Ronan: Night Wolves by Lisa Daniels (96)

Chapter Two - Geraline

Geraline folded her arms as she surveyed the new additional to their forces.  The Supreme Yarrow had possessed turned out to be less of a possession, and more of a conversion.

Faith bit her lip, examining the body of her grandmother, one hand resting upon the cut on her forearm.

“I don't trust you,” Jael said, her blue eyes flashing, her white hair a mess.  “You say you're not being controlled at this moment? Why aren't you controlling her, Yarrow?”

Yarrow, who stood nearby, sighed.  “I already explained.  The human memories of this body became stronger when she fought with Faith.  I was somehow able to crank up those memories, enough for her humanity to take over.” Yarrow rubbed her head, irritated.  The dim light of the underbelly flickered around them in the caverns.  “I don't think it'd work with any of the others.  It was simply because there was a connection here.  Two rare abilities locked together.  And that thing Faith wears.  The Tear.”

In response, Faith revealed the Tear, and her grandmother stepped closer.

“Yes...” the Supreme whispered.  “I remember this.” The Supreme hesitated a moment.  “It is...  odd.  I have memories, but I know I am dead, and that there's a Shadow in me.” Grace shook her head.  “I have no place in this world.  I should not be here.”

The gloom of her attitude wasn't enough to stave off Faith's curiosity though.  A Shadow that had embraced humanity fascinated her, even though it wore the bones of her dead grandmother, and utilized the memories.  Jael remained mistrustful the whole time, unwilling to add anything on the matter.  All they could do now was wait for news.  Something to tell them that their losses didn't mean the end of the invasion.

Geraline grabbed food and drink and washed herself.  Tucked in the underbelly to recuperate, Geraline lay in her bed, the curtains drawn around, wanting nothing more than to sleep forever, but knowing she wouldn't get a chance before the last of them tried joining up with the main armies.  She slept separately from the decimated remains of their force, a cold pack on her head to help deal with the pain.

Out of roughly 506 troops sent to hold the line from the tunnel invasion, 342 had died.  164 remained.

They'd killed...  what? Four thousand? Five thousand? Geraline didn't know.  Certainly more than the number of people holding the line, but not enough to make a difference.  No news report existed to inform them of the other two battles.  Or even what Helena's plans were, and if she had accomplished them.

She did feel distinctively unmotivated to do anything.  Despite knowing it was a huge risk, that they faced oblivion under the hands of the Fractured City, Geraline held faith onto the idea that somehow, they'd pull through.  Because they were the obviously good side, the one fighting for the rest of humanity, to stop the Shadows consuming everything.

Even if the other side claimed reasons for doing what they did.

Long after she removed the pack from her head, someone knocked on her door, and Geraline invited them in.  She sat up and withdrew the curtains, her interest rising when she saw Malek standing there.

He gave her a small smile, stepping into the room, peeling off the thick golden robe that covered him fully, hanging the hood on the back of a small wooden chair.  He regarded the softly lit place for a moment, nose twitching, before sitting in the chair, hands clasped between his legs, attention focused on her.

“We're going to go in a few hours time, try and rejoin with one of the main armies.  They took word to Helena and Erlandur, so they're adjusting as best as able.”

Geraline sighed.  She didn't want to think about the invasion, about their failure, but knew that her want had nothing to do with what they needed.  Only by understanding the reality of the situation could they cope with it.

“What if our failure to hold off the tunnel might result in the destruction of our campaign?”

Malek shrugged, though his eyes swam in concern.  For a moment, Geraline admired that strong jaw, tried to imagine what he would smell like, though he sat too far away for her to pick up on his odor.  She didn't know what brought him here, but she didn't intend to let him escape so soon.

Not when this might be the last time they spoke properly, before becoming swallowed up by the Fractured City.

Slight regret panged through Geraline.  She'd never really pursued relationships before.  She enjoyed the status of “strong, independent witch,” taking the effort to train up her skills and master difficult spells.  People massively appreciated a spell like the Eternal Flame, since well, if you had one in your household, you'd never go cold again.  Unless temperatures dropped to insane levels where nobody managed to survive.

Her mother and father didn't come with the other Ghost Lakers.  Her father was a crippled werewolf, born with a gimp leg.  He could still hunt prey and survive, especially with the resourcefulness of her mother, but in combat, he presented a liability.  It did make him the pinnacle of shame for not being able to fight the Shadows like other Ghost Lakers, but producing a potent fire witch made up for it.  Her two younger brothers as well were growing up to be fine werewolves, though not yet ready for battle.

Geraline thought about Patren and Ric now, ten and eight respectively in age, faces still stuffed with puppy fat, waiting to complete their first transformations.  Maybe they'd be sitting around Ghost Lake now with her mother and father, fishing where the salmon swam above the warm slipstreams, or hunting in the lush woodlands where the blue grass grew, for the animals that provided their main diet.

She also thought about her friend Faith, always alone, already beating the finest fighters in their tribe at the age of six.  That was the thing about combat witches.  They didn't need to go through what every other witch required, to unlock their powers.  It was in them from birth.

Demoralizing to the warriors, to say the least.

If her family never saw her again, Geraline wondered how they would take the news.  Or if they'd be wiped out too, because the Shadows would no longer wait to attack, and just swarm across the Lunar Wastes into the south, destroying everything in their path.

After a moment, Malek answered her question in his deep, gravelly voice.  “It's possible.  But I think they were prepared for this to happen.  I'm sure there's a contingency plan...”

Geraline rubbed her eyes, unconvinced, but not wanting to bring down the mood any further.  People didn't want to hear negativity.  It made them perform worse.  “Let's hope so.”

“Impressive fire slinging from you, though,” He said, a twinkle in his eyes.  “I didn't realize fire witches could be so skilled.  I've seen a few from Moonclaw.  But none know how to do what you did.”

“I was an overachiever,” Geraline responded, smiling at him.  She noticed healing scratches upon his cheeks from the last clash, admired his form for a little longer, then sighed.  Her life of abstinence, aside from the obligatory power unlocking, except in the case of Faith, who had the blood in her from birth – had left Geraline inexperienced to a good relationship.  The werewolf she lost her innocence to never cared about her, aside from doing clan duty to “activate” a witch.

“Looks like.” Malek absently played with his hands, and she noticed the bulge of muscles beneath his clothes.  “I was about the same as the others in Moonclaw.  I trained, we held competitions against one another, and my father was dangerously proud and arrogant.  He made the Moonclaw even more isolated under his leadership.  There were other small clans around, but he obliterated their leaders and forced them to adopt the mantle of Moonclaw.  They were only small, bands, really, of eight to fifteen werewolves.  But he destroyed their former identities.”

“Odd that not more of them would volunteer to fight.”

“They'd be killed.” Malek sighed.  “I was exiled, simply because I'm the son of the chieftain.  No other reason.  My father is not a nice man.  My mother a weak soul.  She is sycophantic to his ways.”

“Sounds like a bastard, to be honest,” Geraline agreed.  Her eyes kept tracing the contours of his cheeks.  Her mind kept wandering over to the realms of fantasy, wondering what he might feel like against her.  What his lips tasted of.  If he had a lot of chest hair or a little tuft.  If all his hairs were the same color as his head.  That sort of thing.

Malek smiled grimly at her scrutinization.  “You know...  we might be dead in a few hours.”

“Yes.”

Geraline's answer seemed to be all the motivation Malek needed.  He got up from the chair, dark yellow eyes devouring her from top to bottom, before he reached the bed, vaulted onto her, forced her to lie on her back and pinned her arms down.  Her heartrate increased exponentially, along with a surge of adrenalin.  Should she tell him she was inexperienced? Would he notice? Would he care?

“I've liked the way you look at me, Geraline,” Malek whispered into her ear, tickling her rust colored hair.  “I've seen it over the weeks.  I've been waiting for a moment to be alone with you...  to find a chance before our window is lost...”

Oh my, Geraline thought, eyes popping in surprise.  She shivered, and he took heed of that with a sultry, confident smile.  One of his hands released itself from her wrist and instead trailed over her cheek, tickling the sensitive skin there.  He continued his delicate caress, before pressing his lips against hers, indulging in the flavor there, and Geraline sighed against his mouth, body sinking into the touch.  All her thoughts at this point didn't matter.  The battle, the chaos, the potential suffering that would follow, the fear of loss or the stringent hope of victory – it buzzed out of mind, allowing her to give everything to Malek.  She stroked his strong jawline, let her fingers dig into his muscles, feeling herself heat up in need, her core aching for him.  She tilted her legs wider, pushing her hips into him, eager for more contact, to let the fever rage in her blood.  The rosy glow of lust infused her cheeks, and her eyes fluttered shut as if drunk, as she inhaled the sharp, hot scent of him, something that promised her soul pleasure.  She anticipated being taken to the highest peaks with him, emotions soaring, until they fell down in an explosion of orgasmic ecstasy, wiping out all other thoughts.

Her hands clawed at his clothes, needing them off and needing them off now, and her heart raced frantically.  Malek growled into her lips and bit down on the soft flesh there, before his tongue dipped into her mouth, brushing over hers, inviting her to open her mouth wider to take him in.

“Look at you, so eager,” Malek whispered, moving his lips to her neck and biting there, before ripping off her clothes, and leaving a damp path of kisses to her breasts, where he suckled on each nipple, sending wave upon wave of pleasure crashing into her.  Delight surged as she felt his growing erection jut over her hips, and she rubbed against him in desire, burning with need, trembling from her excitement.

Whatever her lack of experience, it seemed Malek didn't notice a thing, because his eyes had long since dilated in pure arousal, and he continued kissing and sucking at her, sometimes squeezing her in just the right spots, massaging her breasts.

The bed creaked underneath them, and the blankets became messy and tangled around, as the last of their clothing got peeled off and dumped on the floor, allowing them full access into one another's bodies.  He was stocky and big, several inches taller than her in height anyway, which meant in actuality, he was not so tall when it came to werewolves, who often towered above everyone else with their absurd heights.  Geraline got tired sometimes needing to strain her neck to look at people – not that it made too much of a difference when it came to horizontal activities, but it meant a lot when she conducted her day to day life.

Really, he was just perfect in proportions for her.  And, well, considering the rather substantial manhood currently pressing onto her thigh, his body wasn't the only well-proportioned thing about him.  His reddish hair gave him a rakish charm, a rugged and sexy aura that appealed to Geraline, and made her keep ruffling the fine strands every now and then, enjoying the small crinkle of annoyance that flitted across his features.

This close to her body, she again noted the fine, sharp curve of his nose, the indent between his nose and lips, the slightly receding chin before it formed outwards again, creating a tiny crevice in his chin.  She also enjoyed sighting the moles formed upon his muscles, dark brown nuts on his otherwise pale northern skin.  Her feet brushed over the back of his legs, against the solid calf muscles there, before he readjusted, positioning his erection against her entrance.  She shivered in anticipation, resisting the urge to beg him to take her.

She breathed hard and fast, matching the pace of breath billowing out of his lips, and the pump of his chest from the huge lung space his barrelled ribcage offered.  Then, with a furrowed look of determination, he buried his erection into her, parting the folds down there and stretching her wide.  Her entrance was quite narrow, and it seemed to please him, and sent judders of delight as he began to slide in and out.  His fingers now dug in the bedsheets on either side of her as he pushed backwards.  He took himself away from her, so a huge gap existed between their chests, though they were still interlocked at the hips it changed the angle of how he took her, especially when he seized one of her legs and draped it over his shoulder.  He held the other sturdy as he thrust hard into her, shaking her entire body, her breasts swaying in the motion.

He dug into her so deep, making her gasp in pleasure, eyes rolling backwards.  Her gasps rapidly turned into moans as Malek flexed his awesome body, strengthening the thrusts.  Sweat beaded upon his forehead, welled up from his arms and chest – thick chest hairs, she noted with a vague scan of her eyes – and he groaned as well, drowning in her reaction to him.

The delicious friction continued to stir emotions higher, and Geraline screamed when his hand removed itself from her other leg, and began flicking at her little bundle of nerves.  Her body instantly began shuddering, her thighs clenching to the point where her stomach muscles hurt, before the feeling inside her broke out in a flood of climax, warm and shivering and wonderful.

He seemed a little surprised by her quick orgasm, and continued his thrusting until he came as well.  Every sense of hers heightened from the climax, making each thing he did infinitely more pleasurable.  She inhaled deeply the scent of his arousal and the sweat of his skin, whimpering when she already felt the stirrings of a second orgasm to top the first.  Grinning, he extracted himself from her and fell between her legs, his mouth clamping onto her exposed, sensitive nub.  His tongue flicked her, rapid and soft along her wetness.  His deft work on her down there sent her crying out into another orgasm, brain melting in bliss.

When the burning heat between them eventually cooled off, it was about three orgasms later for Geraline, leaving her muscles thoroughly cramping and convincing her she'd never walk again.  Malek merely lay by her side with a smug grin upon his lips, enjoying the way she pouted and complained about the cramp.

Of course, Geraline took ample time to run her fingers along his well-developed abs.

“How am I supposed to fight if I can barely move out of bed? Bastard.”

“I'll carry you,” he replied, still wearing that irritatingly smug grin.  She wanted to slap it off him.  She also felt embarrassed, to have her body react so much.  Maybe that was what happened when one went without sex for too long?

Not that Geraline knew much.  However, all the things that transpired between them made her instantly regret she'd never spent much time trying to forge relationships.

Except, her hard training and her obsession with mastering her magic had led her here.

If she died now, at least it would be at one of the best points in her life.

Dying happy sounded far more appealing as opposed to dying in wailing agony.

“I hate you,” she said to Malek, who quirked up an eyebrow in response.

“Oh?”

“Why couldn't I have met you in a better place than this? Why did you have to be born in that moon cursed clan with your bastard family?”

Malek chuckled, though it was without humor.  “We can't choose our family when we're born.” His eyes skated over her body again, taking in the delicate, pale smooth skin, the sheen of sweat from their romp.  The gaze calmed her, let her heart cool off into something relaxed and happy.  A little bit of eye scenery went a long way.

“I suppose not.”

He closed his eyes, not wanting to speak, and they spent the next few hours drifting off into a peaceful slumber.

They needed all the rest for the battles yet to come.