Her Viking Wolves: 50 Loving States, Michigan (25 page)

Another round of boos and my heart seizes because FJ has played straight into my father’s hands and now he’s totally fucked.

Dad turns to the crowd, raising his hands like a prophet as he yells, “My wolves, knowing this foreign-ass shifter will become your next king if he marries my daughter, I ask you now: does anyone here have a reason why this wolf should not marry my daughter?”

“Dad, no please,” I start, begging him not to do this.

But he rolls right over my protest, his eyes glittering with ferocious triumph as he yells out, “
Speak now or forever hold your piece
!”

Four Dark Wolves instantly step forward. Two of them I recognize as Trouble Fuckers, the brutal street soldiers who accompany Dad on big drop offs and trades, ensuring his safety as sometimes six figures worth of goods change hands. So far my dad’s never come back from a drop off with so much as a scratch on him. The other two, I’m assuming, are muscle-bound nobodies who want to fast track themselves into becoming somebody. But it doesn’t really matter who any of them are, only who they want to be.

They all have their hands on the butts of their holstered sawed-offs. And mind you, I’m not even sure FJ knows guns don’t just put you to sleep, much less how to actually use one. Yet what does this fool do? He goes right down the steps to face off against them.

Another big cheer from the crowd, and they all head to the stairs and up to the stage so they can cheer on FJ’s killing without accidentally catching a stray bullet.

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!
I think as the crowd gathers in thick around me.

“FJ,”
I mind call to him below on the now nearly empty ballroom floor.
“Let me in. You’ve got to let me in.”

Nothing but that strange merciless silence, which makes it feel like every word I try to give him is bouncing off an invisible wall.

I start down the stairs toward him, but before I’ve even cleared the first step, a pair of hands grabs me from behind. Fingers shackle around both of my arms, pulling me into my captor’s wide chest.
“
Varra
, you cannot interfere.”

“Olafr, we’ve got to help him!”
I cry inside his mind.
“Let me go. If I get between them—”

“No,
Varra
,”
Olafr turns me around to face him.
“You will stay here and watch. I will protect you while my brother fights.”

I struggle to get free.
“I know we’re from different times and this is a really hard concept for you two to grasp, but you can’t fight bullets! FJ will die. Like right now.”

“That will never happen,”
Olafr answers with a derisive snort. Then he turns me around in his arms. “
You are our she-wolf. He would never give up your claim
.”

He clasps me by both arms as he says this, willing me to believe the impossible with his calm eyes. But he doesn’t know my father.

“Olafr, Olafr…tell me this. You’ve still got the inside track on FJ’s mind. What he knows you know or whatever. So did you know about this ritual? Did my dad prepare FJ for this in any way?”

A shadow passes over Olafr’s face as he answers,
“No, he did not.”

“Then please understand this is a set up. Dad wants FJ to die. He’s calling it a ritual, but it’s really just plain old having somebody else do his dirty work. So you’ve got to convince FJ that Dad’s out to get him. You’re the only one who can stop this.”

Olafr goes quiet while the crowd shouts around us, his hands clasping my upper arms a bit tighter as his head dips low. I can tell he’s having a conversation with FJ.
Yes!
I allow myself to hope…

Only to have Olafr say just a few moments later,
“He will fight for your claim. Be at ease,
Varra
.”

Okay, how the hell does he possibly think I can “be at ease” in a moment like this?
“Did you tell him?”
I ask Olafr.
“Everything I said about my father and how this is all a set up?”

“Yes, I did.”

“And what did he say?”

“That you have still not learned to trust your fenrir.”
Olafr actually has the nerve to give me a censuring look.
“It disappoints him.”

“It’s not about trust!”
I shout back into Olafr’s mind, beyond frustrated.
“It’s about the mechanics of a fight. These guys have been handling guns all their lives, and I only this morning explained to you the difference between the kind of gun that puts someone to sleep and the kind that makes people dead.”

Olafr nods.
“Yes, you did explain, and now do we understand. Be at ease,
Varra
.”

Okay, talking with FJ’s biggest fanboy is getting me nowhere. Clyde! I have to find Clyde! My twin who actually understands what’s at stake here. But when I move to search for my brother, Olafr’s grip around my arms becomes even tighter.

“You will not interfere in this,
Varra
. My brother already has much to forgive you. Do not makes your transgressions worse.”

I shake my head at him, nearly hysterical with the need to do something, anything to stop this.
“How can you stand by and watch this happen?”
I ask him.

“It must be done,”
he answers, like we’re talking about taxes.
“Trust in your fenrir,
Varra
.”

“But—”

My protest is completely drowned out by the roar of the crowd, and when I look down, I see FJ and one of the Trouble Fuckers standing across from each other.

The Trouble Fucker has his hand on top of his gun, and my dad is now down on the floor, talking to FJ. Probably explaining that the Speak Now is a classic draw competition—well, classic to us, but most definitely new to FJ, since guns hadn’t even been invented yet during his time.

Nonetheless, FJ nods, his face completely calm like he totally understands. And my father starts to take off his own holster, acting—and I do mean
acting
—the part of the magnanimous alpha, willing to hand over his own sawed-off to the newbie.

But then FJ shakes his head…and Zoh. My. God.

My heart drops clear down to my feet when FJ reaches back and pulls out his sword, his hand wrapping around the hilt like he’s here to do business. Not with a gun. But with a
sword
from fucking Viking Age Norway.

Yeah. He’s literally brought a knife to a gun fight.

That’s when I really begin to struggle against Olafr’s grip. With every fucking thing I have. I have to get down there. I have to stop this!

“Be at ease,
Varra
,”
comes Olafr’s voice inside my head. He gently turns me back around to watch the fight.
“Your bravery is admirable, but I would not have you hurt while proving yourself a loyal mate. Now is it time for us to watch our fenrir defend your claim.”

He thinks this is about bravery or loyalty? No, this is about his brother. My other
mate
. Living. I continue to fight, my whole body straining to get away.

But then I hear my dad shout, “Draw!”

And there’s nothing to do but squeeze my eyes shut so I don’t have to watch FJ die at the hands of one of my father’s most cold-hearted pack members. I wait for the sound of the gunshot. But it never comes.

Instead, I hear the collective gasp of the crowd, just as the smell of smoldering flesh hits my nostrils…

I open my eyes in time to see the Trouble Fucker’s now headless body keel sideways onto the ground.

There’s a long pause, in which I can nearly hear the minds of the crowd working to process what they just fucking saw.

But FJ doesn’t allow us to stand there in open-mouthed shock for long.

He turns to face the crowd, and raises his sword, now covered in Trouble Fucker blood. That’s when I see it. The glow in his formerly frosty gray stare. And though it is FJ’s human voice I hear next, I can clearly see his wolf in his eyes, burning bright with a killing madness as he roars, “WHO FIGHTS ME NEXT!”

S
o
…. I’m just going to start this next part off with a list of things I didn’t expect would be a part of my wedding day:

1. A blood soaked groom with glowing eyes.

2. A shell-shocked pack.

3. The severed heads of the four wolves who hoped to claim me, watching from the stage floor as my father, much subdued, quickly says the words that will officially marry me to a time-travelling Viking from Norway.

Nerp. I definitely did not see any of that coming.

And even as I take a knee beside FJ, my father tapping both of our shoulders with the butt of his gun as he declares FJ a bad muthafucker and me his bad mamma jamma—crazy cheesy, I know, but the original ceremony was created by my grandfather in the early seventies—FJ and I are officially married.

My father’s announcement of our newly upgraded status as King and Queen of the Detroit pack is met with shocked silence. But my heart sings as I stand to face the still stunned crowd with my new husband.

We’ve won! We’ve actually won! I can’t believe it. I have to throw Olafr, who’s now standing at the front of the crowd below, an apologetic look. Because he was totally right and I was totally wrong.

I didn’t believe before.

I couldn’t believe before.

But I believe now.

I believe in Olafr. I believe in FJ. And I know without a doubt.

He is now my king.

Which is why I don’t understand why Olafr looks so sad when his eyes meet mine. His face should be shining with happiness, just like mine. FJ and I are officially married in the eyes of my pack. This is what he told me he and FJ wanted. What they’d planned.

But he looks like a wolf bearing witness to a train wreck. I don’t understand why—

A surprised cheer suddenly disrupts all that shell-shocked quiet.

And Yancey appears at the bottom of the steps, temporarily blocking my view of Olafr. However, it’s not Yancey I stare at as he comes up the steps. It’s what’s in his hand. A branding iron, with the image of a dark wolf inside a wheel.

I step back, only to have my arm caught. This time, not by Olafr. Or my father. No, when I look up, I see FJ staring down at me, a mix of toxic triumph and anger shining in still glowing eyes.

And absolutely no surprise.

That’s when I realize…this isn’t like the Speak Now ritual, something that was just sprung on him by my Machiavellian father.

He knew about this completely optional part of the wedding. Knew about it, and checked the box for yes. In fact, he welcomed it as his ultimate revenge for my running way.

I stare at him in horror. With the feeling that some vital organ is dying inside of me. My heart. I think it might be my heart.

And somewhere in the distance, my dad yells, “The groom has chosen Fuck and Burn. What say you, Dark Wolves?”

My pack, now FJ’s pack, lets out a cheer so loud, it’s nearly deafening.

F
uck and Burn
. Burn and Fuck. I’ve seen this ritual go down in both directions at least a hundred times. I remind myself of this as the crowd cheers for my fucking. I know it’s more about the show than the claiming. Especially when it follows a Speak Now Ritual.

Still…

I don’t want—I can’t allow him to touch me like I’ve seen other brides touched. Handled, really, as they’re dragged in front of the crowd by their Dark Wolf grooms.

So before FJ can lay his hands on me, I take myself over to the metal hitching post—the one my father handcuffs Party Favors to so they can’t run before he shoots them. With my heart still dying in my stomach, I bend over and present my backside to FJ, butt in the air. Like a human male awaiting a prostrate exam. With about just as much enthusiasm, since it feels exactly like handing over my game controller in the middle of a level I was pretty sure I could win.

After a few tense moments, I sense him behind me. But I refuse to look over my shoulder at him. I don’t want to give him the satisfaction. Two can play this cold game, I think, as I stand frozen in position. Willing him to put it in me and get this over with already. Give his new pack their show.

But that’s not what happens.

Instead, I’m suddenly jerked upright so my back is flush with his front. A fisted hand appears at the front of my dress, wrenching it down with a hard yank, and my breasts are exposed, nipples pebbling at the sudden sensation of cool air.

FJ’s hands cover both breasts, massaging them with ruthless precision.

No
…I clamp my lips, shaking my head. I know what he’s doing and I fight it. At least I try to.

But my body can’t seem to help its response to him. Soon I can feel myself becoming warm below and I let out a helpless moan, my head falling back into his shoulder. His hands lower, this time yanking up the short skirt of my dress so my pussy is fully exposed.

I expect FJ to claim me then, but to my horror, one of his hands finds the front of my core and starts rubbing.

“No…” I mutter, shaking my head. Because I don’t want it to be this way.

It’s one thing to be claimed in front of my pack like hundreds of brides before me. But it’s another to be made to come by my hateful husband, like a bitch in heat.

However, that seems to be exactly what FJ intends, and he’s merciless in my takedown. Still fully clothed, he holds me to him with one arm barred across my front and one hand buried deep inside my core. His fingers expertly manipulate my pussy as he shows the crowd exactly how hot he can make me. Making me the show as they cheer him on with lewd words and gestures.

I shake my head, trying to deny him. Trying to refuse to give the crowd their show. This is supposed to be about him coming. Not me. True Claim. That’s what this tradition is supposed to be about, and I’ve never seen another she-wolf actually come on stage during this part.

But even trying as hard as I can to fight off the climax, I soon feel one building inside me, my wolf whimpering with helpless need.
Don’t
, I say to her. I remind myself exactly what’s going on here. That I’m being made to come by my fully clothed husband as every biker in my pack watches. But reminding myself of that only seems to make it worse.

My wolf actually becomes hotter at the thought of how thoroughly I’m about to be claimed by this wolf, the alpha of his pack and mine, in the way of our lupine forebearers. Thoroughly and completely, with no room for questions about who I belong to.

It’s so fucked up, but the climax overtakes me. It tears into my human’s mutinous silence, making me cry out, as bolts of sticky essence spill from my core, making my pussy slick.

Then and only then does FJ let up. But only for the moment it takes to shove me forward so I’m forced to catch myself on the hitching post. So I’m forced to present my backside to him in the exact way I’d tried to avoid.

Then I know without looking over my shoulder that he’s unzipping his pants, because another lewd roar erupts from the crowd.

He rams into me hard, only stopping when he’s all the way in, as if taking a moment to silently acknowledge how little resistance my pussy gives him.

He knows and I know I’m wet for him. That no matter how much my human is resisting him in that moment, my wolf has given over to him completely.

It’s humiliating. So humiliating. And despite the aching pleasure that vibrates throughout my body, I have to keep my eyes focused on the wall of blood in front of me.

Don’t cry. Don’t cry. He doesn’t deserve your tears
.

But apparently humiliating me once in front of my pack isn’t enough. No, not for the wolf so determined to punish me. After several lazy minutes of stroking, he leans over, his fingers finding my clit.

No!
I want to scream!
No!
But instead I cry out as another, even bigger orgasm overtakes me with the uncaring force of a tsunami.

It’s so intense, my ears ring, and for a moment I can only dimly hear the crowd laughing and jeering as I come all over FJ’s dick in front of them.

My coming must have some kind of triggering effect on FJ, because I can actually feel him swell inside me. But instead of the hot jet of cum I’m expecting, I feel him pull out.

Moments later, a thick hot load covers my backside, oozing down my butt cheeks, and coating the back of the pussy still quivering with the aftershocks of the climax he just gave me.

Then, and only then, does FJ’s voice appear inside my head.

“Now do you finally understand to whom you belong.”

It’s a declaration. Not a question. And it’s accompanied by the hard press of FJ’s hand on my shoulder as he shoves me to my knees. To receive his brand.