Chapter Six

 

They raced side by side on the cycle paths, Sam keeping up, informing his host he cycled most days, it being the quickest way to get around London. There wasn’t enough time to see everything, so they made their way to the highest point of the county and Keirnan pointed out the ruins of the ancient manor house, explaining the story of Hugh Le Blanc, one of the great magnates of early Norman England, helper, principal councillor and good friend to William the Conqueror, created earl of the county as a reward—and who happened to be a loup-garou, or werewolf.

“It was the preferred term back then.” Keirnan said it before Sam could mock. “They say he introduced it to England. Well, certainly to these parts, with all his descendants, legitimate and otherwise.”

He’d tested the depth of the moat out of force of habit before they ascended the crumbling high tower, and now, standing on the battlement, he looked Sam in the eye. “Coming?”

“Wh—”

And before Sam could complete his question, or even his word, Keirnan had stepped out into empty nothingness, to jump born on the wings of memory into the water. “Come on!” he called up, shaking water from his hair. “Let’s see the famous swim-urggghh.” The last and undignified noise was made when he was divebombed by a flying Sam.

“It’s freezing!” Sam exclaimed, shaking water from himself like a dog.

“So, warm up.” Keirnan set off at a fast crawl.

“And filthy.” Sam passed him, not even out of breath. “Just because you can’t catch anything…you should have checked my tetanus was up to date when you issued this weekend invitation!”

The moat wasn’t as full as it had been years before. It wasn’t even a full circle now, the shallow part only knee high. Keirnan made a mental note to get the spring that fed it checked out. It wasn’t that warm—Sam had been right—and they soon made for the bank and their bag.

Sam turned to him where they sat wrapped in a big towel under the rustling branches of a whispering willow, Keirnan squeezing water from his hair with the smaller towel. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.” Keirnan rubbed at Sam’s hair with the small towel.

“What happened to your mother?”

“Oh. She died in childbirth. She had very difficult births, with me and Leanne, but she wanted more children. And, no, dad never re-mated. Remarried. Wolves usually do, if one half of a mated pair dies, but not him.”

“I’m sorry. And you grew up in the states? Your accent…”

“I wasn’t an easy kid, and an even less easy teenager.” Keirnan smiled. “I went to maternal relations in Ireland for a while, to give Dad a break, and then to Barbara and Tristan Wolf, in Blue Creek. Barbara’s a friend of my mother. Gray wolves are alloparental, did you know? Wolf pairs adopt the pups of another wolf. Barbara kind of collects pups. Of all ages.”

“And you came back. To the community. Most wolves stay in the same pack, same territory, right?”

“Yeah.” Keirnan rotated his head, then rolled his shoulders. “It felt, feels, a bit small, but the pull of the pack, packland, it’s strong. I like it as a base, you know? Wolves are big on customs and rituals.” He thought of a Native American friend in the states, who’d researched the similarities between his nation and wolf shifters. Keirnan had felt at ease on the reservation with him.

“I…I’d love to write about this.” Sam cleared his throat. “If I thought I could do it justice. Thank you, Keir.”

“You’re welcome, Sam.” Keirnan lost himself in Sam’s lake-blue eyes, found himself closing the gap, until their lips met, in a soft, gentle kiss. This feels like home too, Keirnan thought, not understanding the why, only the how. He slid down, warming Sam’s wet, damp figure with his greater body heat, sometimes kissing, sometimes sucking, sometimes nipping, sometimes over Sam’s clothes, sometimes under. It was a wonderful playground, especially Sam’s cock, when released, the ripe red head begging for Keirnan’s tongue and mouth.

Sam shook underneath him. Heaved and half rose. Keirnan reared back and soon understood. It took some wriggling and shoving, but then he was back where he’d been, only it was different: Sam was now the other way round, so when Keirnan once more took Sam into his mouth, Sam did the same to him, opening his fly and capturing his prick to take him deep, warm, wet and willingly. And every action he unleashed on Sam, Sam repeated on him, in the world’s most erotic mirror image.

Sam smelled more like pack now, of the green and brown of the land and the blue and silver of the water, and that as much as the clever, slick, tight suction around Keirnan’s cock promised to drag a climax from the depths of his balls. That promise, that nearness, made Keirnan’s body twitch hard, forcing his cock farther and deeper down Sam’s throat. That wasn’t the issue–the problem was Sam playing man-in-the-mirror and shoving hard into him.

Keirnan pulled back a little and indulged in lapping at the exposed bulbous head his work had left huge and dripping, only for the mirrored movements on his cockhead to have him squirming in torment. His mouth protested the emptiness, the loss of Sam’s river-water-flavoured salt-musk and hard readiness, so he took him down deep again, Sam—of course—copying the move.

His body thrummed with heat and tightness and pressure, all of it too great to contain, and he shoved hard to a body-locking, brain-stealing climax, loving the feel of Sam’s throat working around him to swallow, the suction sweet and perfect, stroking deep. Soul-deep. He brought Sam off more or less in tandem, caused that tight body to arch motionless before falling under his hands and tongue and swallowing in his turn. Keirnan lay still, heart thumping and breath catching in a way no exercise, no bike riding, no running up hilltops, no scrambling over ruins and or swimming could ever cause.

As soon as he could, he pushed himself up again, to lie right side up with Sam. It was Sam this time who pulled Keirnan in for a kiss, staring into Sam’s eyes, a darker blue now in this shuttered light. “This…” Kiernan whispered. This closeness, this soft stroking of tongues and gentle pressure of lips as they came down together was better, in many ways, than Sam’s eager tongue taking his prick, than Sam’s tight throat working his shaft. He leaned back, conscious not to crush his slighter, lighter partner.

“I’m loving exploring…your packland.” Sam’s grin was crooked. “Is the pack meeting later half as much fun?”

“It’s— Shit!”

“I’m sure it’s not that bad,” Sam began, but dropped the wisecracks and sprang to his feet when Keirnan did. “It’s soon? We’re late?” he guessed.

“If we don’t get a move on.” Keirna was already rushing down the slope to their bikes at the bottom. He waited for Sam to catch up then tugged him along with him. It was the last thing he felt like doing. He’d much prefer to lie there, holding Sam, keeping the taste of him on his lips as long as possible, refreshing it every so often with a languorous kiss. Later, he promised himself, ignoring the chill that ghosted along his spine.

They hurtled back to the barn to change and within minutes were rushing down the main street to the village hall. Keirnan cursed under his breath. Not only had he wanted to prepare Sam, explain…details to him, but Dad had wanted to go over something, hadn’t he? And Lorcan had already gone in. At least, Keirnan couldn’t see him in the knot of people making their way inside, nor Leanne, either. She must have taken Mia and Owen with them. Never too soon to show them their heritage, he supposed, even if they weren’t shifters. Would they be allowed to attend meetings, if they couldn’t shift? Oh, damn, was Sam allowed to attend? He should have—

“Keirnan! Hi!”

 

Keir turned at the voice and the clap on his back, and Sam took an instinctive step forward, then felt foolish. He shivered, convinced he’d felt hackles rise at the sight of the guy touching Keir. Or maybe it wasn’t the guy. The blonde with him had her head tilted back and was observing from down her nose or under her lashes or whatever it was women did, Sam had no idea. He’d never been with one.

“Chris!” Keir gave the brown-haired, lightly bearded guy of about his own age a hug. “Daniella. How…how are things?”

“Yeah, good. But shouldn’t you—” Chris indicated the long, low stone building. Sam had been expecting some simple village hut, almost, but this looked more like a ceremonial building of some kind.

“Um. Yes. Could you…look after Sam? This is Sam.”

“Keir’s guest for the weekend,” Sam filled in, smirking as he copied Keir’s words of earlier. “Am I allowed?”

“Right of witness, isn’t it?” Chris was frowning, perhaps in an effort of recall, his creased forehead looking strange with his tan and the laughter lines around his eyes and mouth. “You can vouch for him.”

“I guess… Sam, you’re not to record this in any way, okay?”

Sam held up his hands to show they were empty. He didn’t even have a bag with him. “Want to pat me down?” he asked with a wink.

A sharp intake of breath came from Daniella, and a shout for Keirnan came from inside.

“Go.” Sam jerked his head, and Keir made his way inside.

“I’m an old friend. We’re all old friends.” Chris waggled a finger between himself and the blonde.

“Daniella Brooks?” Sam guessed.

“Mead,” she snapped, throwing her blonde waves over her shoulder. “We’re married. Come on, Chris.” She tugged him.

“Keir—”

“I’m sure his…guest will be fine.”

“Catch you after,” Chris called, with an apologetic shrug.

Wow. Rude much? Homophobic or—

“Sam, isn’t it? Coming in, then?”

It was the pub manager, or innkeeper, or whatever the correct term was. Meg. Holding the door for him to enter the medieval-looking stone hall, all vaulted ceiling and arch-shaped windows. “Squeeze in with me and Osc,” she said, waving at her husband in a row towards the middle.

Sam was glad to sink into his seat. People were turning to look at him, and in the case of a dark-haired, dark-eyed man walking up to the front, stare at him. Sam looked around the large space and at the dais at the front, where he drank in Keir’s presence. Keir dashed a hand through his unruly brown waves, shoving a handful behind an ear. Funny. Sam had never gone in for the broad-shouldered, broad-chested gym-hound type, but here he was. There was much more to Keir than that, of course. Like…him being on that platform? Lorcan sat there, and Leanne, too, along with some others, all Lorcan’s age, except for the much-younger hard-eyed man. Strange.

“The Council,” Meg whispered. “The Alpha’s the leader, obviously, and that’s his family, as you know!”

What? Keir’s father was the Alpha? “Leader, how?” he asked Meg.

“Well, this is his!” She waved both hands, indicating more than the hall.

“The leader of the pack owns…the packland?” Sam guessed.

Meg had to lower her voice even more, making it hard to catch and understand that the packland, which covered a fair bit of Norford, was more like a duchy, with the Alpha having interest in possession of its assets but not outright ownership as such. He couldn’t sell assets for his own benefit.

“The Council’s for the Pack and the Alpha’s for the land,” Oscar leant over to say, as if the phrase explained things.

Lorcan was the Alpha. Right. Then, what did that make Keir? Sam was so busy processing the shock he didn’t take in Lorcan saying Keir had invoked right of outside witness and that they had a non-voting guest, until the entire audience turned to stare. He was, however, conscious of the dark-eyed man, who must be a Councillor, glaring.

After a while, things settled down, and reminded Sam of the town hall and committee meetings he’d covered as a reporter, with their points and issues and decisions. These didn’t seem to be awarding tenders and granting licences—more to do with the land.

“Euan bloody Weiss.” Meg rolled her eyes when the hard-eyed man made the same point from another angle. “He’s barely moved here, pushed himself straight onto the Council…”

And seemed obsessed with the Council being fossilised, timid, out of touch, and not doing anything with the land. He paced, rattling off about the quarries having been closed years ago but there being minerals in the land. There were other ways to extract them, these days. Had anyone thought of developing a park? Or creating a new village? Or a new town urban extension? Or an industrial estate? A business park?

“We owe it to ourselves!” he shouted. “But this Council has done nothing about my requests! Each and every of my proposals is stuck in limbo, waiting for someone to evaluate it!”

Sam frowned when several people cheered. It seemed rehearsed, fake to him.

“Euan, you’ve had the floor long enough.” Lorcan stood.

“Maybe, but—”

“We’ll try and get to them.” Lorcan stared at him, but Euan didn’t sit. Sam…didn’t like it. Neither did Keir—he sat straight, tensed. “And moving on to another and more personal point…” Lorcan faced Keir. “I want to discuss stepping down as Alpha.”

Keir pushed to his feet, but not to confront his father. Ignoring the gasps from the audience, he got between Lorcan and Euan, who stepped up.

“Oh, God, finally! You’re what, ninety-seven?”

Sam gasped at that. Wolves aged differently, but…

“It’s time for fresh blood.” Euan drew the last word out almost lovingly. His eyes seemed to darken. “Strong blood. Modern blood, that doesn’t run away from the county and treat it as a mere country holiday home.”

Wait. Sam grappled with a second and third shock, one after the other. Lorcan was the leader. He was stepping down, which made Keir…the new Alpha? A new Alpha who was facing a challenge within the first minute?

“He can’t take the position, can he?” he asked Meg. Sam didn’t know the man, of course—had never met any of them before—but felt the energy and emotions emanating from Euan Weiss. “All his talk of developing the land…”

Meg shook her head. “The role goes in a family. He’s no claim to a challenge.”

“Family, you say?” Euan called.

Damn. Wolf hearing.

“Funny you should say that, when I’m a descendant of Hugh Le Blanc, Hugh the White Wolf, just as the Thanes are. Oh, illegitimate, I grant you—”

“Figures!” Sam yelled before he could stop himself, his voice loud in the chorus of gasps.

The dark light in Euan’s eyes said Sam would pay for that. Keir wore a half-grin.

“But let me show you this copy of my genealogical tree, constructed from records held here in the hall by the official archivist…” When he snapped his fingers, a man sprang up from the front row and handed him a rolled-up sheet of paper. “Please confirm with Councillor Holdsworth.” He bared his teeth at one of the older men on the platform.

The man nodded. “It’s true. It’s accurate. I supervised his historian’s research, but I didn’t know what he wanted it for. A lot of us have drawn up our family trees and—”

“Which gives me the right of challenge for successor! Must say, it’s a relief not to have to challenge a feeble old man to—”

Wham! Euan couldn’t complete his sentence, his condemnation of Lorcan, because Keir had delivered a hard right cross to his face.

Keir lowered his fist, but maintained his stance. “In case you didn’t catch that, challenge accepted.”