It wasn't the waxing of his chest that made Bard sincerely question the heft of his testes. It wasn't even the rather undignified howling and screeching that had escaped his throat when the strips were yanked off, tearing out those hairs. Torture was torture, after all, and yelling was a perfectly good way of venting pain!
Nope, it was the fact that both of his younger sisters proceeded to not only get their underarms and legs waxed, but also request full Brazilians—which he really did not need to know about, but the Loki-Spawned She-Wolves, took great pleasure in telling him they were getting—and neither one of them made the slightest peep. Not a whimper, not a tear, nothing.
"How the fuck do you women do this? WHY?" Bard asked for the dozenth time, ruefully rubbing his hand over the smooth flesh of his bare chest. He still felt raw, exposed, and only the promise of a full body massage soothed his wounded dignity.
Tandem shrugs and synchronistic responses of, "Duh," met his plaintive question, as if he were an ignorant, uncouth savage. Which, perhaps he was, and he would now take a perverse pleasure in being!
Oddly, throughout it all, Bard's wolf had been silent. Preoccupied. The wolf barely managed a huff at Bard's painful cries. Instead, the wolf was focused entirely on something deep within Bard's subconscious mind, that primal, shadowy realm in which the wolf held sway.
He suddenly felt a burst of elation and an involuntary growl of satisfaction escaped his chest, drawing two sets of curious eyes his way.
"What was that for?" Tanja asked, only half-interested in his response as she continued to flip through an issue of Vogue. Not Teen Vogue, nope, because despite barely being legal to drive according to the laws of Mortals, Tanja had little interest in dealing with her so-called peers.
Through narrowed eyes, Sanja looked at his face, "Why do you have a silly grin on your face?"
Bard blinked, instinctively reaching up and indeed finding his lips twisted up in a grin. "Uh, I have no idea. I think..." He instinctively glanced around, making sure no one was close enough to overhear before he continued, "I think my wolf is up to something. He seems way too happy all of a sudden..."
The sisters looked at one another blankly for a moment. Shrugged—AGAIN—and turned back to their own devices as Bard mentally regarded his wolf in suspicion. The smug bastard was preening himself!
Jealous? Bard snarked. His wolf was driving him to paranoia.
The wolf sniffed disdainfully, turning his back on Bard and continuing its own grooming. When it began to lick its own balls, Bard quickly retreated back to really-real world, although he caught his wolf's own snarky, 'Jealous?'
His wolf's mysteriousness left Bard on edge for the rest of the afternoon. No matter how much Bard poked and prodded at the beast for an answer, the wolf remained silent. Even the full massage, where the masseuse, a leggy Latina with incredible hands who alternated between warm stones and warm oils, managed to ease the increasing tension that built along Bard's spine the longer his wolf ignored him.
By the time the spa day was over, both of his sisters nearly glowing with health and contentment, Bard felt more stressed than he had been all day. He may have even snarled a bit as he handed over his credit card to pay for the three full-packages. Selene's smug expression did nothing to alleviate his mood either. He needed to have a long, serious talk with his wolf, and remind him just who was boss in this relationship! Bard wore the pants, dammit!
Hustling his sisters into his truck, Bard may have pushed the letter of the law on the speed limit getting back to his place. Just a smidge, but to be fair, most Uncannies had superior reflexes and hand-eye coordination. Even when distracted.
Pulling in to the garage attached to his place, Bard slid out, still too preoccupied with his wolf to pay much attention to his sisters as they hopped out of the truck. They even thanked him and gave him hugs for the spa day, and all he could manage was a half-hearted, "You're welcome."
"You coming up to the Lodge?" Sanja asked idly as she pulled back, "I think the maternal unit has talked the paternal unit into grilling out. Again."
"Mom and dad," Tanja corrected, irritation sharp in her voice, as she glared at her twin. "You CAN call them 'mom' and 'dad,' you freak!"
The Lodge was the Ulvfang Pack's central gathering place. Located up in the mountains overlooking the valley, it provided a safe gathering location for their pack. The Ulvfang were one of five distinct wolf packs in the area, with each having laid claim to different territories around the Cœur de Lyon Estates. Some, like the Aurora Pack and the reclusive Redwood Pack, had lived in the area even before the Estates were created to be a Sanctuary by the Leon Clan of the Sidhe.
Forty years ago, Aksel had come into his own as an Alpha-with-a-capital-A, and along with his brothers and a few other members of the pack, they had split from the main pack in Wisconsin and moved to the Rockies, accepting an offer to serve as protection for the Sanctuary in exchange for land and autonomy.
The 'parental units,' Roar and Karin Olavsen had moved down and joined the rest of the pack after Roar had 'retired' from being Alpha of the Nordsgard Pack. Relieved of the burden of leadership, they had decided to have more kids, and the twins had been unleashed upon an unsuspecting and ill-prepared world. The poor, poor world.
Bard's wolf chose that moment to perk up, relaying the mental image of it emphatically shaking its head. Apparently, the wolf did not want to spend time around the family.
Since his wolf had once more decided to participate, Bard returned a mental smirk as he purred, "Sure. I'd love to." Ha! Take that! I'm the boss of us! He had already spent the last few weekends getting everything set-up for his booth at the Village, and the Faire didn't open for another two weeks, so he could afford to spend time seeing the family.
Of course, that meant he had just agreed to spend an entire evening not only with his family, but with the pack as well.
Well, shit.
Bard's wolf laughed at him as he pulled his truck to follow his sisters' Jeep Grand Cherokee. Despite his general disquiet, an involuntary smirk curved his lips as he followed their customized license plate, DBLTRBL. The brothers had pitched in and gotten the twins the Jeep for their Sweet Sixteenth, but since they were paying for the insurance and making them share the vehicle, they got to pick out the license plate.
It took about an hour of driving along the backroads, twisting up through the dense Alpine forest, to reach the pack's Lodge, an old, converted ski resort. It had fallen into disuse when some of the larger ski resorts had made Aspen a far more popular skiing location, which had enabled the pack to secure the property. In the last few years, Grand Lake had become known for its ski-boarding, so the property had more than paid for itself when they had decided to open part of the property as an actual resort catering to the X-Games crowd.
The Ulvfang Pack wasn't one of the larger pack, with less than a dozen other wolves, not including Bard's own family, having joined the pack, but almost to a one, they were Ulfhednar wolves. Ulfhednar were a little different from most other Shifters, much less other werewolves, lycanthropes, or whatever else they went by. There still wasn't quite a universal consensus on that. The only other Shifter Breeds that came close were the Berserkers (bear Shifters) and Svinfylking (boar Shifters), who also originated in the Scandinavian countries, since they had all been forged to serve as warriors and protectors.
Of course, there was also the Fenrisulfr and a few other Shifters from the same region, but they were different from the Ulfhednar, Berserkers, and Svinfylking, and nowadays, the Ulfhednar and Fenrisulfr avoided each other—much to the relief of most supernaturals, since the two groups really, really did not get along. It was probably something about the Ulfhednar were loyal to Odin and the Fenrisulfr were loyal to Loki.
The Ulfhednar believed Loki and the Fenrisulfr were trying to bring about the end of the world; the Fenrisulfr believed Odin and the Ulfhednar were the ones plotting the end of the world and trying to blame Loki for it. So yeah, both groups were "Viking Werewolves," but to say that they did not like each other much was a massive understatement!
Granted, as Bard pulled into the parking lot of the Lodge, his mental debate on whether or not his little sisters were secretly agents of the Fenrisulfr was a complete impossibility, but he’d still swear they had been swapped out at birth like changelings used to be! Oddly, his wolf was silent, still smug but distracted, despite Bard’s attempts to engage the wolf in conversation. Finally, with a shrug, Bard turned his attention back to the here-and-now.
Crawling out of his truck, Bard joined his sisters as they headed into the Lodge proper. Like many of the ski lodges of the era, it had been built as a massive wooden A-Frame cabin, with exposed wooden beams, large windows that gave stunning views of the valley and mountains. Of course, the Ulvfang Pack had embraced the Nordic theme, with clean lines, white pine, and gray stone, giving even the rooms an open feeling.
Pack magic, the mystic energies unique to wolf shifters of all breeds, permeated every stone and board, and that power was reinforced by the essence of Glamour, the semi-sentient energy that protected all supernaturals. The two combined to keep most Unaware from even visiting the Lodge, which actually made the resort quite popular with other supernaturals.
Most of the single, unattached packmates who did not have families or jobs elsewhere, were employed by the Lodge and stayed on the floor set aside exclusively for them. Aksel, as Pack Alpha, lived out of the largest penthouse suite, making him available for pack members, while the parental units lived in one of the smaller A-Frame cabins on the property.
While the Lodge earned its reputation for Xtreme Winter Sports amongst the Uncannies, and drew steady business through the winter months, it also drew a regular income from those who visited the Faire throughout its season, from the last weekend of April through the last weekend of October. Oddly enough, however, was that while the Lodge was relatively self-sufficient, most of the pack’s income came from their other business.
“Ho, little brother! You survived!” Donar’s cheerful shout drew a growl from Bard as he met his brother’s laughing eyes from across the large foyer.
“We thought we heard your howls earlier,” Aksel’s droll voice came from near the massive fireplace, where he was bouncing a young pup on his knee.
Glaring at both his idiot older brothers, Bard held up three fingers on each hand and aimed the implied insult at them.
Identical triplets, born minutes apart from one another, the three brothers were vastly different from one another. Aksel oozed calmness, his hair worn short and neatly trimmed, his face clean-shaven, revealing the smooth baby face the other two wore beards to conceal. He tended to wear slacks, Henley shirts or sweaters, and hiking boots, looking every inch the ski lodge owner. The twins had dubbed his look Upscale Lumbersexual.
Donar, on the other hand, tended to extremes. When he was in Denver, running the pack’s business interests during the week, he wore his nearly-waist-length long hair pulled back into a neat tail and kept his beard neatly trimmed, dressing in expensive, custom-fitted business suits, a full-on Corporate Viking Raider. Once he hit the Rockies on the weekends, however, Donar was all T-shirts, worn jeans, and biker boots, embracing the Biker Viking look, particularly since most of his logo t-shirts had some Viking theme to them, such as today’s ‘My Hammer Will Make You Thor!’ t-shirt that fit his muscular upper body like a second skin.
“Classy, Don,” Bard muttered with a wry shake of his head.
“Always, bror,” Donar smirked, puffing up his chest.
“You three, act your age!” The tone in their mother’s voice brooked no argument as she swept in through the sliding glass door off the Lodge’s balcony. With her hair up in a ponytail, minimal make-up, and wearing a cashmere sweater and jeans, Karin Ulvfang could easily pass for her early 40s, although she was somewhere in her third full century of life.
Most shifters, those who didn’t die young that is, could easily live a few centuries. Sadly, not many reached their second century except in the last generation or two, since many tended to embrace the “Live Fast, Die Young” lifestyle.
Instinctively ducking their heads, all three brothers muttered, “Ja mama,” while the little she-demons merely smirked as they walked over to give their mom a kiss.
Karin swooped in, picking the pup from Aksel’s arms and cradling her baby son to her chest. Since leaving control of the Wisconsin pack, Karin had seemed determined to build an entire hockey team with her children. Cuddling her youngest to her chest, Karin glared at the boys. “Go help your pappa, dinner is almost ready.”
Lowering her voice to barely above a whisper, she muttered, “And make sure he does not burn the meat again.”
Yes, Roar Ulvfang, one of the most feared Ulfhednar to have ever lived, former Alpha of the largest pack in the Americas, and one of the only wolf shifters in the world to have survived more than a thousand years of life, still couldn’t barbeque to save his immortal soul. Unfortunately, that didn’t stop him from trying.
There was a general scramble from the boys as they rushed out of the Lodge, trying to save the meat from a fate worse than death: being well done!