Wolf’s Cub

Chapter 8

The roughness of the coarse linen robe on his bare skin told Colin where he was—nothing else in his life had ever been quite as uncomfortable as the robes he’d been required to wear as a novice druid. It took him a couple of years before he became accustomed to them and could forget the soft silks and rich furs he’d worn as the youngest son of a younger son of a King.

The cock’s crow told him it was time to wake— dawn apparently arrived even if it was still too dark to see without the aid of a candle. Sighing, he left the meager warmth of his cot with its single thin blanket and walked over to the small table.  Suddenly there was a noise from the hall. Turning, Colin was surprised to see the head of their order, Venerable Terene entering his room.

“Come, young Allym, you must make haste. There are hunters at the gates and you are needed to safeguard the treasure of the House of Dyad.” 

Terene was pale with stress, yet despite his obvious worry, he radiated power as he placed his hands on Colin’s shoulders. After murmuring the words of a blessing, calling for the goddess to watch over Colin and his charge, Terene stepped over to Colin’s small trunk.  Feeling as though he were still asleep and dreaming, Colin watched as the old man rummaged through his sparse belongings, before straightening up, some few items of clothing in his hands…and a sword. He handed Colin the leggings he’d found, saying, “Dress warmly, my son. Your journey will take you over rough ground and robes alone will not afford you sufficient protection.”

Taking the garment automatically, Colin dressed in the warm leggings and tunic of a Royal. “What is going on? What treasure am I to guard? What hunters are….”

Terene shook his head. “There is no time to explain fully. We’ve been betrayed my son. Come with me now; I will show you the path you will take to escape.”

Colin followed Terene through a maze of hallways that he’d never before entered, the old man walking at a pace that belied his years.  He would have sworn they were walking up, yet they came out of the monastery at sea level, below the cliffs. He realized that the walls of the narrow hallway they’d traversed must have been imbued with an illusion to confuse followers. Eventually they came to a door, which Colin had opened with some difficulty, putting his full strength against the cold stone and shoving as hard as he could.  As soon as he had it opened enough for their bodies to slip through, Terene did exactly that, tugging on Colin to follow. As soon as he did, the door slammed shut. Colin looked back at it in amazement; all he could see was the sheer rock face of the cliff that led up to the monastery.  Even his keen eye could find no sign in the faint dawn light that there was a door there.

A hooded woman met them just outside the heavy door; she carried a bundle that looked like nothing more than a tightly rolled blanket. But, taking it from her when, at Terene’s softly worded command, she held it out for him, Colin was shocked to see a small face looking back at him. Only the strict discipline instilled in him by his training prevented him from balking and refusing the bundle.

Still, his mind whirled with questions, and worries.  A child? He had no idea how to take care of a child, nor did he know what to do or where to go with this one. Or even if it was a boy or a girl, though that would be answered soon enough, he realized, as he accepted a bag that he was told held the child’s necessities.

“This is Mellisande, my son. She is now Queen of the Third Kingdom, and in your hands I place her safety, and the trust of our Kingdom,” Terene told him, once the old woman had stopped her fussing.

“Where am I to go?”

“Go to Adam, in the First Kingdom,” Terene said. “His protector will keep you safe.” 

A small rowboat bobbed in the water. Colin looked at it doubtfully. Surely Terene did not expect him to sail that all the way to the First Kingdom, a trip he knew as theoretically possible, but had only an academic’s knowledge of how to accomplish. Before he could ask any more questions, Terene turned to the old woman and with a flick of his wrist, drove a knife deep into her chest, killing her instantly.

Colin raised shocked eyes to the man he’d known as a peaceful scholar.  A sadness deeper than any he’d ever imagined met his look.

“Even now, our home is being ransacked by murderers, my son. They would have eventually come upon we who remain and they would have tortured this good lady until she told them all she knew of you and your sacred mission. I send you on your way now with my blessing, and with no one who will be able to betray you. Make haste, and the goddess bless you and Mellisande.”

With those final words, Venerable Terene pulled the bloody knife from the old woman’s chest and drew it across his jugular vein. The old skin was like paper,  and parted easily, but the blood was as rich and thick as a young man’s as it flowed forth, hitting the ground ahead of his form.

Colin wanted to gather the old man close, to stem the flow of blood, to render him aid, but to do so would mean putting down the bundle…his burden. No, not a burden, his sacred mission was what Terene had called it, with almost his last breath. 

Setting his jaw and resolutely turning his back on the two fallen figures, Colin strode over to the small rowboat. Placing the baby safely inside, he pushed off, then hopped in, careful not to splash too much water into the boat. It was cold and he hoped the wind would soon dry his leggings. 

The exertion of rowing soon warmed him up.  Instead of heading eastwardly directly, he rowed west. His cousins and he had used to keep a small yacht anchored off the bay of a little island located about twenty leagues west of the monastery. Since it was winter, there was a good chance the yacht would be there, unused. It would make the trip to the First Kingdom much easier, and swifter.

Looking up at the cliff, he could see lights in the monasteries many windows. But they were not the lights from candles, he realized, his heart sinking. The monastery was on fire. He knew with the certainty of a vision that there would be no survivors among the gentle druids. None of them would have any knowledge to give of the child who was sought, but they would die nonetheless.  

Colin channeled his grief and anger into his rowing. His comrades and brave Terene would not have died in vain, he vowed to the small child watching him with large solemn eyes. He would see that this tiny Queen reached sanctuary.
 

****************

Colin stood at the Breslin stones with Dominic and Lycan. There was no sign of the battle that had waged so fiercely the day before, although Lycan muttered about the smell of demons. His sensitivity to dark creatures seemed to be greater than their own, Colin speculated. Or perhaps it was another feature of his resistance to the forms of magic that created illusions and deceived. There was so much he wished to learn about the Metamorphs and he wished there was time to explore the differences between their peoples.
 

Placing his hands on Dominic’s shoulders, loath to leave him alone but conscious that he should hurry back to the island before Michael and Benra came to blows, Colin leaned forward and kissed the beloved young man’s forehead.   Nic smiled up at him cheerfully, but the brightness in his violet eyes betrayed the deep feelings that assailed him at this moment when he was being left by the final member of the family.

Left, but not alone.  Lycan stood a short distance away. With the innate sensitivity that he’d repeatedly demonstrated, he was giving Colin time alone with Dominic, time to share whatever words of wisdom he might have. Colin wished he could think of some.  Instead, he pulled Nic close and whispered huskily, “Stay safe, return to us.”

“I will,” Nic promised. “Promise me that you’ll take care of Father.  I know that Rafe and Melli will look after each other, but Michael, he doesn’t know how to protect himself, only how to take care of the rest of us, so it will be up to you to watch over him.” 

Seeing the knowing look in those violet eyes, Colin realized that this son knew of his secret love—and was giving him his blessing.  He returned Nic’s smile ruefully.  Keeping secrets among such powerful telepaths as these Emorys was not to be expected, he supposed.  He doubted that Dominic would understand why it was not so easy for him to pursue his feelings for Michael.  After all, Nic had chased and won a creature like Lycan for a mate in less than forty-eight hours!

On that thought, Colin turned to the Metamorph.  Taking  Dominic’s hand, he placed it in the Wolf man’s large one.  “Take good care of this lad. He’s full of mischief but we’re fond of him.”

Lycan smiled. “I will return him to you safely—despite his best efforts to find trouble. But for now, I suggest we be on our way. We have far to go before we rest tonight if we are to catch up with the Pack.”

Nodding, Colin said another brief blessing and then teleported away.  Left alone, Nic looked down at his hand, still clasped firmly in Lycan’s.  He took a deep breath before he raised his eyes to meet Lycan’s.

“Second thoughts?” Lycan asked in a surprisingly gentle voice.  The golden eyes could be soft, Nic realized with some relief. It was hitting him that this man was going to be the only familiar face in the strange new world he was entering and already he found himself missing his twin with almost a physical ache.  He searched for the words to explain it to his mate, not wanting Lycan to think that he regretted being with him, because that part of this adventure filled him with excitement. It was just that he wished that Rafe could be with them….

“Your sire is wise to separate you from your brother,” Lycan said, once more reading Nic’s thoughts. “He seeks to lessen the chance of your enemies reaching both of you at once, even as he strengthens both of you, by forcing you to stand on your own.”

Nic tilted his head and smiled up at the big Metamorph as he moved closer to him, pressing his hips against him suggestively. “But I’m not on my own, am I?”

Lycan laughed and picked Nic up, kissing him hard before setting him down again. “No, you are not, Cub. But do not tempt me now. We must be away from this place. We must rejoin my pack as soon as possible.”

Nic looked around the stones.  There usually was a peaceful feeling about the Druid stones, but the Breslin Circle still had an ominous air to it.  Seeing that he was not putting forth any argument, Lycan hoisted Nic’s pack to his back and started running easily westward.  Nic fell in beside him, glad to see that the pace was not too fast. He hadn’t said it, but he’d harbored some concern that Lycan would expect him to run at top speed the entire way. He was also happy that he wasn’t carrying his own pack after all, which he’d packed too full for comfort. Of course, it wasn’t in his nature to resist teasing Lycan about his gesture of taking it.

“I thought I had to carry my own pack?” The dimpled grin on Nic’s face and his irrepressible nature amused Lycan although he pretended to be annoyed, and growled, “I can hand it back to you if you insist, Cub, and I will if this pace leaves you enough breath for useless chatter.”

Nic laughed, undaunted.  Soon enough though, the pace did leave him with no extra energy for teasing.  What had seemed a comfortable speed starting out soon proved strenuous as the leagues stretched out before and behind them.  He found himself wondering if Lycan ever intended to take a break, but was too proud to ask.  He was also too stubborn to ask him to slow down, so he struggled to keep up.

Lycan was well aware of Nic’s difficulty, but he was experienced enough as a leader of young cubs to know that pride and stubbornness prove to be greater burdens on a long journey than weak legs or untrained lungs.  He wanted Nic to admit his need for a rest and a slower pace. His mate needed to trust him with knowledge of his limitations.  So, Lycan kept to the pace, an easy one for him, but over the hours, beyond strenuous for any human no matter how fit.

Dominic was suffering. But he’d been subjected to tests of his endurance and strength before and he knew that will could achieve what mere blood and sinew could not.  So he ran next to Lycan as the sun moved higher in the sky and gritted his teeth against the pain and exhaustion.  He did stop his chatter after the first couple of hours, though, and when Lycan offered him the water skin, he took it gratefully, drinking deeply from it without slowing his pace.

Finally, hiding his concern, but unable to watch Dominic run himself to death, Lycan called a stop. “We may as well break to eat.  It is not as though we will be able to catch up with the pack in one day.”

Nic didn’t care what the reason was, he was just thrilled that they were no longer running.  He knew better than to sit down immediately after a long run such as they’d just completed but he wasn’t sure he could stand.  Just when he felt his legs giving out under him, strong arms were catching him.

“Foolish Cub,” Lycan grumbled as he carried Nic over to the shade of a tree.  Given that his total collapse ruined his pretense of invincibility, Nic decided that it was acceptable to moan in pain—but only a little bit.  While he did not expect a great deal of sympathy--he had no illusions about his mate.  Lycan’s low laugh at the sound of his agony was slightly disappointing.  But the feeling of his large warm hands pulling his breeches off and massaging his screaming muscles—that more than met all expectations. His position, face down with his groin pressed firmly against Lycan’s thighs, was perhaps less than dignified, but since it was providing Lycan with access to those parts of his body that most needed attention, Nic decided it would be churlish to complain about the affront to royal decorum.

“I do not know what you hoped to prove,” Lycan said in a conversational tone as he continued the strong kneading of thighs and buttocks.

Sensing that it was a rhetorical question, and having no real defense, Nic stayed silent.  He squirmed, however, as Lycan continued with his evaluation of Nic’s behavior.

“If we were fleeing danger, perhaps it would be necessary for you to exhaust yourself in this way, although even then I would have wished that you would have been honest in telling me when you needed to rest. Or when you needed me to slow the pace.  I am not a human so I cannot judge what would be a good pace for you.”

This stung. “You must have known I was struggling,” Nic accused, “and yet you did not stop.”

“I expected you to tell me when you were tired.”  The soothing stroke of the massage turned into a slap. Nic yelped and tried to twist away but Lycan held him firmly in place.  “You did not ask for a drink when you were thirsty—what if we had been set upon just before I called a stop? You hid from me exactly how exhausted you were.  Why?”

Nic didn’t answer at first and Lycan slapped his other buttock, causing him to jump. Nic was torn between resentment, exhaustion and yes, even a bit of excitement.  He bit his lip. He felt completely overwhelmed suddenly—he was alone with this man he barely knew, everything that was familiar was far away and….

“I don’t know what you want of me,” he whispered.

Lycan pulled him up and settled him on his lap; Nic winced slightly. Between the activities from the night before and the two forceful slaps, sitting was not comfortable. But it was preferable to being facedown, he decided, as Lycan tipped his chin up.

“I am sworn to protect you, Dominic. How can I do that if you do not trust me?”

“Of course I trust you,” he protested automatically but he dropped his gaze.  He hated seeing the sadness in the amber eyes.  It was just that he was not used to relying on anyone other than Rafael, and his father. But even his father did not get to see his weaknesses.  If he could hide them, that was. Rafael and he covered for each other as much as possible, which was not easy with Michael and Colin watching. A telepath and a seer made for a fairly comprehensive combination when it came to supervision but he and Rafe still managed to pull off some secret adventures.  They’d watched each other’s back for as long as he could remember.

Yet now, he had a new protector.  And a new back to watch, for that matter.  He tried to imagine how Rafe would have felt if he’d pretended to be all right during a training run if he really were sick. Rafe would be furious. For much the same reasons as Lycan was. Looking at it from that perspective, it made sense.  Lycan was trying to look out for him as Rafe always had, without the benefit of sharing thoughts as easily as breathing. Perhaps he should work on his mindbond with Lycan?  He spared a thought for his brother, and hoped that Rafe was as well guarded as it appeared he would be. But he quickly turned his thoughts back to his mate, as he clearly needed to reach some type of understanding with him.  To spare his royal posterior. Nic lifted his eyes to once more meet Lycan’s gaze squarely. He did not know how much Lycan was affected simply by the beauty of his unusual eyes—Lycan himself did not acknowledge it consciously, but there was little he would not do to win an approving look from those eyes. 

Nic spoke slowly.  “It is difficult for me to adjust. I was not thinking….” He flushed. That was an old flaw of his and it had led to his bottom smarting more than once as Michael had tried to teach him to think before he acted. But he did not want to think of Lycan in a paternal way. And that needed to be made clear also.  He tried once more to explain, glad that his chosen mate was a patient man who always waited for him to get his thoughts straight in his own mind.

“I appreciate that you and I need to learn about each other, but just as you cannot know how hard and long I can run without exhaustion, I cannot know that you will accept my limitations unless you tell me. I was taught to keep trying until I could not try any longer…and then I was to find the strength to keep going. What would I have done if we had been attacked? I would have fought to the death—that of our attackers or mine.  I realized you were testing me but I thought the test was one of endurance, not common sense or trust. The first was never my strong suit, it was Rafe’s, and the second….” He wrapped his arms around Lycan’s neck. “I want to give my trust to you, but if you ever chastise me in that manner again, we will have a problem.”  He leaned forward and kissed his mate then, a forceful, demanding kiss to remind Lycan that for all that Nic was his Cub…he was no cub.

After a time, the kiss gentled and Nic lifted his head. “I will tell you when I need rest…if rest is possible, and you will let me know what you want without tests. Fair enough?”

Lycan nodded. “And I will only strike your ass to heighten your pleasure, not to give you punishment.” His eyes were golden with his arousal. 

Nic’s eyes brightened like gems as he considered the possibilities.  “Show me,” he purred, wrapping his legs around Lycan’s waist and clinging to the broad shoulders.

Lycan threw his head back and laughed.  “Let me feed you first, Cub, then I will pleasure you.”

Nic debated trying to change his mind, he could feel Lycan’s hard member pressing against him.  His stomach chose that moment to growl so he decided eating was a good idea. But after they ate, he fully intended to explore what Lycan meant.

****************

“Where is the third Royal! How dare you keep him hidden from me?” Benra stood at the bottom of the stairs and yelled. Mellisande tried to calm him down with soft words and Rafe tried sending soothing emotions toward him but he shook both of them off, pressing them back with a force that surprised Rafe with its power.
 

“You look surprised, young Lord. Did you think me just a weak old man?  Someone to whom you could lie and whom you could patronize?”  Benra threw Rafe and Mellisande against the wall with a strong forcefield. 

Rafe was shocked, and belatedly raised a defensive shield over both of them, which he then tried to force back against Benra’s.  He was only able to gain them enough space so that they could stand normally on the ground, instead of pressed flat against the wall.  A moment later, he felt the pressure against his shield give way.

Keep shields up, both of you, but I am more concerned that you protect your thoughts. He will not get a second chance to touch your persons.

Rafe felt relieved…and worried.  Michael stood at the top of the stairs and Rafe did not think he had ever before seen his father look so powerful.  Or so angry. 

Yet regal too, Rafe sent the thought to his brother, and with a jolt, realized that his brother was no longer on the Island.  To share thoughts at such a distance was possible, but would be a waste of mana unless there was great need and Benra and Michael having a showdown was not a reason to disturb Dominic.

Even if it made him come back? Rafe’s wayward mind asked and he forcefully rejected the thought, hoping that neither his father nor Melli had sensed it.  He stood taller and squared his shoulders, looking every bit the Protector of a King. Or a Queen.  Dominic had someone new to watch his back now, freeing Rafe to guard Mellisande, which was how he wanted it…right?

No. How he wanted it was for him to watch over both Melli and Nic. He did not like his father’s plan but it was not his role to say yes or no to what his father decreed. His part was only to do his duty. Which at this moment entailed protecting Michael as well as Melli. He narrowed his eyes as he watched Benra face his father. One wrong move and he would kill the old man, druid or not. That was something he and Nic had agreed upon. They were not losing their father or Colin out of Colin’s misplaced sense of loyalty to the old druid.

Michael had also taken note of the old man’s increased power. So he had been veiling his power much as Michael had been hiding his own, and Dominic’s…interesting.  He had done so to protect them from the stranger. Did Benra have the same motive or was it to lull them into a false sense of safety about him?  Michael knew he was not fully rested from his exertions the day before, nor was Rafael.  Would this druid attack? 

Rafe, take Melli and the others to the Tower and await further word from me or Colin.

But Michael….

Do it now, Rafael.

Rafael felt a slight pull of power as he moved away and it took his effort combined with his father’s to enable Melli to break free, but as soon as they did, the two young people moved quickly away from the landing and out of the room. Michael had walked down the stairs so that he stood only two steps from the landing, just above Benra.  He remained there until the young people had left. Benra gave no sign that he had tried to prevent their departure.

“I could kill you now,” Michael said in a conversational tone as he descended the last two steps.

Benra laughed humorlessly. “You will not.  What would Colin say when he returned if he found you standing over my body?”

“Who says I would leave a body?” Michael grinned suddenly and somehow it was his humor which worried Benra more than his ominous words. 

All at once, he could see this handsome, youthful looking man standing over his dead body and giving it no more thought than he would in disposing of an unwanted shoe. Perhaps less.  Those green eyes mocked him.

“Yes, Benra, I have killed many men before you and I will have no compunction killing you,” Michael softly spoke, his words like a caress.

Benra found that he could not move. His heart was racing and beads of sweat were dripping down his back, staining his robe under his arms. He swallowed but his mouth was dry.  “What are you doing to me?” he asked, his voice a terrified croak.  He could see his body lying in the sun, baking until there was nothing but dust over his bones, not even enough to tempt the carrion.  An eyeless skull looking skyward….  “Stop it,” he begged. He clutched his chest.  He felt its pounding. Surely a man his age could not take this much stress?

Colin came into the room at a run.  Benra looked at him wildly.  He raised a shaking finger toward Michael, who was leaning negligently against the banister, examining his fingernails.

“He…he…he was…trying to kill me!” Benra finally got the words out. He sagged against the wall. His heart was still beating far too fast but it did not feel as erratic as it had. He struggled to catch his breath.

Colin looked from Benra to Michael. He was not fooled by the casual stance. He could see the signs of strain on Michael’s face, the barely controlled anger.  But, Benra did not look as though he’d been touched. He had an idea what Michael had done. It was clever, and perhaps risky with such an old man, but Colin trusted that Michael had his reasons. He turned to look at Benra and was careful to keep his voice neutral.

“You look as though you have been straining yourself, my dear Veris, but I fail to see why you are accusing Michael of harming you. Did he strike you?”

Colin was quick to answer the question as he did not want Benra to describe how he believed Michael had used his magic against him. Not yet, at least, until Colin knew what had provoked Michael.  And provoked he was sure he had been.

“No, he must not have struck you.” Colin walked close to Benra and made as though he was examining him as he walked him into the library and pressed him down into a seat.  Michael followed at a discreet distance.

“I do not see any marks on you, nor do I sense that Michael’s magic has touched you in any way.” Colin felt safe in saying this. Michael’s magic was subtle. It worked on the mind and through suggestion. He undoubtedly used Benra’s own nerves and worries to almost scare the man to death—a clever tactic when Michael was so weary that a direct fight would have been fraught with danger for him.  While he settled Benra, Michael was busy pouring wine.  He handed a glass to Colin.

For you, you look exhausted.  Colin accepted it gratefully but looked meaningfully at the old man.

Michael grinned. I doubt he would take wine from my hand but if you think he would…

I leave you for five minutes….

Try thirty-three.  I was becoming concerned that you encountered trouble. Did you see them off all right?  

The worry in the green eyes made Colin wish he could make Benra disappear, but the old druid was determined to be the center of attention so he would have to defer his “talk” with Michael.  For now, he simply sent the thought, they will do well. Lycan will guard him as you would yourself.

Michael nodded, then poured another two glasses of wine. He sat on the edge of the desk that graced the room. Colin was the one who used it most often, none of the Emorys being scholars.

“Benra has taken umbrage at not being informed about my sons. I do not believe I owe him any information about my family. He also acted in an aggressive way toward Rafael and Mellisande, pinning them to the wall with his magic. I would have killed him for such an affront if he were not your old tutor, Colin.  He is your guest; please explain to him our rules of conduct.”

Colin wondered exactly what rules Michael meant.  The rule that said Michael’s word was law?  The rule that required all strangers to be treated as enemies?  Or perhaps it was the rule that required all unnecessary information to be kept secret?  He turned to Benra.

“You are here because Mellisande and Rafael gave you sanctuary.  While I am pleased to see a tutor from my past, it does not entitle you to the status that you seem to seek here, that of privileged insider and….”

Benra leaned forward and grasped Colin by the arms.  “Do you not understand, Colin Allym?  Are you blind to the portents?”

“What portents?” Michael demanded. “Danger lurks in the face of kindly old druids who hide their power and use it against the young?”

“No, foolish Assassin.  The face of danger is another that you give free reign in your house…it is the Metamorphs who will bring the downfall of the Royals unless they are put down like the animals they are.”

It was with the greatest will power in the world that Colin managed to keep his gaze from flying to Michael’s face.  He watched Benra instead, who looked disappointed by the lack of reaction.

“Again, I ask you, druid,” Michael’s voice was deadly quiet and controlled, “to what portents do you refer? I did not ask for your interpretation, but your source.”

“First tell me this, Michael Emory,” Benra asked, satisfied now that he had regained the upper hand, “where is your other son? The one who is not, I suspect, a red head. And where is that Wolf man?”

Michael’s mind blast knocked the old man out.  He fell into a chair exhausted as Colin checked Benra to make sure he was breathing, and then settled him more comfortably on the settee.  He turned to look at his friend, who looked up at him bleakly.

“Tell me, Colin. Tell me I did not just make a terrible mistake.”

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