R. F. Long
The Wolf’s Destiny
For those who asked – Julie, Ceindreadh, Kate, Shelly & Pat.
With special thanks to Dayna, Patti,
& the Naughty Kitchen for all your help & advice.
Chapter One
Scrolls and parchment piled high on Jeren’s desk, curling riotously, rolling off the edge. More letters had been delivered this morning, more than ever. Letters of desperation, letters begging for aid, letters requesting or demanding that she return home. Drawing her ancestral blade, Jeren stood very still, staring at the mess, wondering if there was any way she could just set fire to the lot of it and run.
Instead, she laid the sword across the pile of papers, holding them down in place so she wouldn’t lose any of them. Kneeling down in front of the desk, she slid the first one out and broke the seal. It came from South Holt. A long way across vast and often hostile territory, to reach her here in exile in the far north of the Feyna ruled province of Sheninglas. Up here, where humans had no place, where she and those who followed her were making a home among the other race they had once feared and reviled. So she could be with her Feyna husband. So she could find some peace.
A thread of sunlight penetrated the gap in the tent flap, a summons to a new day. Jeren tried to ignore it, squinting at the spidery handwriting. A breeze stirred the papers and she scowled, as much at the things she read of as the interruption.
“That sword is a Feyna-forged channel for magical power. It is not meant to be used as a paperweight,” said Shan solemnly.
She snorted briefly at her husband, hearing the hidden tone of his amusement. Anyone else might miss it. But Jeren knew, and loved, Shan far too well.
“Maybe it’s more use this way.”
He moved silently as ever, placing a bowl on the table before her—right on top of a demand from the High Temple of Al-V’Annin that she appear before them and explain why she fled her home—and knelt behind her.
As she moved, Shan’s arms—pale as marble, skin like silk—slid around her.
“You should eat,” he told her.
It wasn’t that he was bossy, not really, but he was always trying to protect her. She ought to be used to it by now, although for years she’d let people do that without a fight. Having finally broken free of it, she wasn’t eager to return. But this was Shan. She wriggled in closer against him, turning her face to his chest. The scent of him filled her nostrils, sweetly seductive. “Is that the porridge-thing again?”
“It’s made from rega-berries, if that’s what you mean. And it’s good for you, a Feyna speciality. And you don’t eat enough, especially in the morning.”
“Yes, my love.” She stretched to press her lips to his neck and smiled against his skin. She felt like teasing him this morning. Just to pretend that things were normal. “But not rega-berry porridge.”
“And why not?”
“Because it tastes like sawdust. Come to that, why do Feyna delicacies have challenge the taste buds? Aren’t your Shistra-Phail warriors fearsome hunters? Can no one track down anything so exotic as eggs?”
Shan growled, the deep rumble in his throat reverberating through her. “Maybe I can distract you with something else?”
Jeren breathed out, every fibre of her being agreeing with him. There was nowhere in the world she would rather be than here with her husband, her mate. Outside his embrace the world was hard and evil, everyone wanted something of her. But Shan wanted only this.
Here, within the span of his arms, here was freedom.
Jeren frowned, her teeth nipping at the inner flesh of her lower lip. She shouldn’t. There was so much to do. Her father had taught her to deal with things from the first to the last, not to procrastinate in her duty. He would never have turned his back on those in need, hidden away here in the northern expanses of Sheninglas in this way. It didn’t feel right to lie low like this.
But she didn’t want to know what Gilliad had done now. Every tale was worse. Dear god and goddess, after the last reports, after burning temples and slaughtering innocents in the streets of River Holt, seizing people in their homes, people who had never been seen again—
Jeren forced the thoughts from her mind. She just wanted some time to be herself, to be with Shan. For once.
“You promised to teach me some of those scouting skills,” she said hopefully. “Let’s go. Just you and me.”
He grinned at the thought. “We’d have to be quick though. New refugees came in early this morning and they—”
“Want to gawk at me?” She tried to make her voice light, no mean feat when it felt like a millstone plunged to the pit of her stomach.
“Pay their respects perhaps?” He brushed his fingers down the line of her cheekbone and she shivered.
“Same thing, isn’t it?”
Shan laughed a little. “We’ll treat it as a test of our stealth.”
They picked their way along the back of the tents, skirting the training grounds. It was like a game, one which should have made her laugh inside. But they had to steal time together more and more these days and it didn’t seem funny anymore. With her hand in Shan’s like a pair of naughty children instead of members of an elite group of warriors, they neared the edge of the camp. Not that she could imagine Shan as a child. He moved like a great hunting wolf, all hard muscle and sleek lines beneath skin the colour of alabaster. Not like her. Or her people. The Feyna were as far from human as wolves were from a noblewoman’s lapdog.
Shan knew all about wolves. When he thought she wasn’t looking his eyes still scanned the horizon for the grey wolf who had been his companion. More than a companion, more than his friend, his totem animal. Part of his soul, he’d said, that was the only way he could explain it. Anala had given her life for them both.
The moment was a frozen in her memory, eternally held there, unshakable. Running through the woods outside of Brightling’s Dale, her breath trapped in her throat with her pounding heart, the shouts of the men pursuing her ringing through the trees. She fought with everything she could, fought and fought, but they were too many. And all the time the same thing ran through her mind... wishing... praying...
Drop out of the sky, Shan. Please, drop out of the sky and save me.
Shan had come for her, with Anala the wolf at his side. And saved her, just as she asked. Even though they should have been enemies, even though her brother had murdered his sister. He’d rescued her, comforted her, held her close.
Until her brother found them. Gilliad’s guards had killed the wolf, right in front of them. All in a moment the world tilted to horror. They’d been taken prisoner, Shan tortured for Gilliad’s entertainment and Jeren only just managed to rescue him. A nightmare. One that still returned no matter how much time had passed.
Giving up a life of privilege she already hated to be with him didn’t seem like much of a sacrifice compared to all he’d lost.
Jeren wondered if Shan regretted saving her in the first place, plucking her out of the shattered carriage at the foot of the cliff and carrying her to safety through the snow. Had it been worth it? Or did he wish he’d left her to the assassins pursuing her. It was a dark and ungrateful thought, but she couldn’t help herself. Stress and constant demands made her irritable, short tempered, and often as not he bore the brunt.