Chapter Nine
Christmas Eve had come, but Lucy did not feel like Christmas. It was only Alexandra’s presence that salvaged her mood. She did try to put on a happy face for the child’s sake, and noted that the girl seemed to have let go of the fear she’d shown before going to the village. She seemed strangely cheerful, but Lucy began to worry. What if Alexandra was just in shock? She chastised herself again for taking the child to the village, and resolved to talk to her. She’d always believed that things left unsaid might poison one’s mind—just as this new silence between herself and her husband did to her own mind.
Alexandra seemed happy. She was wearing a luminous white dress that made her look like a fairy and dancing around the Christmas tree. Gone was the solemn, timid child Lucy had met almost a month ago. She sighed. She hated to spoil the child’s pleasure, but she felt she needed to make her apology, before Christmas was upon them. She took advantage of a moment when Alexandra came to ask her to set an ornament high up in the Christmas tree.
“Alexandra, that day in the village...it was wrong of me to take you there, and I’m sorry. Those things the priest said, they are not true, and you should not be afraid,” she told the little girl.
Alexandra smiled. “But I am no longer afraid. I was, but now I am no longer,” she said.
“You aren’t?” Lucy asked in wonder.
“No.” Alexandra shook her head.
“Why not?” Lucy persisted, afraid that the child was still unwilling to reveal her fears to the adults.
“Because I sensed it, in the village,” Alexandra said.
“Sensed what?”
The child shrugged. “Your anger. Anger is sometimes good. It protects. And I understood that there was nothing more I should fear now that you’re with us. You will protect us, Papa and me. You will protect us when we need you.”
The child was not making sense, Lucy thought with a shudder of fear, and wanted to question her some more. But Ioan came in and the two of them started the happy task of arranging the tree. She did not have the heart to ruin their Christmas.
He was lavishing all his attention on his daughter, and she almost liked him when she saw him with Alexandra. To Lucy, he was surprisingly polite, his conversation innocuous and pleasant, the veneer of the polite gentleman back into place. She almost laughed—he was not fooling her. The predator was lurking beneath, and the smell of blood was still there, lingering on his skin, along with her own scent.
He’d been true to his word. He’d come to mate with her and she hadn’t been able to refuse him, knowing that it was the musky scent of her own desire that had summoned him. Their matings were passionate, shameless and consuming. Last night he’d claimed her three times before he’d gone back to wherever he slept now. She told herself she did not care.
She did care, however. Her mind was beginning to tell her she might have married a monster, and her nose and tongue keenly felt the scent of blood clinging to him.
The trouble was that she found this scent tantalizing, which also made her a monster. Blood. Sweet blood. But not human. Not human, just prey, an unknown part of her was whispering. She was obviously losing her mind. Her father had told her she was insane, but she had not wanted to believe him then. Now it was truly happening.
It was on Christmas Eve that they had an unexpected visitor. The weather had been cold, but no blizzard had visited them, so Lucy supposed it was still possible to travel on the roads to Valcele. She was surprised when Ioan told her that it was his aunt Sophie that he had not been expecting. She’d foolishly assumed that Alexandra was the only kin he had left. But, of course, he came from an old and well-connected family, so she expected there’d be more aristocratic relatives, even if he hadn’t taken the trouble to tell her about any of them.
Tante Sophie was a handsome woman in her late fifties. She spoke flawless French and heavily accented English. She was tall and graceful, sophisticated and cold. To Lucy, her scent simply felt devoid of real warmth. Tante Sophie kissed Alexandra’s cheek without warmth. She didn’t look at her nephew and the brief glance she cast Lucy was one of sheer contempt.
Lucy felt grateful when Ioan told Alexandra that it was past her bedtime. Christmas morning would soon come, he added, kissing his daughter’s cheek. Lucy breathed a sigh of relief when the child was gone—the atmosphere was so cold it could be cut with a knife. Naturally, Tante Sophie had come to show her displeasure over her nephew’s marriage to a scheming little nobody.
“So this is the English governess you saw fit to marry,” Tante Sophie said drily.
Lucy had expected this. The next words that Tante Sophie uttered, however, caught her completely by surprise.
“But is she even a governess, I wonder?” She laughed.
Lucy’s heart went still. She knew. Tante Sophie knew.
“I have my own contacts in London, and you should have taken my advice when you hired a governess for your daughter. You should not have put so much faith in that man, Hawthorne. What he did was find you a fake governess for your daughter. A woman who’s not even fit to set eyes on a member of polite society.”
Lucy cringed. A depraved, vile creature, her father had called her. And probably this was what she really was.
She was surprised when she heard Ioan’s voice. It was firm and steady. “She is my wife now, and I know everything else that she is. This is all that matters.”
He’d spoken the words with cold finality, leaving no room for further argument. Tante Sophie delicately shrugged her shoulders, attempting to hide the obvious displeasure that was clouding her eyes.
“Well, we all know how your first wife ended up. Let us hope there’ll be a happier fate to the second,” she said.
It was some moments later that she excused herself, pleading exhaustion. Lucy was glad of her departure, but felt the absence of a third person keenly. The two of them were alone in the hall. She sadly glanced at the firelight. What a mess she had made of things!
“I should tell you the truth,” she began, deciding that it was fair he should know what had happened to her. His green eyes were inscrutable. “It is not that I wanted to deceive you in any way. Deception never was in my mind!”
He stopped her with a short laugh which sounded bitter. “It does not matter,” he told her.
“It does, to me. I want to tell you the truth,” she said.
He laughed again, the same bitter laugh. “The truth. Would you be able to know the truth even if it stared you in the face? Would you?”
This was unfair of him, she thought resentfully. It was not as if he had offered to share anything about himself. He would not let her speak, however. He began to tell her passionately, “The truth is that you heard some ugly, vicious rumors, and that you now believe them. The truth is that you are afraid.”
He cast her a contemptuous glance. “When you first came here, I did not see an English governess. I saw a woman I wanted, and I thought that she wanted me. I thought that she saw me. Me. But now I understand that it was not me you really saw, but some sort of exotic savage. Cultured enough to entice you, but rough and dangerous enough to set your sex on fire. And now you feel ashamed that you let yourself be debased by this creature, by this strange Romanian, and you also feel afraid of him, because, after all, this strange Romanian could be some sort of monster.”
“No!” she protested.
His face was a cold mask. “Admit that you are afraid of me,” he spat.
“No. You don’t understand. It is not you that I am really afraid of, but myself. Myself!” she pleaded.
He laughed bitterly, rising to leave. “That is even worse.”
“Wait,” she told him, determined not to let him turn his back on her. “You have to listen to me!”
But he did not. And on Christmas Eve, Lucy fell asleep in her cold bed, where there lingered, viciously tantalizing, the scent of him and of yesterday’s lovemaking.
She dreamt. But this time her dream was more vivid. She dreamt of the big black wolf and in her dream, the wolf was talking to her.
“What is your name?” she asked him.
“Emperor Wolf, I am called,” he growled arrogantly. “But I rule wolves and men alike. All the wolves in this valley answer my call. All the men in this valley bow to my rule.”
“Do you protect men from wolves?” she asked him.
“Sometimes. But sometimes I protect wolves from men.”
He was still, gazing at her with his burning eyes that burned both golden and green. “What are you called?” he asked.
She shook her head. “I don’t know,” she told him sadly.
He growled, and it seemed that he was laughing at her. “But you do.”
They were standing under the blue tree of life, which bled blue blood, rich and intoxicating. Wolf blood. Not human, she immediately understood.
“Bite into it,” he told her, “and you’ll remember your name. Just as I remembered mine.”
“Why is this called the tree of life?” she asked.
“Because it binds the sky to the earth. The sky is male, and the earth is female. It also binds the sun and the moon. Men walk under the sun. Wolves walk under the moon.”
She bit into the bitter bark of the tree, oozing with blue blood.
“I still don’t remember,” she whined pitifully.
But blue blood spurted hot in her mouth and she found that she did remember. She walked under the sun at day and under the moon at night. Just as he did. Her name came back with a howl. And it was with a howl that she hunted with him and then mated with him. And she howled, her own name stabbing at the moon.
Empress Wolf.
* * *
He loved the ache in his body when he shifted. It was not like the pain he’d felt when he hadn’t been able to do so.
He was Wolf now. Arrogant wolf. King of the forest. Even Sharp Eyes, the leader of the pack, listened to him, most of the time.
Before, Ioan had been able to link his mind with those of the wolves on his lands. They’d always been his wolves, his to command, and nothing was going to change that.
But tonight he did not feel like joining the pack. He did not even feel the urge of hunting. Tonight, unlike before, he did not feel that the wolf part in him was stronger than the human.
For the first time since he’d shifted, he had achieved a balance between the two. He was wolf, but also human, no longer letting the wolfishness inside him take hold of his emotions.
Lucy. He’d been so angry with her. She was his mate, the one destined for him by the stars. The one who had set the wolf in him free. But she didn’t understand it. She was afraid of him, afraid of her own wolf self. Unable to join him. Unable to understand that they were both Wolf. That, deep inside herself, she had always been Wolf, just as he was.
That first night when she hadn’t shifted, he’d been so furious. It had been their wedding night. He’d thought he’d made her completely his...his bride, his mate...but she’d failed to acknowledge their bond. It had made him feel betrayed, then immensely sad, then furious just like before, and impatient. He’d just wanted to go to her as Wolf and show her who he really was and make her understand who she really was.
At first, he’d meant to go to her. If she saw him as Wolf, she’d recognize him, accept him. But he’d stopped himself in time. Even as a newly turned wolf, he’d retained a small fraction of the human, and the human inside him had desperately warned him she’d be too overwhelmed. She hadn’t been ready, not ready at all to acknowledge that she was his mate. So he’d kept away, hoping she would eventually accept who she was, but she hadn’t. She was still rejecting the bond they shared.
Anger bit into him again, and he snarled. Lucy, who made love as no other woman he’d met. Who surrendered herself so completely when he touched her. Who urged him to love her so hard that everything around them disappeared, even the moon.
He snarled so viciously that it hurt him. She was his. His mate. But she would not come to him. Lucy.
The wolf in him was angry, but the human in him started reasoning again. He’d tried to claim her as his, but had he also tried to show her that he was hers? Had he truly told her anything meaningful about himself? Hadn’t he also been afraid to bond with her completely? Had he really called to her? Properly?
Lucy. He howled her name, flinging it at the moon. Dream-calling. This was what the howl meant, because he knew she would be dreaming of him. Just as he often dreamt of her.
So he howled, and in the howl he placed everything that was himself, black wolf and guardian, and every memory of the dream past of both wolves and humans that he held within himself. A Dreamtime when the god and goddess had joined to create the tree of life and to shape this world.
And he called her real name, the secret name that was deeply rooted inside her. Empress Wolf. Mate. Forever.
He called to her, really called to her. And she came, silver fur shining with the light of both the moon and the snow.
* * *
Lucy woke up before dawn to find her hair matted and tangled, and her body scratched. There was blood under her nails and blood on her teeth, and the scents of blood and her husband were clinging to her.
She laughed and her laughter sounded almost like a howl. She laughed remembering what her father had told her. It’s the taint in the blood...
She buried her face in her hands, and it was then that she realized that he was already lying in bed beside her. He was holding her and whispering soothing words in that strange tongue of his.
“I am not crazy,” she repeated over and over again, trying to convince herself rather than him.
“Of course you are not,” he told her, and the words infuriated her, especially because they were meant to be so reassuring.
He must have sensed her anger, because he held her tighter. “I am sorry,” he told her. “I should not have left. You were alone. I left you so alone, and then I got so angry because you would believe the priest’s lies about me.”
She closed her eyes. “It was the blood. You smell like blood,” she told him tiredly.
“Of course. Prey. Just prey,” he replied, as if it was a natural thing for her to hear this.
Yet again, she laughed. Hysterically.
“I am mad,” she told herself. He was, of course, also completely insane. So two lunatics had found and married one another.
“Stop saying so,” he told her.
She shook her head. “You don’t understand. My father knew it. That’s why he sent me away, to this faraway place. I still refused to believe him. I simply did not want to.”
And she found herself telling him, first haltingly, then lost in her own story and in her own memories that were coming back to life.
Her father had been rich, but not so in the last years. The great fortune he’d amassed had scattered, almost like cinders. There was not much left to live on, just a modest income to keep up appearances. But she hadn’t cared at all, because losing the money meant that she would be free. It had meant that she wouldn’t have to make a brilliant match or an impression in society, as he’d always insisted she should.
Instead, she had dreamt that she would travel. Maybe to America, or to exotic India. She could always support herself by teaching. She had, after all, received the best of educations and she had always been the best student in her class. But her father hadn’t ever been impressed by such achievements. He thought her vexing and odd. He was rather ashamed of her, she’d always thought, ashamed of her wild temper, of her unsociability, of her uncanny ability to catch the scent of things around her. He had forbidden her of ever speaking about it to anyone.
Yes, she’d felt relieved they were now poor. That night she had finally told her father so. It had been a mistake. He’d slapped her, hard, and he’d never done it before. He informed her that he had already arranged for a visit from an eligible young man, prosperous and decent, and she had a chance to marry him if she chose to. She did not even have the opportunity to tell her father she did not want to meet this eligible young man. He’d already arrived, waiting to meet her, and her father asked her to receive him graciously. She had to do so, still rubbing her red cheek to take the sting off it. In her mind, she was already concocting a plan of escape.
The young man probably was prosperous, but not decent. He took advantage of the fact that her father had left them alone. He tried to kiss her and fondle her breasts, and he would not desist when she pushed him away. She remembered a terrible rage taking hold of her then. And then, she remembered nothing.
“Nothing,” she told Ioan. “I suddenly found myself locked in my room. They fed me bread and water. For almost a week nobody spoke to me. If it hadn’t been for my books, I would have probably slashed my wrists. But then my father came and spoke to me.”
“What did he tell you?” Ioan asked.
She smiled bitterly, replaying the scene in her mind. “He told me that I was vile and depraved. That he understood it was not entirely my fault. It was the taint in the blood. He told me I’d attacked my suitor like a wild beast. That the man had wanted me committed to Bedlam. That Papa had prevailed upon him not to do so. There was no question, though, that I should remain in London.
“My father still had some favors owed to him by important people. One of them had agreed to provide references for me as a governess. A governess in a remote place—just as I’d wanted. He did not even give me the chance to accept. And, well, the rest you know...” She trailed off.
“He shipped you off here,” Ioan supplied.
She nodded. “The funny thing is that I don’t remember any of it. Me attacking the man, that is. Until this morning, I’ve never really thought myself capable of such a thing... I simply refused to believe it, you see. I blocked it out of my mind.”
Her husband’s next comment surprised her. “Pity you didn’t maim him. He deserved it.”
She laughed, in spite of herself, but a wave of immense sadness washed over her. She felt empty, so completely empty, that she needed someone to hold, someone who would fill the void inside her.
“I want to make love to you,” she told him.
Not sex. Not mating. Love.
“Maybe we should talk first,” he said, and there was uncertainty in his eyes.
She shook her head. “Not now. I could not bear it.”
He nodded, understanding her and capturing her lips with his. But she broke the kiss.
“I want...” she began, but was unable to find her words. He seemed to understand her perfectly, though.
“You want to kiss rather than be kissed, to touch rather than be touched, to tell me what to do rather than be told what to do,” he told her with a smile in his voice.
“Yes,” she said.
He sighed, but there was a mischievous grin already blooming on his lips.
“Fair enough,” he said, pointedly folding his arms against his chest. “You can do whatever you like with me, if that’s what you wish.”
Her initial shyness was already melting. “Whatever I wish?” she asked.
She licked the corner of his lip, where some weeks ago she’d bitten him. The scent of blood was still on him, but this time, she reveled in it. Deer blood, she sensed with clarity, but chased the thought away immediately. She did not want to think about blood now.
It was a good thing they were already naked. She was not clean—the smell of snow and wood was clinging to her. Somehow, however, she knew that he would not mind.
Now he was lying on his back with arms tucked under his head, and the position was most certainly inviting. So was the look he had on his face. It was apparently innocent and meek, but Lucy knew too well that beneath this apparent submissiveness was the predator ready to devour her. She liked this suppressed aggression, this barely contained simmering force of him. It was, she realized, what mostly drew her to him—violent, rough passion, barely contained, but always ultimately controlled.
She was now already straddling him, bending her face toward his, her long brown hair tickling his face tantalizingly. She lowered her head and lightly nipped his shoulder, then placing a trail of soft, teasing kisses on the column of his neck. She could feel his elevated pulse and wickedly knew that he was already hard and ready for her. She could feel his erection brushing against her own body.
She smiled. This time she was the one who was going to take her time with him.
She licked the hollow of his throat, fully breathing in the wonderful scent that was his. Then she glided her tongue on the skin of his muscled chest, finally deciding to flick it against his left nipple. She grazed his nipple with her teeth and had the pleasure of sensing a suppressed gasp. So this area was also sensitive for males. She smiled to herself, fully pleased with the outcome of her experiment. She raised her head and savored the look on his face. After a while, she was going to test just how sensitive the lower areas of his body were.
She kissed him on the mouth, noting that he was not making any gesture to put his arms around her, but broke the kiss just as she sensed he wanted to deepen it. He did not attempt to recapture her mouth.
“You’re still in control of yourself,” she told him cruelly.
He sighed. “It takes years of practice,” he said with a slight frown.
“Shall I make you surrender?” she asked softly, drawing featherlight circles on his already sensitized skin.
He did not answer her, but instead closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He had immense self-control as she explored, kissed and licked nearly every inch of his body. She gloried in the lean beauty of him, stroking skin that soon became hot with want.
She did save his manhood for last. It was something that she was planning on taking her time to savor. She smiled mischievously when she tentatively licked the tip of it.
“I am not experienced. Is this how it’s done?” she asked him innocently, stroking his cock with silky fingers and feeling it stir beneath her hand.
She was not experienced at all, but somehow, when it came to him, she seemed to know what to do. It was probably all those dreams of his body—they had already taught her what was right.
“Somehow I have a feeling you know exactly what to do,” he said raggedly, as if in echo of her exact thoughts.
She found that she did know exactly what to do. She licked her finger and slowly teased his tip, and had the satisfaction of seeing him gasp and dig his nails into the sheets.
“So much self-control,” she murmured flippantly, as she finally put her mouth on him, marveling at the silky, salty feel of his skin beneath her lips.
She licked and sucked until her lips began to tingle pleasantly. Her sex was very hot and wet for him, and she took a moment just to picture how good it would feel to have this hard length finally slide inside her.
When he gasped again, she triumphantly knew he had almost reached his brink. Her tongue licked the tiny white drop that had appeared on the tip of his cock.
She should be merciful, although she did not hear him beg for mercy. With clarity, she understood why it was always so important that he should be in control. His force and energy were far too great and raw. He had learnt how to keep them leashed. Barely, but still, always so. Tonight, however, she needed to let him know that he could safely surrender to her, just as she had, several times already, surrendered to him.
She straddled him, teasingly rubbing her already inflamed sex against the tip of his manhood. “So?” she asked him cruelly, tantalizingly brushing her hotness against his own.
He finally reacted, delivering a very light slap on her buttocks and then grabbing her hips. He did not thrust into her, though—he was waiting for her to make the next move.
She now felt unbearably hot for him. The playful slap had sent exhilarating goose bumps down her entire skin. It hadn’t had any sting to it, but just the faint promise of it, which made it all the more delicious.
“You are not playing fair,” she chided in a ragged voice, keenly feeling the scorch of his hands against the tender skin of her hips.
“I am sorry. My hands will no longer behave. Maybe next time you should bind them,” he murmured huskily.
She laughed. Somehow she had a feeling she might want to do that in one of their future encounters. Not yet, though.
She slowly slid down his cock. He felt scrumptiously hard and hot, and she let him guide her then, matching the rhythm of his thrusts first and then beginning to fall into the rhythm her own body craved.
They both soon climaxed, sealing their joy with a kiss that felt both passionate and sweet. He held her tight against him, remaining fully embedded into her, and she reveled even in the feeling of his hardness going unhard inside her.
They were both sated, but she felt desire claim her again, even more intoxicating, as he started to kiss the hardened tips of her breasts.
“You’ve had your fill, now I should have mine,” he told her between kisses. “I’ve missed the feel of these full breasts.”
“They’re too big,” she told him, suddenly feeling shy of both her own body and of what had already occurred between them. She realized how experienced he really was. He must have had many women before her, probably far more appealing than she was.
“Fishing for compliments?” he asked her laughingly.
She shook her head, embarrassed, but he raised his eyes to her, telling her in a serious voice, “I love your breasts. And, yes, they are big. Just as big as I like them. Just as full and firm as I like them.”
She almost blushed, which was silly, in view of what she had already shared with him.
He held her above him, intently gazing into her eyes. “I have not been very gentle or patient with you, have I? I should have taken more time and said the things that needed to be said. But, you see, I was always so wild for you.”
He placed her hand on the spot of his heart. It was beating hard and fast, betraying renewed desire.
“Your body makes me wild. Your scent and your voice make me wild. I am wild for your breasts, and for every delicious curve of you, and for your sparkling eyes and quick temper, and...”
She felt his hardness stir into her again. Gently he lowered her on the bed and placed himself on top of her. He made love to her, slowly and sweetly.
It was much later that they both finally lay in each other’s arms, content. She was utterly exhausted, but still, a nagging uncertainty would not go away. She did not want to think now of what had happened in her dreams of the woods. Not yet. She was still unsure of herself and so afraid, uncertain of what she really was and of what she was becoming for him. She needed to know for sure what part she would play in his life.
“You’ve had many women,” she told him.
It was, of course, a statement and not a question. He did not answer, just nodded silently.
“Tonight I thought to make love to you until their ghost scent on you is finally gone. Until all your former lovers are really gone,” she said.
She felt relieved saying this, realizing it was true. Maybe it was ridiculous, but now she just wanted him to remember her and no one before her.
“I want them all gone,” she persisted.
“But can’t you tell?” he whispered softly. “They already are.
“They already are,” he repeated, kissing her on the mouth.
She slept finally, feeling safe at last. In her dreams, she was Empress Wolf again. It felt as good as before, but this time it did not feel as frightening.
* * *
Lucy had fallen asleep, and she finally looked peaceful, her full lips red and swollen from kisses and sex. They still had a couple of hours until the whole household woke. Perhaps he should sleep too; he felt exhausted. However, he could not.
He had done wrong by her. He had seen her as a fiercely passionate woman who had come from overseas, but also as the little silver wolf she was. A reckless huntress, as he’d learned last night, far more fearless than his own watchful wolf self. But she was younger than he was and more inexperienced, and besides, she was on unfamiliar hunting ground, far away from her own home. In spite of her passion and fearlessness, she was uncertain and vulnerable. The story of her father’s treatment of her made him painfully aware of how vulnerable she really was. No wonder it had taken her longer to embrace her wolf self.
He clearly remembered that conversation they’d had in his office, the morning after her arrival. “I understand your father is still in England,” he’d said conversationally.
She had nodded, and he had instantly felt there was something she was not telling him. “Do you plan to return to England eventually?” he’d asked.
She had shaken her head, with a faint smile. “No. There’s no reason for me to do so. Not anymore.”
He should have pressed for more. But he’d been too hot for her and drunk on his own desire to probe any further. Now he understood she had been hurt by her father.
That first night they had made love, he had waited for her in the woods, with blood pumping in his ears. He’d been able to shift for the first time. The anticipation of hunting and mating was pulsing in every inch of his fur. But she had not come, and he had been disappointed, finally understanding that she hadn’t made the transition as he had. He’d kept away from her those days, afraid that he might rush things and really hurt her, but also too intoxicated with his newfound wolf shape. He had spent three full days as wolf in the woods. At the time, he had told himself it was for the best, but now he saw that he had been selfish.
She was having a hard time accepting her wolf self. The transition that she had fully made last night had not been as smooth as his. It clearly had been painful, even more painful than their first mating had been for her. For him, finally connecting with his wolf self had been a release—a long-awaited liberation. It had not been so for her, and this was certainly because, unlike him, she had known nothing of her heritage. Her father had definitely kept it hidden from her or had not fully known it himself, and had made her feel worthless and vile. He had made her fear what was truly happening to her.
Ioan remembered when his own father had told him the full truth about what they were. He’d been thirteen at the time.
“Guardian wolves—that’s what we are, the sons and daughters of this family. We can trace our ancestors even beyond Roman times, to the White Wolf. Our roots are here, and our roots are Wolf. Our branches are, of course, human. Varcolaci. Both Man and Wolf, sworn to protect both men and wolves, guardians of this land, for all times.”
“So we are shape-shifters!” Ioan had exclaimed excitedly.
Of course, he’d already known deep inside what his father was now telling him openly. He’d been anticipating it, the moment when he’d be able to finally shift to wolf form.
His father had shaken his head sadly. “In the old times, all guardian wolves were shape-shifters. They were able to take both human and wolf form whenever they pleased. But for a long time now, no one in our family has been able to shape-shift. We are still guardians and we keep our connection to the land. We can bind our minds with those of the wolves in the woods and command them. And you, you are already able to do that, even if you aren’t fully grown yet. However, you won’t be able to shift into Wolf. Ever. None of us can.”
It was, his father told him bitterly, like a deep sadness looming now over their family, because they longed to be Wolf, but could no longer be so. Some of the members did not feel it so keenly. Those were fully content to be humans who could connect with wolves. But some felt the longing like a consuming ache. Like a curse.
It had turned out to be Ioan’s case. The Wolf in him was strong, no matter how hard he tried to keep him still. As he became a man, the wolf became even stronger. He could connect with the wolves’ minds even when he was not at home, even from overseas. He was a guardian through and through and a constant watcher over the lands, even when he was not here. All this came at a high cost. He was restless and dissatisfied. He felt incomplete.
There might be a way, his father had told him that day, long ago. It was something that he knew from his own grandfather, who had passed the story on to his family. Wolves were complete only when they had a mate, after all, and they mated for life. It was just like in the old tapestries that had been in his family for generations. Day needed night and the sun needed the moon. Man and Woman were born from the tree of life, and so was Wolf.
The guardians clung to their dream past, Dreamtime. Ancestral memories, his father had called them, memories of a very distant past that were no longer clear and were shaped like dreams. In these dreams, they all saw the blue tree of life, and they knew that the tree was made up of the two living essences, mingled.
The reason why wolf guardians could no longer be complete was that they could no longer find mates. Their kind was dying and their numbers dwindling. Their family was one of the last guardian families in this country. And besides, a guardian’s mate could not just be any other guardian wolf, but the one that had been preordained by the stars. Not just any mate, but the true mate that would bring completeness.
“So, you see,” his father had told him sadly. “None of us can shift anymore. It’s very hard to find a true mate. Maybe such a thing doesn’t even exist. Maybe it’s really only a dream. Not a true Dream. Just fancy.”
Ioan had shaken his head in puzzlement. “I don’t understand. I know you love Mother. So doesn’t that make her your true mate, even if she isn’t really a guardian wolf?”
His father had smiled. “Of course I love your mother very much. But you see, that true mate my grandfather was talking about, it has to be a guardian wolf. And Grandfather never mentioned love. Maybe love isn’t even involved... I don’t know. Grandfather called it a wolf bond. A strong bond like...”
His father had sighed, then smiled again. “I think you’ll understand what I’m talking about when you’re older.”
“I think I understand it now,” Ioan had said. “Wolves mate. They just mate, for life. They don’t love, like humans do, do they?” His father had nodded.
“Still, I think I will one day be able to shape-shift,” Ioan had told his father confidently. “She has to be out there somewhere, this true mate. And maybe I don’t even have to find her. Maybe she will find me.”
His father had raked a hand through his hair. “Ioan... I don’t know... I really don’t know.” Then he had probably seen the obstinate look on his son’s face, because he had added, “The wolf has always been strong in you. Far stronger than in me, and he will become even stronger...so maybe you’re right. I really hope so.”
When he was thirteen, Ioan had harbored high hopes of finding the true mate that would set him free. And later, when Iancu had become his friend, he’d felt confident both of them would be released. He wasn’t alone. Just like him, another was waiting to find a true mate. Iancu was a night flyer, the only other being with supernatural powers Ioan had ever met. He too needed a mate in order to fully connect with his true self. Iancu’s life, however, was unlike Ioan’s. Sex was the only means of stilling his torment and of staying alive. His friend fed on it, just as a wolf would feast on prey. Only a true mate could rid him of the painful need of forever looking for prey.
But years had passed and neither he nor Iancu had been set free. When he was young, Ioan had been certain he would just encounter her one day. Just like that, because it had been preordained by the stars. He had thought himself special, because the wolf was very strong in him and was impatiently waiting to emerge.
But it was not long before he had lost his youthful dreams. The unsated hunger in his heart had made him become angry and jaded. When, years later, his mother had suggested a match with the suitable daughter of a noble family, he had acquiesced. He’d already understood that he was never really going to find the mate who would complete him. This was life, and life was harsh, as harsh as the winter weather of his country. So he’d married the girl his mother had suggested.
He had hoped he might grow to love Sorana. She’d given him Alexandra. It had made him happy, and for a while he had truly believed it was enough. He loved his daughter deeply. Still, the wolf in him was clawing to emerge, sometimes ripping his mind apart with horrible pain. He supposed it was partly his fault that his wife had not been happy. He’d tried to be gentle and solicitous; his was not a sunny, tame temper, but for her, he’d attempted to make it so. For a while he’d even pretended to enjoy the same social circles she did just in order to please her. But it had been in vain. He had not been able to love her.
Sorana was cold to him, afraid of him, maybe. She had asked him to agree to live separate lives, and he had agreed. She did not have maternal feelings for Alexandra, which had hurt him, but he had tried to compensate for it by being the parent that was there for his daughter. His wife spent much of her time in Paris, and he heard that she took lovers. People were so fond of gossiping. He supposed it was the fear of gossip that had really killed her, but he felt responsible for not seeing it sooner. She had died trying to get another man’s child out of her body. He blamed himself for not understanding how desperate she had been. He would have been able to stop her.
And now he was making the same mistake. Lucy was afraid, and he’d left her alone to deal with it. Wolves did not love, he’d told himself when he’d understood that his true mate had really and unexpectedly come into his life. They did not really understand the concept of love. They just bonded. It was enough.
He’d seen her walk into his home that night, this silver-eyed woman, with her luscious body, who looked nothing like a governess. He’d seen her that night and had instantly wanted to bury himself into her with desperation. Her scent had told him everything there had been to know. He’d dreamt of her before, but he’d not thought she was real. She was a silver wolf, a silver wolf walking into his life. He’d panicked at first, unable to believe that his dreams had come true.
But he’d soon come to his senses and returned to claim her. She was his, of course. Forever. Wolves did not love—they just mated and bonded for life and it was enough. But people did love, and Ioan was not simply just wolf, and he could see what she was. She was a playful silver wolf, but also a woman. Passionate and quite brave. Intelligent, but sometimes quick-tempered. Quite sensible, but really stubborn. A woman who’d already been hurt, uncertain and afraid of embracing her wolf self. Truly as hungry for love as he was. And, for the first time together, last night they had not mated as fiercely as wolves. There had been gentleness and sharing that were unmistakably human.
It was Christmas morning, but he let her sleep, knowing she was utterly exhausted. He placed the gift he had chosen for her on her pillow. He hoped that in time he could mend things between them. He’d failed her, and while he knew the wolf would be always and unquestionably his, it was not so easy to earn the woman’s affection. But it had already become important for him to do so, he realized now.
Maybe this was what Dreamtime had been really trying to tell him. Maybe this was not just a wolf bond. Maybe it was more than that. That eclipse-like feeling inside him kept telling him so. She was not only his wolf mate—she completed him in a way he was only now beginning to understand. It was more.