Her Viking Wolves: 50 Loving States, Michigan (14 page)

F
J actually feels
a little bad about letting their mate sleep so long. Not because he thinks it wrong, but because a different worry starts to creep in when he goes upstairs to take a midday meal of cold chicken to his brother only to find her still asleep.

Yes, she will be well rested, but her stomach will be empty when she finally wakes. FJ decides to do what he said he would the day before: he walks into town with Aunt Alisha’s paper money.

But once he arrives at the shop, he does not buy the Mountain Dew. He strongly suspects from his very limited reading skills and from what the spotty-faced shopkeeper tells him, that the drink is not actually dew from the mountains, but some kind of elixir that makes it possible for their she-wolf to stay up far into the night.

He does not even bother to look for the red male cow.

He thinks of the tales his mother did tell of her time and asks the shopkeeper, “Do you have any food that is already cooked so there is no need to heat it?”

The idea of already cooked food waiting to be procured sounds like pure fantasy to FJ who spent many a long, boring day watching his mother prepare meals. His mother, of course, was in a special position. Most mother wolves in the village did not have the time or resources to make a new meal every day and were forced to feed their families pickled and salted items from the previous season, and never-ending stews from their giant iron hearth kettles. Especially during winter. But his father did indulge his mother’s passions, bringing her all manner of spices from his travels and commanding extra hunts, so she might have fresh meat more often than not.

However his mother told FJ her ways were unusual, even in her own land, which did have many foods that require very little heat or, even more extraordinarily, no heat at all.

FJ hardly believed her at the time. But then the young shopkeeper shows him to a row filled with all manner of food in clear packaging: breads that are already sliced, and small colorful tins bearing realistic images of what look unpleasantly like worms but, he knows from his mother’s descriptions, are noodles.

There is so much from which to choose that for a moment, FJ feels trapped and uncertain of where to start. But then he remembers something their she-wolf said the first night they met.

“Excuse me,” he says to the young shopkeeper. “Have you the foodstuffs to make sandwiches?”

“Sure, the cold cuts are right over here…” the young shopkeeper answers, beckoning him over to a row of very narrow, cold floor-to-ceiling structures with glass doors.

“Aren’t you one of the wolves who came through the time gate?” he asks as FJ peruses the collection of what seems, from their faint smell, to be an assortment of strangely salted meats.

FJ turns his gaze to the younger wolf beside him. He, like many in this land, including Fenrir Tikaani, is of smaller stature and round of face, with the thin, tilted eyes FJ has only previously seen on wolves from the lands far to the east.

“Yes, I am of the North Wolves—” he starts to respond, then remembers how Aunt Alisha referred to his pack and corrects himself. “I am of the Norway Pack.”

“Oh, yeah?” the young wolf says. “Never met a Norwegian wolf before.”

He eyes FJ, probably suspecting quite correctly that there is more to this story.

But he is friendly enough. He even explains to FJ how to make one of these sandwiches for their sleeping she-wolf, and helps him also find a (to FJ who still remembers long childhood days spent grinding grain over millstones with the other children in their longhouse) truly unbelievable package of already sliced bread.

On his way back to the house, he congratulates himself on a job well done. This sustenance will fare their she-wolf better than the many honey cakes Olafr smelled inside her room. And though much of what he’d been discussing with Aunt Alisha the previous day after her call with the Norwegian pack still weighs heavily upon his mind, he is well satisfied with himself.

That is, until he sees the children spilling out the kingdom house’s back doors. Fenrir Tikaani, his queen, and their maid-servant follow close behind, all carrying babes in arms and hastily ushering the younger wolves away from the house.

It is a familiar tableau. As someone who grew up in a longhouse, FJ recognizes it immediately. He can still remember being wrangled by his older relatives in such a fashion when he was but a pup. Someone is in heat.

And now his idea to travel to the village’s store twists inside his mind to become the worst decision he has ever made. Dropping his prized packages, FJ runs towards the house. He can already smell her heat and his wolf becomes wild inside him, whipping him into a frenzy and urging him to run ever more faster.

So desperate is he to claim their she-wolf in her time of heat, he cannot slow, not even for the group now fleeing the kingdom house.

However the small Alaska fenrir is wise enough to know not to get in a male wolf’s way when his she-wolf is in heat. Fenrir Tikaani moves with great speed to stand protectively in front of his queen and their servant, carefully corralling them and the pups out of FJ’s way as he barrels past their group.

FJ charges into a house already filled with the sounds of vigorous lovemaking. She-wolves moaning as both they and their mates couple with abandon. Their she-wolf’s heat cloud must have come on strong and quick, for it has caught every wolf of mating age within its clutches. But those sounds are coming from below, and all FJ cares about is the female above. The one who has been driving him near insane for the three days they have spent under the same roof.

He rushes up to her room…

…only to find the door broken and her bed empty, even though her heat smell covers the chamber like a thick woolen blanket.

Nose flaring, FJ looks around wildly, his cock painfully swollen with the need to claim her.

But all he sees is his brother, standing outside the small, closed alcove in which the wolves of this time hang their clothes. His face is ravaged with regret, and his fingers claw at the room’s slatted doors as he says, “
Varra
, please come out. I am sorry,
Varra
,” his words slow and thick in their father’s tongue.

Then FJ hears another sound beyond his brother’s pleas: their she-wolf weeping. And in that moment, his mind knows nothing but red.

“What has passed here?!” he roars.

Olafr breaks off apologizing, his eyes two sorrowful stones in his face.
“I do not know,”
he answers over their brother bond.
“I think…I think I lost control.”

I
cannot stop sobbing
.

I’m a monster.

I just had sex with a wolf-bound shifter and it was my fault. I should have been more careful. Gone somewhere else to wait them out. Or done a million other things that didn’t involve permitting Olafr to park outside my door for three days like he was a friendly neighborhood dog.

But I’d been so consumed by the
Ninja Shifters
game, it hadn’t occurred to me I might actually go into heat here in Alaska.

The truth is, after thirty-plus years of celibacy topped off with that ridiculous situation with Kyle, I was beginning to think my father was right. Maybe I was like my step-aunt and incapable of going into heat.

The only other she-wolf I knew who’d gone into heat as late as me was Alisha, and even she’d been a few years younger than I am now. That’s when I remember…Alisha went into heat less than twenty-four hours after having been up close and personal with her fated mate.

Damn. That kiss with FJ. I should have known. Should have known!

I knock my head back against the wall, hating myself. Hating this situation.

Who does this? Who goes through her life with sexual blinders on until it’s too damn late and she’s stuck having really awful heat sex with someone without the mental capacity to shift on his own, much less understand what he’s doing?

Ugh.

I think about how I let him flip me over without a word of protest. My wolf panting for him, begging him to put it in me. Put. It. In. Me. I actually said those words out loud, I remember with a huge inner cringe.

What kind of she-wolf gets turned on by a wolf-bound shifter?

I weep as the next question pops into my head. What kind of she-wolf
stays
turned on by a wolf-bound shifter?

Nausea nearly overtakes me as I remember the confused look on his face. The blinking way he’d shaken his head, as if trying to make sense of what had just happened. Because obviously he didn’t know what he was doing when he claimed me.

And the way my body betrayed me. When instead of releasing me from the heat as it should have under the circumstances, I’d immediately erupted into another round. What the hell?! If Alisha was right and our species was really put here by some kind of alien race, they obviously weren’t thinking of ethics when they designed us to become so desperate with need when we go into heat that we’d fuck any wolf—even one that was completely inappropriate.

I barely manage to shut myself in the closet before my inner-thighs are once more sticky with desire, my body filling up with a want so bad, it knows no bounds. The sad truth is, my body simply does not care if the male wolf outside my hiding place is mentally challenged.

I want to be fucked by him again.

So bad, it’s painful. My stomach is cramping with need and my legs are shaking. I have to wrap my arms tight around my knees and dig my nails into my skin in order to keep my wolf from doing what she wants: burst out of this closet and take advantage of that poor wolf. Again.

I can hear him out there, speaking what I assume is Old Norse, his voice sounding confused and apologetic. And it only makes me cry harder.

What am I going to do? What am I going to do?

Then there’s another voice. It’s FJ and he’s shouting something in that same language.

Olafr responds and then FJ is yelling at him like this is all his brother’s fault. And when I peer out between slatted panels of the closet door, I see they are fighting. Physically fighting.

I angrily wipe away my tears and yell, “FJ! FJ, stop this now!”

More scuffling and I yell even louder. “FJ! Leave your brother alone, it’s not his fault!”

I can’t see what happens after that, but a millisecond later, both FJ and Olafr are back by my closet door.

“
Varra
,” FJ says, his voice gruff with concern. “Are you harmed? My brother tells me naught of what has happened here. Only that he lost control, a crime for which he will pay.”

Well, I’m definitely not okay. Not by a long shot. But right now, I’m way more interested in defending Olafr from his brother than I am in explaining to FJ that I can barely breathe because of my body’s primal need to have sex again.

I force my brain to focus on talking to FJ. “That’s because he doesn’t understand. He’s wolf-bound, remember? And I feel like a monster for letting things get so out of control.”

And for wanting to do it again. Fresh tears spring to my eyes just thinking about how hard my body is riding me to repeat my awful mistake.

FJ pauses for a long moment on the other side of the door before saying, “I am the one who is confused now,
Varra
. My brother is a male wolf. There is no one but he to blame for this loss of control.”

I shake my head in the dark closet, the hot shame and the burning need ripping me apart with their opposite tugs.

“That’s because you’re from a different era, a time when they still blamed disabled wolves for things outside their control. But I know better. And I knew he was wolf-bound. I never should have…”

I can’t finish the sentence and I begin crying again.

“I do not understand much of what you say, but
Varra
, please do not cry. I cannot bear to hear this. The sound gives me great need to hurt my brother as he has hurt you. To collect my sword from my room and kill him for bringing these tears to your eyes.”

“It’s not his fault!” I nearly scream from my side of the door. It’s seriously hard for me to understand how FJ can continue to blame his brother for losing control, when it’s obvious the poor guy is simply not capable of having the same kind of control as a normal wolf.

“You know he’s wolf-bound. In this day and age, we don’t expect wolf-bound wolves to have much self-control. In fact, decent people make sure to keep them somewhere safe so they don’t hurt themselves or others. But I let his friendly nature go to my head. I didn’t think.” I stop for moment to wipe my eyes again. “Can you please just go get Uncle Tikaani and have him lock Olafr in the cage room at the bottom of the house so I don’t hurt him again?”

Another pause, and again FJ comes back with, “I still do not understand. You would have my brother locked away because you are afraid you might hurt him, and because he is—this word, you have used it a number of times, but I know not the meaning—wolf-bound?”

Of course, he wouldn’t know. Back in his day, they probably called it something else, like ‘simple’ or ‘touched in the head’ or whatever the Old Norse equivalent of mentally retarded was. So I try again.

“It’s like when a wolf can’t turn back into his human because he doesn’t have enough brain power.”

“Brain…this is another word I do not know.”

Okay, okay… I can barely think straight, the heat’s riding me so hard, but now I’m have to gather enough mind strength to explain, “Um, your brain is where your thoughts come from. And some wolves are born with brains that do not have clear thoughts. The brain is broken. This is wolf-bound.”

“
Litthyggiandi
? You think he is
litthyggiandi
?” FJ sounds so incredulous, I’m not sure he understands my meaning.

“I don’t know. What does
litthyggiandi
mean?” I ask.

The answer comes not from FJ, but from a deep, outraged voice inside my head. “
You think me weak of mind? Why do you insult me in this fashion?”

Okay, I know mated wolves can communicate via ESP. I’d seen other mates do it plenty during my time in Alaska. Especially Tu and her deaf husband, Grady.

But even though I know what’s going on here, I just about fall out of the closet when Olafr’s voice pops into my head, still thickly accented, but nowhere near as slow as before. And he’s speaking English!

“Olafr? Is that you?”
I ask, tentatively pushing back. Because I’m worried—like, seriously worried, that the heat has sent me over the deep end.

“Yes,”
he answers.
“Of course it is me! Who else save your mate could be inside your head?”