| Wolf
song drifted up the night-dark passage, warning Gillian an end to her
solitude was near. The throaty howl of Ulric, their leader, was the
easiest to pick out. A human would have heard one note, but Gillian's
more sensitive ears discerned a haunting three-part chord. She could
not prevent a thrill from moving through her as the howling rose and
fell. When the other wolves joined in, the scrap of human in her quailed.
The upyr simply exulted.
Their hunt had been successful. They had taken
down something large, a bear from the honey-bright smell of the blood.
Her mouth filled with saliva and her pulse pattered in her veins. Though
she was not wolf, her heart still beat with theirs. This was pack magic,
a reaction so ingrained she could no more control it than she could
the sudden aching between her legs.
Ulric was coming. From the day she joined them, she had been his favorite,
though he loved her then as a pup in need of spoiling. Years would pass
before she noticed the bridled hunger in his gaze.
He had been waiting for her to grow up.
A blur of furry bodies tumbled into the fountain chamber--six gray wolves
as tall as her waist. They yipped with excitement, shedding the last
of the winter's snow, growling in mock displays of dominance. Not even
bothering to change form, Stephen pinned pretty Ingrith to the floor
and began to mount her. The pack was never shy, but this was mating
season and their wolf natures drove them hard. In moments, Stephen and
Ingrith's yips turned to guttural pants.
Gillian's body seemed to contract as she caught the resonance of their
lust. Stephen's black-pointed tail was waving madly, his nails scrabbling
on the stone. Gytha, the senior female, barked in disapproval but the
coupling pair merely wriggled together with more zeal.
As their bodies reached the point of utmost pleasure, Helewis, the largest
but most submissive of the pack, set up an involuntary howl. She shimmered
out of wolf form almost before the sound had faded, clearly embarrassed
to have been caught losing control. Head hanging, she joined Gytha--also
wearing her human shape--in drinking deeply from the fountain. Water
they could imbibe, as long as it was pure. As Helewis knelt, she shot
Gillian a nervous glance. Gytha, who had been Gillian's rival from the
start, pretended she was not there.
This, too, was a function of the season. As a rule, the pack controlled
their animal halves. When the real wolves came into heat, however, competition
among their upyr brethren heightened--though they had no breeding
status to win or lose. Even in wolf form, upyr could not bear
young.
Without intending to, Gillian came to her feet. Her attention sharpened
on what had drawn her. Not the women. She had bested them in too many
fights to be much on her guard. Only a male could have tightened her
nerves: the male who was stalking toward her across the room.
She did not need to see Ulric clearly to know that it was he. Though
he walked as a man, his wolf imbued his every gesture. The way he moved,
the way he held his head and curled his lip, declared he was their king.
His naked body was lean with muscle, his eyes like golden fire. The
only sign he wore of their recent hunt was a light mantling of sweat.
An ability to shed impurities was a useful upyr gift, but he
bore other tokens of his nature. The glossy blond hair that fell to
his shoulders was a little too thick for human, a little too soft for
wolf. His flawless skin glowed in the dimness like moon-kissed pearls.
"Little one," he said, halting a step before her. He smelled
of sweat and musk, ambrosia to her upyr nose. More than that,
though, he stank of lordship.
She met his gaze, taut, fighting her instinctive
drive to submit. Her resolution wavered as she glanced past the sheen
of exertion that painted his perfect chest. His manhood was flaccid
but thick--and just flushed enough to tell her he was not completely
at rest. As if her attention were a touch, he began to rise, swelling,
hardening, until he had reached a state of arousal only the strongest
could control.
The reminder was not just for her but for them all. Ulric was superior.
Unlike Stephen, their leader ruled his needs. Gillian found herself
unable to look away. Blood stained his thrumming shaft in the shape
of a handprint. The mark could only be intentional, kept on his skin
by effort of will. Gillian recognized it as an invitation to lick him
clean.
"You killed tonight," she said, stating the obvious, resisting
the urge.
Ulric's eyes narrowed with his smile. "Always you fight me, little
one. Why can you not give in?"
"I have a name."
"You have the name I give you." He stroked her lips with the
pad of his thumb. "If you want to play queen with me, you had better
be prepared to be one."
Hearing the interplay, Gytha snorted, but at Ulric's bare-toothed challenge
she backed away. Even if she disapproved of their leader's desire to
make a younger upyr his queen, Gytha had too much sense to interfere.
The pack supported Ulric, not her, however she tried to cow them.
As if the interruption had not occurred, Ulric drew his hand down Gillian's
neck. He shook his head at her gown--but for once did not tease her
for donning clothes. This garment had a single shoulder and a band of
gold embroidery to gather the ivory samite beneath her breasts. The
long slit up its skirt made the delicate material whisper pleasantly
when she walked.
But Ulric did not appreciate the subtleties of ancient fashion. As his
hand cupped her breast, his thumb found the swell of her nipple through
the silk, circling it gently, drawing its center ever tighter. Stubborn
to the last, Gillian refused to flinch away or sigh.
"We saw a new female wolf today," he said casually, watching
her eyes, watching the helpless flush that crept up her cheek. Gillian
knew he meant a real wolf, not an upyr. They were the only upyr
here. "She was white, Gillian, a yearling bitch with silver markings.
She joined the pack that dens in the valley. She is small yet, but I
suspect she will be the breeder before next season. She was quick and
scrappy. Playful. Fearless. She would make you a fine familiar."
Gillian's hands clenched. Though part of her craved what he described,
the rest could not be content. The rest wanted more out of eternity
than Stephen and Ingrith's grunting bliss. "I told you I have not
decided what I want."
Ulric's laugh rumbled like a growl. "You do not have to tell me
what you want. My body already knows. You reek of your lust for me,
your hunger for my blood. Here--" With the edge of one nail he
cut a line of red across his chest. "Take what you need. See how
easy giving in can be."
Her teeth sharpened before she could stop them, stinging within her
gums. Gillian could not look away from the wound. His blood welled slowly,
as if reluctant to leave his flesh. His life was there, his strength.
No gift was more intimate among the pack, and yet she did not want to
accept, did not want to need to. Tired of her resistance, Ulric cupped
the back of her neck and pulled. His scent swirled in her head.
Moaning softly, she let him win.
COPYRIGHT 2003 BY EMMA HOLLY.
IT IS ILLEGAL TO REPRODUCE
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