Her Viking Wolves: 50 Loving States, Michigan (26 page)

O
lafr’s mind
and body wage a mighty war as he watches his brother and their she-wolf upon the stage. Oh, how his cock gives dark pulse at the sight of their she-wolf so thoroughly claimed in front of her pack. It is right for his brother to take her this way with his wolf burning angry and bright inside of him, Olafr thinks to himself. No longer, Fenrisson, Ever the Man, but a glowing-eyed proxy of their double claim. So no other wolf could ever imagine he could please her as well as her mates.

Yet does Olafr struggle mightily with what is to come after. And when the Detroit beta hands his brother the branding iron, glowing orange with heat, Olafr forces himself still. It is all he can do to keep himself from leaping to the stage and tearing out the throat of his own brother.

Yet, he knows he must allow this act to take place.

It might not look like it to the crowd, who see naught but a new fenrir, almost haughty in his command of their new queen’s body. But their she-wolf’s betrayal has cut his brother deep as a sword. The very fact that he did refuse to connect his mind with that of their mate’s until she was so claimed, speaks volumes of his anger in that regard.

Her betrayal still burns inside him, and only this act of claiming will cease his pain. This Olafr well understands, having felt the same compulsion with her upon arrival in this land. Barely making it to the tree before he gave her body, ripe with their child, its claim. It’s a wonder to Olafr that his brother was able to withhold this own claim for as long as he did. So yea does Olafr fully understand the need to mark their she-wolf in front of her pack.

And does he also understand his brother’s wish to burn their she-wolf so she will be tamed. So she will never put herself in harm’s way as she did when she left them in Alaska.

But understanding a thing is a much different matter than witnessing it. Olafr finds himself heavy of heart as he watches his brother push their mate to her knees.

The Detroit fenrir assured his brother that their she-wolf knew this ritual well. He did say their she-wolf did not even cry when she received her first mark.

Indeed, he sees no tears in her eyes now as she looks at the wall beyond the strange hitching post. Yet the dull resolution written across her face is to Olafr even worse.

And he finds himself pushing into her mind.
“Be at ease,
Varra
,”
he tells her.
“It will soon be done.”

Her head turns then, her eyes finding him in the crowd, as if just now realizing he is still there, among her pack.

“I thought you needed me to keep you safe from my father,”
she says inside his mind. Her voice is flat, like something broken.

And that, in turn, breaks Olafr’s heart.
“No,
Varra
. Never would we depend on our female to protect us from an enemy. ‘Tis our work to do this for you. To protect you in all things.”

“Yes, I see I made a mistake.”

Finally the concession they’d wanted from her. And Olafr can see the fight has finally left her, exactly as they’d wanted from the beginning of their journey here. Why then does it bring him no joy?

“
Varra
, what he did, he did for you,”
Olafr feels compelled to explain.
“To keep you from the people who would use you and our pup to their own purpose. We will always protect you and keep you safe from harm.”

But instead of understanding dawning over her broken eyes, her face suddenly hardens as she says
, “Oh, is that why he’s choosing to fuck and burn me in front of my pack—because he cares about me so much? Not because his ego is running the show?”

Olafr does not know the words “ego,” which he’s learned by now means there is no equivalent in his own language. Yet he senses the words have something to do with their mate believing FJ is treating her thusly because of his pride. And his pride alone.

Which may very well be true.

Still, the fact remains…
“He truly does have love for you. Too much. It scares him and that is why he must do this thing.”

Though even as he says the words, Olafr knows not who he tries to convince of this truth: himself or their mate.

Then she once again appears in his mind, her flat eyes burning a hole through his soul.

“Olafr, do me a favor. Just let him do it, okay? Don’t keep trying to convince me he’s going to burn me like I’m an animal because he loves me. I’m never going to believe that and you making excuses for him only makes it worse.”

And then her head turns away from him, her mind becoming silent in the same way FJ made his mind silent to him. Locking him out, not only from her sight, but also from her thoughts.

“
Y
ou sure you got this
?” the Detroit beta asks FJ as he hands him the iron he will use to mark their she-wolf. “I did her first mark. Might be easier if you let me handle this one, too, seeing as how you’re from...some place else.”

FJ can tell the one called Yancey would much prefer to take this duty upon himself.

However, in full contradiction of his beta, the now former Detroit fenrir says, “I think he can handle it. You saw him out there with them Trouble Fuckers.”

“Yeah, maybe…” the beta answers.

Their words fade into the distance as FJ casts his eyes to the back of their female. He studies the mark already made upon her right shoulder. Two letters, which the young Wyoming princess did teach him were called “D” and “W” by the wolves of this land. A mark she did receive when she was but seventeen summers.

Seventeen summers. Of course, the North wolves have their rituals as well. Unheated girls of even less summers were oft given by their families to male wolves with similar rituals. But such things fell under what his father often termed, “Not to your mother’s liking.”

And much of certain rituals did their father hide from their mother. Keeping her sheltered within the relative civilization of their village, because he knew how little her soft heart would approve of such practices.

FJ himself had taken on many of his mother’s beliefs. He gave praise and made his animal sacrifices to her God after every hunt. And did he refuse to judge the one called Clyde because of his love for another male, as his mother had taught him that such was unjust—even if a male did behave in the manner of a woman, which was considered a killing offense in most other villages but theirs, thanks to his mother’s influence. FJ had also never slept with a girl below the age of heat, and never has he had much like for any ritual that left unwished for mark upon a female’s skin.

No, not until now would he agree to such. Not until now, with his wolf raging inside of him, would he have taken such action.

“Burn! Burn! Burn!” the Detroit wolves chant, growing louder and louder.

Their words give echo to his own furious wolf. And yea, does he now wish to mark her. To hurt her as she hurt him.

Suddenly, their female’s head turns. FJ follows her gaze to his brother who stands near the front of the throng. Out of place, not only because of the color of his leathers, but because he is the only wolf not giving chant for her burn mark.

Their conversation is silent, but easy for FJ to read. His brother’s eyes are hot and troubled. Their female’s face is blank and her back tight, as they argue back and forth about what FJ will now do to her.

But the argument is not overlong. And soon does their she-wolf make an abrupt turn from his brother, ending the conversation.

FJ is little surprised when Olafr’s voice appears inside his head just a moment later.
“Brother, you are my fenrir, but I warn you now, this will not end well—”

FJ blocks him out, his wolf having little patience for the brother who would be so thoroughly led by his heart.

“I will now mark this female as mine,” he says to the one called Yancey, ending his argument with the now former Fenrir of Detroit.

“Hold on—” Yancey starts to say.

“I am your fenrir. Your king as it be called in this land,” he growls at the hesitant beta. “You will give me the marking iron.”

The beta looks to the former Detroit fenrir and despite neither of their expressions changing, much seems to pass between them.

Then the one called Yancey silently hands over the marking iron, the wolf head upon its end glowing bright orange with the fire contained inside its metal. This mark he recognizes…almost. It is near the same as the one that comes before each round of their female’s video game, except darker and wider. The male wolf to her she-wolf.

“Brother, you are her fenrir, but she will not forgive you for this. And I cannot make her understand why you do it…”
Proving himself a wolf of great will, his brother once more breaks through his mind’s wall.

Olafr is right about one thing. He is her fenrir. And this everyone must know.

“It must be done,”
FJ’s answers.

No answer.

And FJ adds,
“If you think yourself incapable of controlling your human, then you should leave.”

Again, no answer, but FJ watches his brother look away from the scene, doing what it will take to stay by their mate’s side and keep himself at bay.

And FJ continues forward…only to stop when their she-wolf gives sudden move.

To run, he thinks at first, but no. She adjusts her dress and then spreads herself out, stomach down, upon the black ground. Head turned to the right and arms down at her sides, so her left shoulder is made a smooth canvas. Ready to receive his mark.

The chanting comes to sudden stop. Replaced by one voice. It is the now past Detroit fenrir singing a deep and resonant song. FJ knows not this song, but it seems to his ears both spiritual and old. Yes, the words are not as old as his time, but he can tell it is still old. Like the ones his mother did occasionally sing when he was a child, the ones she said were from a time when her people were held in captivity for countless winters.

And soon do the rest of the Detroit wolves join into the song, their voices rising as one. FJ senses that this, too, is part of the ceremony, and he remains still, knowing without having to be told that the mark should not be given before the old song is done.

“You should have told me.”

His queen’s voice appears inside his head, flat as the boards beneath his feet.

He answers her only because he wants her to understand it is she, not he, who is responsible for her current circumstance.

“You have proven hard to tame, Female. I did not wish to deal again with your interference. For this reason I told you not of our plan.”

“No, not about your plan to claim the Detroit throne. About you…”
Now does her flat voice become sad.
“You shouldn’t have pretended to be nice. I actually thought you were kind. Warm, a wolf worth loving. But you’re just like my father.”

Her words hit him like a slap and FJ’s hand goes tight around the branding iron.
“Your defiance has already brought enough trouble upon you, Female. Now it would seem you wish to invite further punishment.”

“You’re right, you’re not completely like my father. Every once in a while, he gives me a choice. And I never did have a choice when it came to you, did I?”

She is still so defiant. Despite what she did. Despite the claim he gave her body in front of his people.

His wolf very nearly overtakes him again. And he has to grip the brand tight to keep himself from grabbing her by the hair and once again giving her claim in front of her people. Once again forcing her body to submit where her mind will not.

“We are your fated mates,”
he snarls into her mind.
“Yet did you fight our bond at every turn. And then did you run, seeking to give another our claim. You are the one who forced my hand. You are the one who brought this upon yourself. I am an outsider, who is to be the new fenrir of your people. You do not understand the way of fenrirs, but when a people are not raised to accept you, you must show them your worth from the beginning.”

“Sure, that’s perfectly understandable,”
she answers
. “Thanks for explaining that to me.”

Her tone is light and agreeable now. However, FJ can tell these are not true words.

“I do not wish for you to use the false tongue with me, Female. I will have your respect along with that of your people.”

“Oh, you have my respect all right,”
she says.
“I mean how could any she-wolf not respect someone who would fuck her in front of a room full of people so he could prove his might and then brand her? You’re a total Viking dreamboat come to life. So tell me, Viking Prince Charming, what are you getting in exchange for all of this romantic stuff you’ve been doing for me?”

And suddenly does the air in the room become cold, despite the burning iron held in his hand.

The deal he made with the former Detroit king is necessary. He knows this. Not only for the coming battle he must fight, but also for the protection of the defiant she-wolf lying upon the black boards at his feet.

However, their female’s words do make him feel some manner of guilt for unknown reasons.

And in this moment does the Detroit wolves’ singing end. The pack going silent as the old song fades into the shadows, like a ghost taking its leave.

It is time. His wolf continues to burn inside of him, unchecked by human or command.

Yet he finds himself unable to lift the iron to mark her. Not yet. First he must tell her
, “This be not the business of females. You are our mate and now shall you bear the mark of your fenrir. That is all that matters—”

“Not to me, FJ, not to me.”
And then does she turn to face him, her dark brown wolf eyes giving glow in the dark room.
“I’ll do it. I’ll do anything you want from now on. You’ve broken my human or tamed my wolf or whatever you want to call it. But before I give all the way in, I need to know. How much did I cost? Just tell me. What is my dad paying you to do all of this?”

FJ does not realize what he is doing, until the branding tool clatters to the floor and his hand is wrapped around several ropes of her hair.

“Yet does this she-wolf need more taming,” he yells out to the Detroit wolves as he forces her to her feet in front of him.