Werewulf Journals 4: Sated Pleasures (17 page)

“Pavel…” Kaila came to him then, crawling across the bed to pull him down and sit in his lap. Until she wiped his cheeks with her palms, he hadn’t realized his face was wet with tears.

“My only hope lay in surprising them. I tiptoed along the wall, praying I could stay downwind, and risked one last careful glimpse to make sure I knew where the two were located. I grabbed up one of the ragged bones scattered about the floors -- old as the hills, Rickard used to say. It was a long, blunt-ended bone as thick as my leg.”

Pavel tightened his arms around Kaila, using her warmth and love to anchor him as he rushed through the ending. “Doryian stood close to my father, where he could see the action.

He didn’t want to miss a moment of watching his nephew’s rape. I hit him first, so hard I heard his skull crack. He went down and I was already stepping over him and swinging at my father’s neck.

“It’s hard to do, but you can kill a wulf if you know the secret. My father had taught it to me and I used it against him. You hit them hard. You hurt them over and over, never giving them time to shift because we heal when we shift. The worse the hurt, the longer it takes to shift. Each shift takes more and more out of you until you can’t. You can’t and you die. I didn’t have the strength to do real damage, not in skin form, so I shifted to battle form and I hit Yanosh the way he’d taught me.

“All the while, Rickard watched me, big eyes unblinking, his mental voice screaming in my head to help, help, help him. He’d wet his pants, so scared when they’d stood over him, let him hear what they would do to him. The smell of urine, and soon blood filled the small space, choking me. I think Yanosh tried to say something, but my head was full of Rickard’s soundless voice. He was all I could hear. Eventually, Yanosh stayed still but I didn’t stop until he shifted to fur form. Then I knew he was dead and not coming back. Fur is our first and final form.”

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Traps

Brandon tried to concentrate on the mental picture of Rosemary he held in his head, murmuring her name over and over. It was his mantra against the unnatural lust boiling in his gut. One touch, he marveled. How could one touch be all it took to addict him for life?

And he hadn’t even received a full dose, hadn’t come into actual contact with the dark god’s flesh. All this from touching a leaf that had been rubbed between the naked fingers of Aricles.

He needed to get home, needed to hold his bitch in his arms, mount her, replace the soul destroying hunger with the sweet refreshment of Rosemary’s fresh taste. She was so gentle, his Rosemary, always ready for him, looking up to him with that expression of love he could no longer live without.

He felt the pull to be one with Aricles rising and fought it with all his being. Knees going weak, he sank to the ground, curling into a ball of screaming need. Aricles was close, moving closer and as he did, the desire to touch him, be fucked by him, was triggered by his proximity.

“I deeply regret the necessity that caused me to inflict you with the effects of my curse, Brandon.” The god simply appeared before him, stepping out of nothingness. Brandon felt the weight of his fathomless black eyes trained on him, an expression of compassion and sorrow softening their dense ebony depths.

Brandon trembled, gasping for air, one hand clenching around his cramping belly. “I don’t. If my pain will help prevent the murders of other innocent humans, I can deal with it.”

Aricles’s eyes softened even more. “An admirable sentiment, young wulf, and an honorable one; however, I hope you will not have to suffer long. I have been experimenting with a new compound: a mixture of Lethe’s tears, which causes forgetfulness, and Orpheus’s 100

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lyre music, which grants peace. I am hopeful this potion will assist those suffering from being contaminated by me.”

Gritting his teeth, Brandon stared up as the demigod floated out of arms’ reach above his head and his eyes flashed incandescent as lust detonated, blowing his control to hell. He couldn’t resist the desire any longer, the urge to submit his body to the male that ruled him body and soul. He had to touch Aricles, had to be closer to him. “My lord, I need you, please take me!”

Aricles rose a little higher, making sure he was out of his reach. “Brandon, remember Rosemary. Concentrate on her. We are almost done here. I’ve found the original lair and, I believe, the murder site. There is a name scratched in the dirt. Alice. Perhaps the victim tried to leave us a clue, though I cannot think what that one word would signify.”

Brandon’s eyes lit up. “I know why she did it! He called her that all the time. Delin teased Anita by calling her Alice in Fat Land. She knew we would know who it was when we saw the nickname.”

“Ah, she was a wise woman and canny, to be able to think so clearly during such a horrendous time. I wish I had met her.”

Brandon nodded. “That’s why I hate him so much. She was a real nice lady.” He looked forlorn. “I want to get back to my Rosemary.”

“All this will be over soon,” Aricles promised. “All that’s left to do is set the trap for Delin. To do that, I must go into the future, time-walking in small increments, to determine which location he will use next. Even a god can be lost in the streams of realities, so I’ll need you here, focused, able to anchor me to this specific time. Can you maintain control, not go haring off?”

Shuddering, flesh rippling as he forced the need down with his personal luck charm, Brandon nodded. “Rosemary. Rosemary. Rosemary.”

“Yes, Brandon, Rosemary is your mate, your lover. Focus on her. Tell me again what you’re going to do to Rosemary as soon as you return home?”

“Gonna fuck her,” he growled, seeing only her, smelling her, wanting her. “Gonna fuck her bowlegged!”

Aricles smiled. “You keep that thought uppermost in your mind, young stud. If I’m successful, I’ll be back before I’m gone.”

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Mirror, Mirror

In his own private set of rooms, Rickard stood before his mirror, clad in a simple black silk robe, the lapels crossed over his hairless chest. He gazed at his reflection, studying the face so many deemed beautiful. He saw nothing out of the ordinary, nothing to warrant the universal feminine furor over his looks. He never had.

By beholding, you become changed.

He’d first heard the phrase years ago. An irate Bible thumper had slapped a small mirror in his hand, asking him if he saw Jesus. He’d laughed, replied with some trite riposte, but the truism contained within the short sentence had intrigued him so much, he’d remembered the phrase.

By beholding, you become changed.

Was that what had happened between his father and his uncle? Had Draven

Orloffberg’s twin looked upon the trappings of the Crown Prince so long he’d changed into a covetous, grasping villain who could kill his own brother and nephew to gain that position?

Rickard would never know, as he hadn’t taken the time to ask before beating Uncle Doryian’s brains out. Unless carried away by carrion, the skeletal remains were still lying in the isolated caves deep in the heart of the Drestovian Mountains.

By beholding, you become changed.

What face did Indigo see when she gazed into her mirror. And with so many faces to choose from, which was the real her? Did she even know? Did cats gaze in mirrors?

Up until the time she turned herself into a cat to escape his advances, Rickard had successfully deluded himself about his feelings for the curvy, white-haired pixie, convincing himself he only suffered from a bad case of instant lust.

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Rickard chuckled. If someone had a told him even a day ago that he’d meet a woman who’d snatch his heart right out of his chest, he would have laughed himself silly. The joke would have been on him.

By beholding, you become changed.

Never more than now did Rickard find those words to be true, for in the moment he’d first beheld Indigo Carter, his entire world had changed.

A frightening thought occurred. If this was how Pavel felt about Kaila, he was lucky to be alive. Following fast on the heels of the first, a second thought emerged. The starch in his knees turned to water; Rickard stared with dismay into the reflection of his frantic gaze.

When the time came, how in hell would he survive giving Indigo to Pavel for his obligatory night?

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Forgiveness

“My God, Pavel,” Kaila whispered, wrapping her arms around him and holding him tight. “You were just a baby. You shouldn’t have had to go through that.” She could only imagine how the horror of those long ago events must still haunt Rickard and Pavel. She felt sick to her stomach, the shocking narrative something she didn’t think she would ever forget, but had needed to hear.

Pavel buried his head in her lap, his shoulders shaking under the force of his tears.

“Hush! Hush, baby.” Kaila rocked him, ran her hands over his shoulders, smoothed her palms in a calming circle along his upper back. She bent over and kissed the top of his head.

“What happened, Pavel? After your father died, what did you do?” She didn’t really want to know any more, yet somehow, she knew that Pavel needed to tell her, needed to get all the poison out of his system once and for all.

He sat up, sniffing and wiping his eyes, looking like a little boy punished before bedtime. Her heart turned over, so full of love for him at that moment she couldn’t understand her earlier anger. She wanted to go back in time and kill his father for him, so he would never have to live with the guilt and shame he’d carried for so long. Kaila knew she couldn’t help him in that way, but she could listen and not judge him, and at the end of his tale, she could show him how much she loved and admired him.

Pavel stared into her eyes, his pupils glowing a luminous, peridot green, wonder growing in his gaze at her loving expression. His words halting and uncertain, he said, “I don’t see disgust in your eyes. There’s no hatred, or any of the things I thought I would see once you learned the truth about me.”

“Why should you see those things?” she asked, smiling at him. “I don’t feel any of those. Right now, I am so proud of you I could burst.” She brushed at her eyes and breathed out a thankful sigh. “You were a chi d

l , Pavel. A child faced with the most basic dilemma:

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survival. You had to choose between what was right or wrong, make the decision to do nothing or to act upon your convictions.” She squeezed his hands in hers. “In my eyes, you made the right decision. I honor you for that.”

Pavel shook his head. “I don’t see how you could feel that way when I betrayed everything I was that day. I don’t deserve to be Alpha of this Pack. What I did wasn’t a fair fight, wasn’t honorable or honest. By rights, the pack should have torn me apart.”

Kaila groaned in exasperation. She loved this man, this wulf, but sometimes he could be so bullheaded. “You saved a friend by any means necessary. I’m sorry if this sounds harsh or judgmental, but your father was a villain. A bad guy. And that fellow, Doryian Orloffberg, was just filth. I say good riddance to bad rubbish!”

Pavel threw back his head and laughed. “By the Moon Goddess, Kaila, there is none like you!”

Kaila shrugged her shoulders, pretending to be humble. “Yeah, I’m one of a kind.

Aren’t you lucky?”

“Beyond measure…” Pavel leaned forward, captured her lips, his soft yet firm on hers.

His mouth tasted salty, the residue of his tears coating his lips, and Kaila licked the bottom one before catching it between her teeth. When they parted, both were breathing hard.

Pavel leaned in again, but Kaila halted him with a finger across his lips. “First, tell me what happened in that cave.”

“I untied Rickard. They’d bound him so tight that the ropes had scored deep gouges at his wrist and ankles, cutting off his circulation making his hands and feet to swell grotesquely. I wanted to carry him back to the castle, but he refused to go.”

Casting an apologetic glance her way, Pavel took her hand, holding onto it as he continued the story to the end. She said nothing, placing her other hand over theirs, cradling his large hand between both her palms. “Go on,” she urged gently, “finish it.”

“He had to have been hurting like a motherfucker, but Rickard hobbled over to where his uncle lay on the ground, still passed out from the blow to his head. He had begun to moan, though, so we knew he was alive.

“Rickard picked up his uncle’s gun from the floor of the cave. It was eerie, listening to Rickard, he sounded so much older, as if he’d grown up and grown old in the last hour. He said, ‘Doryian Orloffberg, you killed your own twin brother, your sovereign, and you were willing to murder me -- your nephew -- as well. Your plans have failed, and by God’s grace and your own machinations, I am now His Royal Highness, Prince Wagner Rupert Rickard Orloffberg, ruler of Drestovia. My first act of ruler is to find you guilty of crimes against the State. Your crimes are sedition, conspiracy to foment a rebellion, and the most heinous of all, the conspiracy to commit regicide, which you carried out with the murder of my father. All these crimes are capital crimes of high treason and are punishable by death. Your execution will be carried out now.’” Pavel looked at her, tightened his grip on her hands. “And then he Werewulf Journals 4: Sated Pleasures

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placed the gun to the base of his uncle’s neck and shot him through the back of the head, blew his brains out. We left the bodies in the cave and never went back.”

“Well!” Kaila drew the word out, not sure of what to say. Though gruesome, the story’s ending seemed just to Kaila. “Good for Rickard.”

“Now you tell me something.”

She cocked an eyebrow. “What do you want to know?”

His eyes narrowed down to angry slits. “Who told you about the battle form? Who betrayed their oath to me?”

Kaila smiled. “No one betrayed you. While you and Hunter were having your secretive meeting, Melody and I had a long, productive talk. She gave me quite an extensive course in Breed 101.”