Chapter Six
Lucy did not have much time to ponder on the wisdom of her decision. A few days later, a sour-faced little man from city hall made his appearance, rather upset that he’d been summoned to the manor so close to Christmastime, but not daring to voice any complaint. They signed their names in a bulky book that he’d brought with him in front of several witnesses. And it seemed that this was all there was to it.
It was, however, with a feeling of unease that she watched the little man go. Right before leaving, he’d taken advantage of a small moment when they were together to tell her in French, “Savez-vous ce que les gens disent sur votre nouveau mari?”
Do you know what people are saying about your new husband?
She shook her head, not understanding why he had asked her the question. The little man sighed and shook his head, clutching the book in his hands. “Dieu vous protège, petite dame anglaise!”
Why was he asking God to watch over her? She wanted to ask something more, but she caught her new husband watching the exchange from a distance, with a sardonic expression on his face. Seeing that his intervention had been noticed, the little man took his hasty departure.
Her thoughts were soon otherwise engaged, however, because Alexandra came toward her shyly. “I wish you only happiness, Miss Cross,” the child told her.
“I think that from now on you should call me Lucy,” she said, feeling rather nervous and realizing that she was also acquiring a new daughter. “I know this is sudden. I hope that you are not too upset.”
Alexandra shook her head. Then she said in that very grown-up way that was hers, “No. Papa has explained it to me. I think that he will no longer feel so lonely. And besides... I’m glad it’s you.”
Lucy hoped that she would not betray the child’s trust. She vowed she would never disappoint her. At this moment she was feeling stupid and selfish. She’d married out of sheer lust, blind to everything else around her.
He must claim her soon. The waiting was driving her insane. All her thoughts were filled with him, with wanton images of his naked body. She remembered how good he had tasted and how she had licked a drop of his blood. She lived only with his lingering scent in her nostrils. It was as if his male scent was imprinted in everything that was in this house.
It was maddening. Excruciating. She felt it burn between her legs, making her mind numb to almost everything else. He ought to make her his and put her out of her misery.
As if Ioan had guessed her thoughts, he approached her some moments later, and whispered in her ear, “Tonight...”
His soft words sent delicious tingles down her cheek and down the sensitive area of her neck. “Oh, so it is tonight?” she asked innocently, trying to still her thumping heart.
She was trying to tease him. Of course, she was very excited, but also slightly frightened by what was going to take place.
He gave her a half smile. “Yes. And you do know what’s going to happen tonight?” he asked in a very low voice.
He did not seem to be teasing her. He seemed intense and very serious.
She felt uncomfortable, suddenly afraid of his intensity.
“I’m not that ignorant, you know,” she whispered to him in a frosty voice, which was meant to hide her anxiety.
“I wonder...” he whispered back.
She could not decide if he was mocking her. Or teasing her. Or warning her. And she felt frustrated for not being able to tell. She did not push this further, though. They were not alone, and all the servants’ eyes seemed fixed on them.
She decided she would not give him the satisfaction of showing how uncertain she really was. She turned to face him fully and told him in a steady voice, suddenly not caring that everyone was staring at them, “Tonight.”
There was to be a small celebration. Just themselves and the servants. Ioan had asked her politely if she would consider wearing traditional Romanian dress for this wedding. She’d acquiesced to this, understanding that it would be meaningful to the people in the household. Now, as she studied her reflection in the mirror, she could not recognise the exotic stranger that was staring at her. She was wearing a luminous white gown with delicate red and blue flower motifs. It was so soft that the skirts were almost transparent, but luckily she’d had to wear some sort of elaborate heavy skirt over this garment. Her feet were clad in soft black slippers made of leather. Her hair was unbound, but adorned with an elaborate headdress, which was made of red colorful beads and tiny white pearls.
It was Florica and Ana who had helped her dress and, while the younger woman was exuding cheer and warmth, the older one seemed to be seething with resentment. Lucy felt thankful for Florica’s presence—she was reassuring and seemed her cheerful old self, which made Lucy think with relief that her family’s punishment couldn’t have been too harsh. She had still harbored some apprehensions that Florica might have been harmed by Mitru’s discipline. However, as she had tried to talk to Florica about her fiancé, she had realized that Ioan had told her the truth. Florica had laughingly told her that she felt lucky to be engaged to such a kind man. And besides, she had added in her broken French, with a saucy wink, recently she had thankfully found out that he could also be feisty. A woman needed a man whose blood ran hot.
Lucy hoped Florica was right, because she surely knew that, for all his self-control, her new husband’s blood ran hot. And she herself felt wild for him, she thought, critically studying her reflection in the mirror.
She was surprised when she saw Florica slip a curious-looking dried herb in the bodice of her bridal costume.
“What are you doing?” The potent scent was already making itself known. It was pleasant, slightly tangy. “Is it basil?” she asked, recognizing what it was.
“Amour,” the young woman told her smilingly.
It was for love. Local lore? Some strange love charm? Lucy wondered.
Ana muttered something under her breath that, to Lucy, sounded like a curse. She crossed herself, which made Florica laugh impudently.
“Pagan filth,” the old woman mumbled, in French this time, obviously for Lucy’s benefit. “They say basil binds your man to you forever.” She studied Lucy through narrowed eyes. “As if anyone would want to be bound to that man forever.”
Lucy felt distinctly uncomfortable, remembering too well the civil servant’s strange words. Do you know what people are saying about your husband?
“He can’t even properly marry you in church, can he?” the old woman went on. “That’s because of the taint in the blood...varcolac...”
Lucy had heard the word before. She did not know precisely what it meant, but she knew it was something evil. She stilled her thumping heart, feeling strangely frightened by the old woman’s talk, but immediately took reassurance in Florica’s smile and rolling eyes. Florica definitely wasn’t taking the old woman seriously. Lucy herself dismissed the old woman’s superstitions and drank in the scent of basil that was enveloping her. Pagan, Ana had called it.
Lucy felt she looked positively pagan. She had chosen not to ask Ioan why it was that he had not wished for a church wedding. After all, it was for the best, as she assumed he was of the Orthodox faith, although she’d never seen him head out to Mass. Maybe his priests would object to her being an Anglican. While not a devout person, she had, however, no intention of converting to another religion. Still, there would have to be other extraordinary changes in her life. She had married a complete and utter stranger, she realized as she later stepped into the hall downstairs.
She almost did not recognize him by looks. His scent singled him out, though, the same potent, masculine scent of a desire for her that waited to be released. He looked different, all veneer of civilization gone from him. He was wearing a simple white shirt, held by a black belt, together with close-fitting black trousers made of leather. His shiny black boots were also leather. On his shoulders, he wore a heavy cloak made from sheepskin and on his head also a black sheepskin hat. It made him look wild. Like a barbarian warrior of distant times. She noted that the men had donned similar and equally impressive outfits. She also noted that there was no music, laughter or talk. Only silence. And she felt very uncomfortable. They were all watching her.
She was suddenly grabbed by strong hands and dragged toward one end of the hall. Somebody slung her over his shoulder. There was laughter then and raucous talk in Romanian from both men and women. She tried to squirm, but her captor held her pretty firm. She heard him whisper in her ear and recognized Mitru.
“Don’t be afraid, mademoiselle,” he whispered to her in French. “No one will harm you. It’s just pretence. Stealing the bride—part of our custom.”
She did not feel in the least reassured. Her heart was thumping wildly. With relief, she felt her captor release her and seat her in a high chair at the far end of the hall. She noted that at least four strong men had come to guard this chair, as if she were their prisoner. The silence seemed to have gone now. Instead there was laughter and shouting from the men and what she perceived to be high-pitched, keening sounds from the women.
“They’re lamenting that the bride’s been stolen,” Mitru whispered again in her ear.
“What happens now?” she asked in some distress.
Mitru looked at her in some puzzlement, as if he was astounded that she was so ignorant. “The groom will have to ask for his bride back.”
“Oh,” she said, trying to sound careless, but somewhat afraid that her captors would not release her.
What followed was a bit of a blur. She saw Ioan, accompanied by another group of men, coming to the ones guarding her, and speaking in a high voice. There seemed to be a long argument in Romanian that she thought was going to come to blows. It sort of did. But it was a mock skirmish, she saw with relief, both parties of men laughing as they were pushing each other. And it was not that long before her groom reached the place where she was seated. Good. Then the charade was all over.
Well, not entirely, she realized, as she was unceremoniously slung across her groom’s shoulder in the deafening cheers of both women and men. It was a while before he put her down, and she was already rather cross and very willing to give him a piece of her mind. She did not have the chance, though.
A potent sound of violins and cymbals pierced the hall, and she found herself in the middle of a group of women, while the men lined up for what she came to see was a dance. They linked their arms together in a sort of chain, and then the music began in earnest. She had not heard this kind of music before. But she understood immediately where it came from. Some place before time. It was powerful. Sad, but not sad. Cheerful, but not really so. Just haunting.
And the men were dancing to it like the warriors of some primitive clan. Wolf warriors, a strange, secret voice within herself told her. Her new husband was among them. They were dancing in their sheepskin hats and white shirts, having discarded their cloaks. But then it was not only the men who danced, but the women too. They formed their own line opposite to that of the men and guided her within their own rhythm. She felt somehow compelled to dance with them, as if she had been long familiar with the steps of the dance.
She danced until she was breathless and the music stopped. And then her husband came to take her in his arms and claim her for another dance, easily guiding her. A cheerful dance this time, men and women dancing with each other.
They seemed unstoppable, she thought, watching them. Both the dancers and the musicians seemed inclined to go on forever. She glanced at Mitru and Florica’s smiling faces as they twirled to the rapid beat of the music.
She felt thankful when this dance was over and her husband escorted her to the table. The dancers and musicians were carrying on, but she seemed to have drained her energy.
“Have a drink,” he told her, giving her a glass.
“Wine?” she asked, remembering the effects that the wine had had on her last time she’d drunk it.
“You can take just a sip,” he suggested.
She nodded and did so, and realized that the bride-stealing ceremony had somehow unsettled her.
“You should have told me about this,” she chided.
“What?” he asked her, but she noted that his smile was mischievous.
“You know too well.”
He shrugged, but the mischievous smile did not leave his lips. “Were you afraid I’d leave you in the men’s hands?” he asked.
She rolled her eyes and didn’t deign to answer.
“You think us savages,” he said, and there was an easy grin on his lips.
“No,” she protested.
“Yes, you do. And in a way, you’re right. We are,” he told her, his voice taking a serious tone.
There had been savagery in the dance, she remembered. A weird intensity that she herself had partaken in. A savagery that came from beyond time.
“What do you call that tune?” she asked him, knowing that he would know she was of course speaking of the first tune they’d danced to.
“Imparatul-lup,” he said in Romanian.
“What does this mean?” she asked him, although, strangely, some part of her already knew the answer.
“Wolf Emperor, or, better say, Emperor Wolf,” he told her curtly, and this time he wasn’t smiling.
“It sounds very old,” she told him.
“This is an old place,” he said. “And the name, Valcele, comes from Old Romanian. It originally means ‘wolf place.’”
She nodded, seized by a strange sensation. “They keep howling,” she told him.
“But you’re not afraid of wolves,” he said.
It was not a question, but she found that he was right. She had not minded the howling. Somehow, she had not found it dangerous. Just unsettling.
“This is an old place,” he told her. “They worshiped wolves here before they worshiped other gods. Wolf warriors, they called them. Before the Romans came.”
“But Rome itself was daughter of the she-wolf,” she said.
He smiled. “Of course. And because I’m Romanian, I’m twice wolf.”
He was joking, naturally, but she found this kind of talk further unsettling.
“They say my family is descended from the Great White Wolf...so I really am wolf,” he said, still smiling.
She felt even more unsettled by the smile, because it really looked feral.
“Still, I promise I won’t bite you very hard,” he added softly.
She did not have time to answer, because yet again she found herself slung across his shoulder. “I wish you’d stop doing that,” she complained, rather unnerved by her undignified position.
“It’s tradition,” he told her innocently, but she could hear a smirk in his voice.
She was, however, no longer vexed, but further unsettled, as she realized that he was carrying her to his bedroom.
And, in spite of all the anticipation that she’d felt earlier, she felt suddenly afraid of what was going to take place. Not of him, really. It was a fear that she’d felt before. And it was not him that she was afraid of, but herself.
He was unexpectedly gentle when he deposited her on the bed and kissed her. She’d expected him to pin her to the bed and plunder her body hungrily. God knew that, in spite of her fear, she was famished for him.
He took his time undressing her, and she luxuriated in the way his fingers traced the contours of her body. He was the first man to see her naked and she felt herself blush when he discarded the very last item of her clothing.
“Is that a bridal blush?” he asked with a smile in his voice, softly drawing the line of her lips.
“I haven’t done this before,” she told him, deciding that it was the best thing to let him know of her inexperience. She feared that her wanton behavior might have given him a different idea. And tonight she felt she needed him to know that it was her first time.
“Of course,” he said, his fingers slowly descending upon the column of her neck.
“So you knew I was a virgin?” she asked in some surprise.
“The scent is unmistakable,” he answered, his expert fingers sending thrilling sensations all through her body.
He was joking, of course. Or perhaps not. Maybe he had been cursed with the same ability as she, an uncommonly keen sense of smell. But it would be very strange. She opened her mouth to ask, but found that she could not. His clever fingers had found both her nipples, and soon clever fingers were followed by clever lips. And then by his clever tongue, which he flicked around her nipple, making her moan wantonly. He was tormenting her, and she thought she could not bear it—that flaming sensation of void that had been torturing her ever since she’d first set eyes on him.
“I want you inside me!” she commanded.
“Soon,” he promised her soothingly.
He explored, kissed and licked every inch of her body, mingling his own male scent with her female muskiness. He wanted her, badly. She could tell by the spicy scent of his desire. He obviously had amazing self-control, she thought enviously, while she herself was panting like a bitch in heat for him to enter her.
Instead, he spread her legs wide open and thoroughly licked her, as a wolf would lave his mate. His tongue found its way to her clitoris and twirled around it, making it bloom. And everything else, yet again, melted around her. There was only him and the velvet of his tongue on her blazing flesh, soothing her, until she exploded, coming against his mouth.
She felt sated, like a predator after eating its fill...but not quite. The burning sensation had ceased, soothed by the coolness of his tongue. The need of having him inside her had not, however, deserted her.
“I want more,” she told him rather petulantly, although she knew it was very unfair to diminish his efforts.
She could feel he too had reached his edge. His eyes were stormy green, his lips moist and parted, and his hair slick with sweat. He smelled as if he was ready to devour her. And he probably was.
“You should undress first,” she said rather mischievously, sensing that his patience had been stretched thin and that at last he felt ready to pounce on her.
He did undress, with brisk, hurried movements, which now betrayed how much it had cost him to be in control of his appetite. He was the first naked man she had ever seen, yet his body had a familiar look to it. She smiled to herself. Of course it was familiar. She had so often dreamt about it that she felt as if she already knew every plane and angle of him. She’d known his shoulders would be broad and his arms muscularly round. She’d known his skin would be golden and she’d imagined the sweet yet firm curve of his buttocks.
She had expected his cock to be huge and was in no way disappointed. If anything, his member seemed larger than she had pictured it in her dreams. It was long and thick and perfectly erect. Now, as she was staring at him in all his naked glory, a feeling of panic seized her.
He must have guessed her alarm, as he smiled and said drily, “Let me guess, you were wondering if you’ll ever be able to fit this strange-looking thing inside you.”
His words were a succinct expression of her own thoughts. She gave a short, nervous laugh. “It’s even larger than I expected.”
“Well, it’s good to know I’ve surpassed your expectations. I would have been miserable if I hadn’t been able to meet them,” he teased her.
He toyed with her left nipple and playfully licked its rosy tip, which sent a shudder of pleasure through her. He then said in a husky voice, breathing his words against the sensitive skin of her breast, “You’ll see it’s not that large after all—just the right size for you.”
“So you promise you won’t rip me apart?” she breathed back, entering a dangerous game of seduction.
“Word of honor,” he answered, now sliding his finger into her soaking wet cleft and probing as deep as he could in order to find the barrier of her maidenhead.
“Although,” he said slowly, removing his finger and beginning to draw caressing circles on her mound and sensitive inner thighs, “I’ll have to break this barrier of yours.”
“Will it hurt?” she gasped, fear mixing with odd excitement.
“Probably. A bit. But I think you’re a brave girl and up for it.”
“I am?” she asked, needing to be reassured.
“You are,” he said in a raspy voice which rang with absolute certainty.
He grabbed her thighs with both hands and slowly drew her to him. The soft fabric of the sheet beneath her felt like a silky caress against her naked buttocks and she slid toward his erect cock.
He positioned himself to enter her, the tip of his cock teasing her wet folds.
“You know,” he said, his breathing now ragged. “That wolf in the tapestry downstairs...”
“What about it?” she asked impatiently, wondering what had come over him.
“You know what he’s doing?”
“What?” she gasped, feeling she was about to explode.
“Biting...biting into the tree of life,” he whispered hoarsely against her ear.
Suddenly, he sank his teeth into her shoulder, sending sharp slivers of shock and pain into her body.
“Why, you—” she furiously gasped.
But then she realized that his cock was already buried deep inside her, to the hilt. He had entered her in one swift fluid motion while biting her, and she hadn’t even realized it.
She was still shocked. He had bitten her! A painful bite—so much pain. Belatedly she realized it was not his bite that was the source of her pain, but her sex, uncomfortably stretched now to accommodate his enlarged cock. The pain was throbbing now, almost excruciating, and she understood that it was because he had bitten her that the pain had seemed more bearable at first. He had been trying to lessen her discomfort.
“You!” she gasped again, angry at his trick and at the same time absurdly furious at his intrusion.
A moment later she realized that, in her anger, she had scratched his back.
“Well, now we’ve both been branded,” she heard him say as he started to move within her.
“Good, I hope I’ve drawn blood!” she said pettily, hoping she had given him at least a fraction of the pain she was feeling now.
The pain, the pain was...it was almost unbearable, making her dizzy, as if it was reshaping her whole body, turning it into something different. It was so excruciating that she thought she heard herself almost howling. She must be mistaken—such a sound could just not escape her lips.
It subsided, but not quickly. Instead, there slowly grew a throbbing ache, in turn replaced by fierce, primitive need, by the unadulterated pleasure of having him inside of her. However, she did not yet have the courage to match the rhythm of his cock as it slid in and out of her hot sex. When he finally climaxed, his body sleek with sweat, his very green eyes darkened with liquid passion, she felt the hot warmth of his seed spilling inside her.
As he rolled away from her, spent, she could still feel rawness between her legs. She felt very sore and very sticky down there, as she watched him wipe his cock with the white sheet.
“I’m sorry. It could not be helped. It will get better, much better,” he promised.
In the candlelight, she could see there was blood on the sheet he had used.
“It will get better,” he repeated. “It was your first time and you were tight, maybe too tight to take the whole of me. And besides...”
He seemed to want to add something more, but fell silent, an expression of sheer exhaustion crossing his face. He smoothed one dark strand of hair that had been plastered on his forehead.
“But you said you were not that large, that I was just the right size for you,” she said, and at once realized her own stupidity. “Oh, and I believed you.”
He didn’t apologize. Instead, he planted a light kiss on her cheek. “Next time there should be no pain. I’ll make you come when I’m inside you.”
He glanced at her shoulder, but there was no remorse in his gaze. “It will take some time for the marks to fade. In the meantime, you might consider wearing more conservative evening gowns.”
“What if I don’t?” she asked him, challenge in her voice.
“Then everybody will be able to see I’ve branded you as mine,” he said with something akin to a growl of masculine satisfaction.
She saw that he had become hard again. The red tip of his manhood was nudging her belly. She licked her lips. Her hardened nipples and elevated pulse were telling her she wanted him again, but the soreness between her legs was saying otherwise.
He must have seen the uncertainty in her eyes because he sighed and suddenly rose from the bed. She winced as she saw the red scratch marks she had left on his back—her own brand on him.
She heard him pour some water in the basin that had been placed by the bed.
“Come,” he said. “I’ll help you clean up, if you want.”
“And after that, will you kiss me better?” she couldn’t resist asking.
“Only if you’re very, very good,” he said in that deep, husky voice of his.
She lay awake for hours after he had fallen asleep, replaying in her mind all that had happened between them. After he’d helped her wash, he had licked and soothed the inside of her sex, making her clitoris come to life again. She’d snuggled happily against him, exhausted and sated by this lovemaking, waiting for sleep to claim her soon.
It did not. Instead, an odd, heated anguish took hold of her. He was asleep, his arm possessively encircling her. And he was her husband now.
Do you know what people are saying about your husband? The question came to nag her, and would not let her sleep. And there was something else that did not feel right. For all the pleasure that he’d brought her, the pain had also been excruciating. Was it natural? She did not feel at all fine. She felt kind of feverish, she felt strange, as if somebody had torn her body apart and reshaped it in a way that did not feel entirely right.
It was only late that she fell asleep, and she was frightened of her dreams. In them she saw a huge black wolf, with sharp fangs and a feral green glint in his eyes. He was howling. And strangely she understood what the howl meant. It was one of unmistakable possession, of primal satisfaction. You’re mine now. And I won’t let you go ever. Ever. He was howling by a tree, a blue tree with gnarled branches that she somehow knew was the tree of life. Come. Bite into the tree of life, the wolf was saying.
She woke up, probably after a few fitful minutes of sleep, and found his arm was no longer around her. His side of the bed was empty, bearing only the hot imprint of his body and the scent that was potently and unmistakably his. One of sated, wolfish desire.
He’d had his way with her and now he was gone. She felt lonely and foolish, but for the first time in days she was able to think clearly, without the heat of her sex numbing her brain. She had made the worst mistake of her life. She had married this stranger and put herself entirely at his mercy. And now she was his to do with as he pleased.
Dawn came and she did not sleep. Her husband did not return.
She was not surprised when, in the morning, a servant came with a message from him. He’d had to go away. Urgent business on his lands, it said tersely. Of course, he’d be back before Christmas. That was all.