Maiden's Wolf (In Deception's Shadow Book 3) (12 page)

Silverblade
jerked awake and quickly glanced around, taking in his surroundings. It was
morning again. The forest was as it had been before, only broken underbrush and
the hoof prints of horses showed where a battle had taken place. While the
forest was still silent, it was no longer ominous. As he watched, a squirrel
scurried down a tree trunk to start foraging in the underbrush and a few of the
braver songbirds had already made their way back to this part of the forest.

While his body
was telling him it would have liked another day or two of sleep, his mind
sharpened. There was no damned way he was staying in this spot. As he watched,
a breeze rustled a clump of grass just a body-length away and kicked up a small
cloud of ash. All that remained of the acolytes.

He rolled to his
knees. Everything seemed in good order, if a little stiff and sore from
battling the acolytes. After scanning the clearing one more time, he scooped
the still-sleeping human up in his arms and stood. She shifted and mumbled
something uneasily, but didn’t wake. Good. If she was awake, she’d likely
demand to walk and he could move faster carrying her.

She felt lighter
than he remembered, as if using her magic had burned away some of her mass. He
glanced down and studied her again. It was just fanciful thoughts on his part.
After a good scrubbing, she would look much the same as she always had.

Perhaps it was he
who was stronger?

It wasn’t likely
to last. Whatever their Larnkins had done to save them, it had also severed his
link to his pack. Without the pack bonds, he would weaken and die. As soon as
Beatrice realized that, she would act to reestablish the bonds permanently.

And there was
only one way to do that without his pack.

Becoming mates
was a complication he wished to avoid.

With a new sense
of urgency, he left the scene of battle behind and struck out in the direction
they had originally been heading. When he came upon exceptionally large hoof
prints, he grinned. It seemed likely their horse had survived and, wise
creature that he was, had fled away from the battle.

Ahead, he knew
there was a river and good grazing along its banks. With luck, the horse would
follow the scent of water.

He kept up a
brisk pace for well over a candlemark, determined to eventually catch up with
the gelding. It was likely wishful thinking on his part, but they’d lost all
their supplies, so he hoped they could at least find the horse for Beatrice to
ride. The faster they could reach his people, the better.

Silverblade
glanced down at Beatrice. While he could survive in the forest with nothing but
his claws and the fur on his back as it were, humans were a much more fragile
species. He didn’t like the idea of trying to keep the human alive when they
ventured into the mountains.

He had another
reason for making for the river. One of his stashes was hidden in a cave behind
a small waterfall there. If the acolytes hadn’t found it—which he couldn’t be
sure they hadn’t, since the spell net trap had been uncomfortably close—he
could use those supplies to keep Beatrice alive.

It was possible
they’d somehow found his stash, determined it belonged to a magic wielder, and
had set their trap nearby hoping to catch the owner. Well, if those supplies
had been destroyed, he’d just find another way to keep the healer alive.

While he’d been
mulling over his options, Beatrice awoke and started to struggle in his arms.

“Easy, it’s me.
Silverblade.”

She raised her
head. First looking at him and then her surroundings. “Put me down. I can
walk.”

“I’m faster on
foot. Speed is of the utmost importance at the moment.” For three whole beats
of his heart, he thought she would deny his words.

But then she
surprised him and wrapped her arms around behind his neck. “You’re likely
right, but
you’d
move even faster without me.”

Silverblade
didn’t even bother to dignify her words with a response.

He carried her
for most of the morning, stopping to rest around midday for a candlemark and
then starting out again. He kept his brisk pace for most of the day.

It was close to
evening by the time he smelled the river, and he heard it long before he saw
it. If not for the dull roar of the river rapids, he might have heard the
sounds of a horse grazing before he practically tripped over the gelding.

The big, placid
gelding merely flicked an ear in their direction as he grazed. Occasionally, he
swatted a fly before taking another slow step forward. The horse’s body
language told him there were no predators here that he needed to worry about.

“Well, I suppose
it’s good to see you,” he commented to the horse. “You couldn’t have waited for
us? We’ve only been following you all day.”

He put Beatrice
down, went over to the horse, and looked him over. “Damn. The horse is lame,
his right hind hoof is hot. Come have a look.”

Beatrice examined
the gelding and found what Silverblade pointed out. She sent her healer’s magic
to work upon it, but already knew it wouldn’t be a quick fix. “It’s an abscess.
Just about any other kind of injury would have been better. I can heal open
wounds, cuts, bruises anything along those lines swiftly. But this is an
infection inside the hoof and without a sharp farrier knife I can’t cut my way
to the infection to allow it to drain. I can still heal it, but not as quickly
as if I had the proper tools.”

“Do what you can.
He can rest tonight and we’ll see how he is tomorrow.”

Beatrice nodded
but was already working on the gelding. After a quarter candlemark of intensive
healing she straightened. “There. I’ve killed off the infection. That should
help with the pain. But it will take at least a day to heal fully even with my
magic’s aid.”

After gently patting
the horse, she turned to study the area around them. “Where are we?”

“If we were
riding, we’d only be a few candlemarks from the waterfall where my supplies are
stored, but the light’s fading, and the gelding needs to rest, so we’ll have to
stop here for the night.”

“I’ll start
gathering firewood and get a cooking fire going if you want to see if you can
round up something to eat.” She glanced sidelong at his claws. “We lost the
hunting knives. Will that be a problem?”

“No. But don’t go
far from the river and keep an eye on the horse. I don’t want to lose the
gelding again.”

Beatrice nodded
in agreement. “I’ll see if I can fashion a lead and reins out of some vines. It
won’t be pretty, but it might be better than nothing.”

Silverblade
glanced at the setting sun. He wasn’t concerned about catching dinner or
cooking it, and if they followed the river, water wouldn’t be a problem. But
the nights were still cold and blankets were not something the forest could
provide.

He only hoped
that his supplies stash was intact or that his own people managed to find him
before he and Beatrice had to make the mountain crossing. The mountain passes
were not likely to see snow this late into the spring, but that wasn’t to say
it wasn’t possible.

With that unhappy
thought, he went in search of dinner.

*****

Beatrice jerked
awake and bolted upright, panic making her heart pound, but slowly the
nightmares fell away. She was alive. A glance around showed that she was lying
next to a fire and the big gelding was grazing a short distance away.

Something else
became immediately apparent. Her front was warm where she faced the fire, but
her back was cold and she was in desperate need of a bath. She sat up and contemplated
the stream. Unfortunately, it looked anything but warm. It wouldn’t be the
first time she’d bathed in ice-cold water. But she was also hungry and peered
around hopefully, then reaching out with her healer’s gifts, she searched for
Silverblade.

Her magic soon
located him, and after a moment she knew he was returning to her. If she
hurried, she’d have time for a quick scrub in the river. She didn’t have soap,
but the river had a sandy bottom and she was likely to come out cleaner than
she went in. Anything was an improvement over her present condition.

*****

Beatrice sat
close to the fire, warming herself after her dip in the river, and stared into
the flames. As always, she found their slow flicker mesmerizing. When
Silverblade returned, she looked up and smiled a greeting at him, then stood.
He had dinner with him. Rabbits again, but she didn’t care. She was so hungry,
she was almost tempted to eat them raw.

“Here, let me
help you with those.”

As if he
understood her last thought, he grunted in obvious amusement.

Together, they
set about building a small cooking spit for the rabbits. The task wasn’t as
easy as normal. They had to find some long-dried grass to tie the twigs
together with and they didn’t have a blade to cut the branches down to size,
but they managed. While the rabbits were cooking over the fire, they sat and
watched in relative silence, neither of them mentioning the battle with the
acolytes or her terrible magic. For which Beatrice was grateful.

But even that
thought was enough to remind her of all that had happened. Her mind still
didn’t want to process it, was in fact trying to block it, but the memories
wouldn’t stop unfolding.

She had murdered.
Yes, it was necessary, and perhaps in a way she was freeing those acolytes from
their dark master. The thought gave her little comfort, for it wasn’t only the
acolytes. Her magic had slain many an innocent forest dweller, too.

She was supposed
to be a healer, not a death dealer.

Tucking her head
against her knees, she used the ruse of trying to stay warm to hide the slow
trickle of tears down her face. Silverblade respected strength and she didn’t
want the lupwyn to see her as weak.

“Beatrice?”

She didn’t
respond, silently wishing him to go back to tending the fire.

Instead he
settled next to her, hip to hip, and placed an arm around her shoulders. He
dragged her closer until her face was pressed against his chest. He nuzzled her
hair.

“It’s all right
to cry. Taking a life is never easy, even if it is required so the vast
majority can survive. But it does not mean it makes it any easier to kill. I
imagine it is especially hard for one who is a healer.”

His voice rumbled
over her head, deep and soothing. Something she could listen to for endless
candlemarks, she decided.

“Beatrice, there
is no weakness in tears. It takes far more strength to show compassion than it
does to distance oneself from one’s emotions.”

She nodded
against his shoulder, running her finger along his back, finding it strangely
comforting.

Still, she wasn’t
expecting it when Silverblade’s other arm went underneath her knees and scooped
her up into his lap. Before she had a chance to protest, his large fingers with
their deadly claws were delicately tipping her chin up so she was looking into
his two-toned eyes. His ears came forward, the expression on his face gentle
and full of compassion.

He rubbed the
back of one finger along her cheek and picked up one, shimmering tear.

“I can say with
authority that these are strictly tears of strength. Nothing to be ashamed of.”

“If you say so.”

“I do.”

After a time,
Beatrice relaxed, simply enjoying Silverblade’s acceptance. She found his
warmth, strength, and compassion almost addictive. In her defense, it had been
something she’d craved long before she’d met him. With him, it seemed possible
that she might have finally found the one thing she’d searched all her life
for.

He didn’t need to
know that, though. Once she was strong, she could wean herself off his
addictive compassion. She would be strong later.

Her eyes drifted
closed again, her tears drying as the shivers racking her body slowly subsided.
Something else registered. Silverblade’s gentle touch. The entire time she’d
sobbed on his shoulder, he’d been gently touching her—soothing caresses which stroked
along her hair or just a light touch running down her arms.

It was almost
ritualistic. And he had called her his pack. Was this a lupwyn social custom?
Likely.

Well, she had
promised herself to be open and adaptive to his culture. Slowly, she mirrored
his actions. Her fingers skirted up his sides and then around to the fur
running down his spine.

He shivered at
her touch and, growing braver, she brought her hands up and around to curve
over his powerful shoulders. From there, she worked her palms against smooth
skin and tense muscle, applying just enough pressure to release the knots of
tension she found there.

Silverblade
breathed out something in his native language and switched his own delicate
caresses to better match hers.

Something clicked
into place. Lupwyns communicated with much more than their voices. They must
also communicate with their bodies, much like wild wolves. She’d bet this had
something to do with strengthening social bonds between pack members. As
foreign as it was to her human-raised morals, it was exceedingly pleasant.

She did not think
it was sexual for him. In actual fact, she was sure it wasn’t. She was sitting
on his lap. If there was anything to notice, she would’ve noticed. That
realization allowed her to set aside her own hesitation and insecurity.

After a time, she
scooted off his lap, stood, and came around behind him where she continued her
work.

Once she’d worked
out every knot of tension she’d found in his shoulders and neck, she moved down
his spine, her fingers finding each little bump and hollow until she came to his
tail. She stopped there. The sensation of fur against her fingers was a bit
odd, but disregarding that difference, he felt like a man. Although, the idea
of running her fingers through the fluffy fur of his tail brought a smile to
her face. She didn’t give in to the urge though. He’d said his tail was sensitive.

She flattened her
hands against the small of his back instead, kneading his flesh.

Besides, he was
keeping his touch above the waist. It was possible that the tail was an
erogenous zone for the lupwyn species. The last thing she wanted to do was
destroy this perfect moment of peace by putting her hands somewhere they
weren’t welcome.

*****

Silverblade
swallowed almost convulsively. It was a good thing she didn’t continue on to
his tail. As it was, the feel of her fingers skating down his back was enough
to make his ears droop with pleasure. And her small but strong fingers kneading
his lower back—that was almost enough to make another body part stand at
attention.

When he’d first
pulled her into his lap, he’d been ruled by instinct. What had started as a
need to give comfort had changed into a need to take comfort as well.

For the first
time in his life, he found himself completely cut off from his pack. Even when
he’d been spying on the humans, he’d still been bound by the magic which flowed
between all pack members and he’d never been alone.

Until the
acolytes had damaged his pack bonds and Beatrice’s magic had finished tearing
those links apart along with the nearby acolytes. He didn’t know if it was
accidental or intentional on her part, but he wasn’t as upset about it as he
should be.

Now he craved
Beatrice’s magic, willing—needing—her to forge the pack ties with him.

If he was honest
with himself, he’d wanted to make Beatrice pack for days now. The most common
way to instigate pack bonds was through touch, usually some form of mutual
grooming. But that way took months, years even. There was another, faster, way.
“I should not even be thinking about that!”

But somehow, the
human healer had picked up on his thoughts or his need, and now she mirrored
his actions, giving him what he craved.

Had her Larnkin
not severed his bonds to his pack, he would have ignored what he felt for
Beatrice, giving her the time she needed to find her place in his pack. It
wasn’t sexual for him, not yet.

Beatrice moved
again, rising from where she sat behind him to circle around in front and
settling back into his lap, where she started to work her skillful massage
slowly down his chest. His eyes drifted closed and he was certain his
expression probably betrayed how much he enjoyed her touch.

Apparently a
skilled healer knew things others did not. He sighed deeply and the last of his
tension flowed away. It was probably good that he was sitting down. He doubted
he could remain upright with the way all his muscles were melting into a
useless, quivering mass.

After a time,
which seemed all too short to Silverblade, Beatrice finished her massage.

“Hmmm, you seem
to enjoy that. Was it a fair imitation of lupwyn social bonding?”

“Yes.” The word
came out slurred.

“So I’m not
overstepping any kind of custom?”

“No.” Was complex
speech truly beyond him? Yes, he feared it was.

“Good,” Beatrice
said, exhaustion creeping into her voice. She curled into him, her head coming
to rest on his chest, just below his chin. “If I did this with a human man,
he’d get the wrong idea.”

Wrong idea?
Silverblade wrapped his arms around her shoulders to hold her secure against
him. A lazy grin tugged at his lips. A male human might not be the only one
getting the wrong idea, holding this lovely armful.

No, while this
wasn’t sexual for him, it could’ve been, had his heart been free to love. He’d
already learned this painful lesson—hadn’t he?

His heart had been
bruised and battered once in this life, nearly torn from his chest by the woman
he had loved. That time, he thought she loved him enough in return to be
faithful. He’d been wrong.

Now, even though
his lupwyn soul craved something more, his phoenix heart wasn’t free to love
again. No attempt was worth that kind of pain. So his vow remained. It had to.

Which brought his
circular reasoning back to Beatrice. What if she wanted something more from him
one day? What if she thought he was offering more?

It wasn’t fair to
her, and she was so young. She was also human, not lupwyn. While she seemed
accepting of him and lupwyn ways, that did not mean she knew this wasn’t more
than social bonds. He would not lead her on. He doubted she knew her own heart
yet. And living with her grandmother and her younger brother, he wondered if
she had ever loved deeply in this lifetime. He did not want to be the first
male to capture her heart and then crush it when he couldn’t return that love.

Besides, he’d
never felt his age until now. To immortals, physical age meant little. But next
to her, he felt…old.

While he had been
wandering down the corridors of his mind, he realized that at some point,
Beatrice’s fingers had dropped away from where they’d been tracing a line along
his pectoral muscle. Her head was slumped forward in slumber.

More than mild
disappointment flooded through him when he realized she’d fallen asleep.

Had it been left
to him, he’d likely have taken this slightly further, probably further than was
wise, considering his present thoughts and the hollow ache of his severed pack
bonds. Still, minor disappointment and discomfort flowed through him.

“Old Man,”
Silverblade directed the thought at his dormant Larnkin.
“Now I
know how you feel.”

In the next
breath, he chided himself for being foolish. He was old enough to deal with disappointments.
Besides, soon he’d be with his pack again, if the acolytes didn’t catch up to
him first. Once among his pack, they would heal him. It would be better that
way. There’d be no risk to either his or Beatrice’s heart.

Silverblade
grunted unhappily and then rubbed his face against her hair, dragging in her scent.
Damn, she was already taking on the overtones of pack.