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  The night ahead would be difficult. But more than anything, Lachlan needed to survive long enough to find his way to Gwynne. The ritual must occur; for him, for Rauth, for their cwen herself. She had no idea of the future that awaited her, and Lachlan had only to hope that it fulfilled her in every way possible.

  * * *

  Rauth was vigilant, his eyes locked on the treeline ahead. His human vision wasn’t quite as acute as that of his wolf, but it was very good. Any shape looming before him, he knew, would either be one of his men or an enemy in human form. The flyers tended to stay in their shifted forms, high above, for the purposes of safety, but they had human allies and occasionally relied on those on the ground to set traps and do surveillance.

  Generally speaking, the dire wolves made quick work of the human enemies. Their animal form, originally known as aenocyon, were presumed extinct even before the shifters’ time. This was largely a conspiratory decision on the part of the wolves’ clan. They knew their alphas to be legendary men in their own time, and the tale that Gwynne had heard in Cornwall was one that made Lachlan proud: there was a lord in medieval days who kept great hounds who killed. That was enough to instill fear in the listeners’ hearts. Had they known the truth they would have been all the more terrified.

  Best to keep the truth a secret. For now.

  Rauth’s wolves roamed the woods, their strong sense of smell allowing them to pick out the enemy with some facility. The flyers had a particular scent; not necessarily unpleasant, but easy to discern. Where the wolf shifters were able to perspire while in their human forms the flyers lacked the ability for the most part. Instead their blood ran colder, and their physical form was more frail.

  “Anything, my lord?” asked a deep woman’s voice from his right as he neared the trees.

  “Bree. No, nothing yet. Have you noticed any movement?”

  The tall woman was only a couple of inches shorter than Rauth, her shoulders broad. Still, the alpha managed to make her look almost slender. He was built as though he had armaments attached to his body; broad, thickly muscled shoulders and arms that could put a small tree trunk to shame.

  “I’ve seen and smelled nothing but our men. With your permission I’d like to head into the woods in wolf form, though.”

  Rauth studied the woman. She was a loyal fighter, and a rare female. It was only a pity that she wasn’t of use for mating. Yes, Rauth could have pups with her. They would no doubt be strong and healthy, too. But what he and Gwynne might produce was a weapon. Superior, crucial even. Bree would be a practical choice but Gwynne was a necessary one.

  “Go ahead and shift,” he told her. “I’ll remain in the open.”

  “Be careful, my lord,” said Bree, reaching a hand out in a rare display of affection. It landed on his mail-clad arm before pulling away.

  “I will. I always am. Unless I’ve been at the wine,” said Rauth.

  Bree smiled and turned away, pulling her clothing off as Lachlan had done. Shifters weren’t the most self-conscious creatures, but being the only female around for miles, she was aware of her uniqueness.

  Rauth turned away from the nude woman to his right as he surveyed the territory. Much as any female form was capable of arousing him, distraction in this moment would have been a weakness, and he reserved his weakness for times when the castle was secure.

  A cry from within the woods broke his focus. He turned quickly to look and began running, Bree’s golden wolf form at his side. He knew that she would be able to lead him to the scene, her sharp eyes and nose on high alert.

  “What is it?” he asked when they arrived at a small clearing within the woods. One of the shifters, Theron, was on the ground, wounded. Next to him lay a man.

  “One of their humans,” Theron said, holding his arm. “From the village. He slashed me.”

  “How did you not see him?” asked Rauth. “For God’s sake, man.”

  Theron said, “I did. I was circling around to come at him but he lunged at me like a madman. It wasn’t like other confrontations that I’ve had. He was going for my throat when I managed to get my teeth into him.”

  Rauth crouched down and examined the body. The man had a massive wound to the throat, which had obviously killed him. He also had strange, swollen pink markings on his neck.

  Rauth reached down and pulled his tunic up to examine his torso. More swelling.

  “Bubos,” said Rauth. “Marks of the bubonic plague. This man was ill. So they’re trying to send us the humans’ disease now.”

  Bree, standing in wolf form, shifted then. Nudity wasn’t a concern now that this news had reared its head. “My lord, is there a risk to our clan?”

  “Not to us. We’re immune. I suspect that they simply wanted to send a message and a man with nothing to lose was as good a way to send it as any.”

  “People are dying in droves, my lord,” said the wounded shifter. “They may send many more. The flyers are using them; they may even be deliberately rendering them ill to employ them as weapons against us.”

  Just then, a gigantic grey wolf entered the clearing and shifted.

  “Lachlan,” said Rauth, addressing his cousin, “they have a new weapon. We need to complete the ritual, and soon, or there will be no more humanity to protect.”

  “Agreed,” said Lachlan. “Soon. Meanwhile, an archer just shot down a flyer who was dropping stones on our battlements. They’ve left for now, and hopefully the night will be quiet from here on in.”

  He turned to the injured man on the ground and helped him to his feet. “Theron, come with me. We’ll see to it that your wounds are tended by the medics.”

  “Thank you, my lord,” said the young shifter.

  When everyone had left, Rauth turned to Bree. “You interact with the women of the castle, the humans,” he said. “Don’t breathe a word about this plague victim.”

  “My lord?”

  “The humans may panic, and at the very least they’ll spread the word. We don’t need a bunch of frantic women running around our grounds. For now, perhaps you should isolate yourself so that they don’t ask you too many questions.”

  “All right, my lord. I’ll remain in my room until you command otherwise.”

  “Thank you.”

  Bree’s naked body reflected the dim light of the moon, her round breasts now properly distracting Rauth, though perhaps not in the way that a woman wishes to be of interest. Instead he thought of Gwynne, of the enticing roundness of her own body. She was such a woman; so feminine, so strong. For once, Rauth was able to look at one female and think of another. This had never happened to him before.

  “Let’s get you some clothes. And for now, you’d best shift back into wolf form. I’ll escort you to the castle.” For tonight, it was time to settle in and seal up his and Lachlan’s domain.

  * * *

  Rituals 3

  The following evening there were no attacks on Dundurn. Perhaps the flyers had simply wanted to make the point that they were aware of the new cwen’s presence in the castle, and were now resting in order to regroup.

  After another soothing bath, Gwynne had dinner in her room at her own request while the men of the castle presumably ate their dinner. She’d been told that, barring unforeseen circumstances, the ritual would occur that night. She wanted time to think, to prepare, both for what was to occur and for the possible disappointment of another cancellation.

  The ritual was beginning to seem like a bonding ceremony of sorts; not a wedding, perhaps, but an event in which the wedding ceremony was being skipped in favour of the truly fun bits: the aftermath, which would tie Gwynne to these two men in a night that she would never forget.

  So her mind told her that seeing her men ahead of time might be bad luck. And not seeing them added to the anticipation which was making itself known through a gentle throb between her legs.

  Ygrena had brought her a gift the previous day: a collection of modern makeup. Gwynne admitted to herself that it seemed shallow and vapid to
want it when the clan was at war, and when she was surrounded by lovely women who wore nothing of the sort on their faces. But she was accustomed to it, and it made her feel beautiful, or at least presentable.

  Something about wandering around without at least the benefit of lipstick brought back memories of a youth filled with insecurities, children telling her that she was homely and the thought that no one would ever want her.

  First she applied a little eyeliner, some lipstick and mascara, and finally a conservative helping of blush before silently acknowledging satisfaction at her reflection. She looked at least as good as Lady Gwendolyn had in her portraits, and that should suffice.

  Ygrena came to her when the sun had fallen.

  “I’m to bring you to the chamber, my lady.”

  “The chamber? I didn’t realize we weren’t going to do it here…the ritual, I mean.”

  “There is a special place for you, set up,” said Ygrena as they walked. “I’m sorry; I should have mentioned this to you before now.”

  “It’s all right. I’m intrigued,” said Gwynne, smiling.”

  She was wearing the new, flowing dress of gold which trailed on the floor behind her. Its design and rich silk made her feel like the monarch the men so often referred to as their cwen.

  At first she’d told herself that the request of a dress the colour of Gwendolyn’s was for the alphas’ benefit, but in the end it admitted that it was for her own. Her nerves caused her to want to play act a little, to pretend to be someone else. The regal, elegant subject of portraits, the daughter of a nobleman. A potential queen among shifters. Not some girl from New England who’d grown up leading an ordinary and dull existence.

  “A special room, you say? I’m curious now,” Gwynne said. “I’m imagining some sort of adult playground, with toys and chains. Maybe a whip or two.” She raised an eyebrow in an attempt at levity.

  “Oh, no chains or whips, my lady,” said Ygrena. “Everything has been chosen to make the experience more sensual for you.”

  Gwynne got the distinct impression that S&M wasn’t part of Ygrena’s sexual vocabulary. “I appreciate that,” she said. “I suspect that I’ll enjoy myself quite a lot.”

  She spoke the words while deep inside, her stomach churned with nervous excitement. Hadn’t she been through this apprehension last night already? It hardly seemed fair to have to feel so terrified twice in a row.

  But the anticipation, she had to admit, was delicious.

  * * *

  Ygrena led Gwnne down a series of dark hallways which were lit with hanging torches. Along their walls stood hundreds of men, standing in still reverence as she passed.

  “What’s this?” whispered Gwynne as they went.

  “They’re witnesses.”

  “Witnesses? We’re going to be…watched?”

  “Not during the ritual, my lady. But it must be recorded that the ceremony took place. It’s important that the word be spread throughout the land, so that others know that the cwen has come.”

  “The cwen has come,” thought Gwynne, suppressing a chuckle. “Here’s hoping.” She had little doubt that the words would soon be appropriate in more ways than one.

  The chamber itself was more than its simple name indicated: it was an enormous room, much like the one where the men dined. A large bed at its center was coated in white linens and surrounded by tall, iron candelabras which glowed with the slow burn of dozens of candles. They dripped wax down their sides, the slow flow of which already had Gwynne’s mind racing. There she would be, on that bed, with her lovers.

  Soon.

  Silently Ygrena led her to the bed. She straightened one of the straps on Gwynne’s dress before curtsying, offering a shy smile and turning away.

  For a moment Gwynne considered stopping her. But no. It was too late. And it was only fear and momentary feelings of unworthiness that made her think twice. She was meant to be here; even her mother had known that.

  The door closed and Gwynne wandered, examining the room’s various characteristics. Windows of framed alabaster sat here and there in the thick stone walls so that whatever little moonlight there was outside could barely penetrate them. The candles lit the bed from the far end of the room in a glow that made it attractive, warm, enticing. She could hardly wait.

  As she stared at the bed from afar, Gwynne felt a familiar throb between her legs. By now she not only wanted her men; she needed them. Inside her, feeding her their flesh. She longed to milk them, to pleasure them with her pussy, with her mouth, with her delicate hands. She’d seen them both hard for her and knew that she had the same effect on them as they on her, and what was to come would surely be explosive.

  With that thought, though, came pressure. What if she didn’t satisfy them, after all?

  But this night wasn’t about their pleasure. By all accounts it was about her own, about the act itself.

  And pleasure she’d have, in spades.

  A light distracted her for a moment as the door opened slowly, and a figure walked into the room.

  Lachlan.

  He was dressed in a dark green tunic, leather pants and tall boots, and looked as gorgeous as ever.

  “Hello, my lady,” he said, kissing her hand when he’d approached. “You look exquisite.”

  “Thank you,” said Gwynne, who felt her nipples harden under the slippery silk of her dress. Lachlan sized her up, reminding her for a moment of Rauth for the look in his eye. The first time she’d seen him in the pub he’d been looking at her like that; she felt like a meal to be eaten by a hungry man. And she was more than happy to provide him with sustenance.

  A moment later Rauth was in the doorway, similarly dressed in a tunic and leather pants. Without a word he walked in and closed the door behind himself.

  Lachlan stood to the side watching as Rauth, always the more aggressive of the two, walked up to Gwynne. He leaned in towards her body, sniffing her neck. In this moment his wolf was confirming his place as her mate and his human was filled with desire.

  Gwynne’s eyes closed and she inhaled as well, smelling the man, his musk. Both alphas exuded sexuality, but this one somehow managed to permanently smell of the act itself. It must, she thought, be his inner animal. Or the fact that he’d been with so many women over the course of his years. She could only hope to stand out among the crowd.

  “She looks good, doesn’t she, Lachlan?” growled Rauth, stepping back to take her in.

  “She does indeed.”

  “A meal fit for two kings.”

  With that, Rauth took her right strap unceremoniously in his hand and tore it down, revealing Gwynne’s right breast, whose nipple betrayed her arousal with its rock hard tip.

  She gasped and looked at Lachlan, wondering if she should feel embarrassed or turned on now with two men eyeing her bare flesh. She’d expected a slower start to the evening; a light kiss on the neck, perhaps, before her hard nipples were to be displayed.

  Lachlan’s eyes were fixed on her breast and he took a step forward. At first Gwynne thought that he was going to bar Rauth from tearing at her dress further. But instead he took her left strap and pulled it downwards in a motion equal to Rauth’s own, tearing the delicate silk away.

  Was this part of the ritual? Were the men going to get violent with her?

  Now she stood frozen in place, both breasts exposed, both nipples hard, resisting the urge to cover herself.

  It was Lachlan who reached out first, his hands gently cupping the round white of her soft tits as his thumbs lightly brushed the tips of her nipples. Gwynne inhaled quickly, her back arching with her arousal, relieved at the gentleness of his touch.

  “Your scent is heaven,” Lachlan said, his voice soft and smooth as the silk which had fallen away.

  “Your body is ready for us, isn’t it?” said Rauth, approaching with a smile. As his fellow alpha massaged Gwynne’s breasts, he kissed her gently on the lips. Gwynne was surprised at the sweetness of his touch; he’d always been so aggressive, but now
he sent flutters through her chest, warming her internally. He knew how to kiss a woman; that much was clear.

  “Those lips,” he said, running a fingertip over them when he’d pulled away, “will feel very, very good on my cock.”

  The thought of it only added to the ache between Gwynne’s legs. For all his flaws, for all his animalistic tendencies and chauvinistic views of the world, Rauth did have a delectable cock which redeemed him somewhat, rivalled only by Lachlan’s own. When Gwynne had seen them erect they’d each beckoned to her, teased her with their girth and length. Never had she wanted anything in her mouth so badly. And she sensed that Rauth knew it.

  Of course, she’d had the pleasure of wrapping her lips around Lachlan’s thick shaft already. She could only hope to provide the same pleasure to his co-alpha.

  Rauth kissed her again, this time allowing his tongue to seek hers. Delicately he caressed it, letting her know just how skillful he was with his own; how it might feel between her legs, sliding along her opening until it came to settle on her hard bud.

  Meanwhile, another mouth had made its way to her left nipple and was sucking gently, lips pursed around her firm flesh as fingers lifted the hem of her dress away from the floor. A cool draft reminded Gwynne of her lack of undergarments, and she was pleased now that the men wouldn’t have any barriers to her sensitive pussy.

  Lachlan was tending to her body’s needs, preparing her for what was to come and savouring the moment as she was. Each inch of her was magic. Every curve represented a year of waiting, of watching. And Gwynne could feel his gratitude; finally he was being rewarded for his patience with her flesh under his soft touch.

  Never had a man stroked her with such affection or reverence.

  Gwynne’s hands didn’t know at first where to go, and she realized that she’d remained still while all of this physical attention was being lavished upon her.