten to save that restraint for when it was most needed.

She would have felt a fool, but something about Caspian's demeanour did away with the need for pride. A ripple ran down her back, her fur tingling as she sensed the commanding power of his wolf looming over her, the subtle authority conveyed in the weight of his body and the pressure of his paws, the warm huff of his breath and the firm tug of his teeth.

When he let her up again a moment later, it was not without a twinge of disappointment from her wolf. She had enjoyed feeling that alpha's authority rendering her helpless. It reminded her of Khelt, but it resonated with her in a way that she had never felt with him. Her wolf was more attuned to the primal essence of authority and submission, of males and females, of hierarchies and roles. For a moment it had seemed as if she was trapped in a comfortable nook when Caspian pinned her, where everything was correct and as it should be. Like many things about her wolf, it was both unsettling and enticing at the same time.

He seemed to sense her unease, and for an instant she caught a flicker of something primal and hungry in his eyes. Then it was gone, replaced with the same soft, collected understanding she was used to. He jerked his head down the stream again, and set off at another run.

They practised the game several times over until they began to grow weary of running. Twice Netya managed to restrain herself at the final moment, but more often than not the thrill of elation proved too strong, and her wolf forgot everything but the impending taste of victory.

They began tussling afterwards, exchanging one version of the game for another. Netya's wolf was clumsy and unused to fighting, even in such a playful fashion, but after a time the same competitive desire the racing had elicited began to stir in her breast once again. She could tell Caspian was practically toying with her, batting the swats of her paws away easily, leaving himself intentionally vulnerable so that she could pounce, but her excitable wolf quickly stopped caring.

As he pinned her over and over, however, the instinctual tug of compliance from earlier grew stronger. She had sensed glimmers of it for weeks now, warm gusts of emotion here and there between words, an unspoken connection that existed not between Netya and Caspian, but between the wolves that inhabited their bodies. They too had been cultivating a relationship, in some ways similar, but in some ways distinct from what she was used to.

It became more pronounced as the morning drew on. Caspian's scent grew thicker in her muzzle, the taste of him heavy on the air. His tussles became more energetic, sometimes to the point of overwhelming her before she even had a chance to fight back. He held her down for longer, the prick of his claws rolling up and down her shoulders as his heavy chest rumbled against her back.

Both of them were panting with exertion by the time the sun was high, and it was clear that the game they were playing had long since been abandoned. Netya sensed her partner reverting from the shape of his wolf as he held her down against the ground for the dozenth time, and she followed suit a moment later, their sun-kissed skin brushed with perspiration as he breathed heavily into her ear. His hands ran up and down her shoulders, easing off her wolf pelt cloak as he rolled her over and gazed down into her eyes.

"Will you take what you desire now?" she panted, lying back against the ticklishly soft ground without any hint of resistance.

"We should be heading back to the others," he murmured, but his voice was heavy with need, the feral quality of his wolf still lingering in his eyes.

"You miss being a man, don't you? Having a man's place."

His brow furrowed. "I should be above such needs. But I have never felt them calling to me so strongly."

"You need not rise above them," she smiled, "not with me."

Caspian held himself back for a moment longer, and then his fingers were gripping tight around her wrists, pinning them to the ground either side of her head as he lunged forward and took her with a passionate kiss.

Heat blossomed through Netya's body, bringing a weakness to her muscles and a fluttering to her chest that she had never felt before. She squirmed beneath him, savouring the breathless moment as her male claimed her, awakening in full the strange new feelings her wolf had birthed within her. She pressed her hips against the growing swell beneath his clothing, the chill of the air forgotten by their heated bodies. The firm insistence of his knees drove her thighs apart, the swell of his manhood pressing impatiently against the part of her that desired it most.

Those articles of clothing that could easily be shed soon littered the bank of the stream around them, the rest clinging loosely to their bodies as Caspian bore down upon her and pressed himself between her eager folds. She was caught up in the rhythm of their passion. Both of them were. Like the phantom scents that tugged her deep into the forest, her desire for Caspian dragged her away from sense and reason until she became lost.

He made love to her ferociously on the riverbank, hips driving against hers over and over again, stirring the tightness deep in her belly that longed to break free. His powerful chest heaved above her, the taste of his body lingering on her lips as he kissed her, squeezing her wrists until her fingertips went numb.

Never before had she felt quite so claimed. She had been with powerful men, but she was a small and delicate thing alongside them, and often they were cautious not to hurt her. Caspian's lovemaking was always patient and masterful, coaxing her to impossibly high peaks and holding her there, as if pleasure was an exquisite craft that only he understood in its entirety.

But this was different. The ecstasy she felt was not born of her lover's talents, but by the primal surge of instinct their wolves both shared. It was raw and harsh, and utterly satisfying, like the relieving burn of stretching an aching muscle taut. Had she not been so thoroughly ready for him, the experience might have been a very different one indeed.

He took her like a wolf taking his female, returning to his den and slaking his needs without any pause for ceremony. He expected her to submit willingly, and the power of his expectation made it so. It felt good to indulge her male. To lie back and be taken, letting the burn between her legs grow until those invisible flames spread to her core, and the friction of his ravenous thrusts pushed her over the edge.

Their cries and howls of ecstasy were almost those of wild animals, furious and unrestrained. Their bodies tightened and locked together, Caspian's forehead pressing hard against hers as his intense gaze dug into her soul. It felt like she was about to break beneath him, but as her last strand of restraint snapped, all she felt was the surge of release as her climax pinnacled, ebbed, and captured her in a moment of endless pleasure, Caspian's eyes staying locked with hers as his taste filled her senses and he spilled his essence deep within his female.

Their aching bodies lay entwined together beside the stream until the heat of their lovemaking faded, and the chill of the winter morning crept back in to bring an end to the moment. A dazed sense of satisfaction lingered over Netya as she replaced her clothing, one which Caspian seemed to share as he sat beside her, drawing her in close again with a gentle embrace once they had dressed.

"It has never been that way before," he murmured into her ear. He sounded like a man who had just awoken from a dream. It reminded Netya of how she had felt returning from the clutches of the spirit world for the first time, where everything she had once known became strange and different.

"Does it worry you?" she said.

He considered for a moment before replying. "When you had no wolf of your own, it was only the woman in you I desired. It was simple. Now my wolf senses there may be a mate for him, too."

"It was the spirits of our beasts, wasn't it? They used our bodies, but they were the ones making love."

Caspian shook his head uncertainly. "Perhaps so. For once I do not understand it. Even the wisest among us cannot say when and why the wolf sometimes takes its hold."

She put a hand on his cheek and kissed him. "It was no less pleasurable, whatever it was."

Caspian said nothing, but his embrace tightened. He stared down the stream in silence, lost in the haunting silence of his own thoughts. He was changing. Both of them were. The life they had known together when they first met had all but disappeared, and the life that lay ahead of them became more unpredictable day by day.

The voice of Netya's wolf told her not to worry, but her conscious mind remained unsure. What would this changing world make of her, both wolf and woman alike, by the time the pack settled?

What was it making of Caspian?

—4—

Refuge

Netya did not find herself subjected to the lustful urges of Caspian's wolf again in the days that followed. Some of the strange tension between their beasts seemed to have ebbed, and he was more relaxed around the others than he had been in recent weeks, much more like his old self.

Unfortunately there was little time for the pair of them to share in their contentment. No more sunny days offered them the chance to slip away together, and the encroaching winter swept down from the northlands hard on their tail. After following the stream west for several days they noticed it stiffening with crusts of ice, and before long it had frozen over completely. They were running out of time. If they did not find somewhere to shelter soon, it would be too late.

Netya followed in Adel's weary footsteps, hovering anxiously behind her mentor. She half expected the woman to stumble and fall at any moment now. She rose earlier and went to sleep later than any of them, if at all, and every day she set a hard pace that left little room for rest. But she was Adel, as determined as the icy grip of winter and as stubborn as the mountains that weathered it.

"One of the males could carry you for a few hours if you would like, Den Mother," Netya said. "I am sure none of them would object."

Adel grunted and waved her off. "Let them carry the ones who need carrying. I will rest when we have a den sheltering us."

"I can tell you are more tired than you pretend." Netya lowered her voice. "We would be lost without you."