He took a moment here, obviously finding this part of the story particularly hard to recount. “You don’t have to finish,” she told him.
“Yea, I do, ‘tis the terms of our communication contract.” He squeezed the hand he was holding to his chest. “It would take another twelve full moons for me to come into my manhood. But it only took six full moons for word to spread about the disappearance of my father and for every manner of alpha chieftain to come challenge me for the kingship of the wolves.”
Now his voice turned sinister in the dark of the closet. “I did fight them all, and when I did come into my manhood, so did I gather an army, travel to the villages of the alphas who had challenged me, and raze them, letting that be a lesson to any other wolf who would think to do the same.”
“Wow,” she said. “No wonder you’re not a fan of fated mates.”
“Nay, I do not wish to lose myself in you as my father lost himself in my mother.”
Chloe thought about the doleful look on her mother’s face as she took her out of the car at Wolf Springs just an hour before the full moon rose. “It’s going be cold for a little while, but then you’ll shift and after that, you turn back and go up to that shifter town. That’s where the king lives, so he’s got to take you in,” she’d told Chloe. Then in a moment of conscience, she squatted down and put her hands on Chloe’s shoulders. “I’m sorry for this. But your daddy don’t want you and I love him too much to be without him. You’ll understand how it is to love your mate too much when you’re older and have one of your own.”
But even back then, as young as she was, Chloe knew she wouldn’t understand, would never understand how a mother could love a father so much she would abandon her child.
“No,” she said to her Viking at that moment. “I don’t want to lose myself in my fated mate either.”
“Then we are agreed,” he said. As if reading her thoughts, he moved their hands to lay on top of her now slightly-rounded belly and the life growing within. “We will be mates, but we will leave the insanities of eros to other wolves.”
“Agreed,” she said, meaning it with every inch of good sense she had. So then why did it feel like she had just told a bold-faced lie?
THE NEXT DAY WHEN FENRIS once again came to collect her after her Old Norse lesson, Chloe was somewhat surprised. He hadn’t come the day before, and she’d assumed there wouldn’t be any more dates now he’d achieved his objective of getting back his sex privileges. It had been a little disappointing but not surprising, given wolves weren’t naturally inclined toward wooing in the first place.
So when he showed up at her lesson that day, she not only got caught up in the pleasant surprise of seeing him here, but she also forgot herself and pulled him down for a kiss after saying hi.
He returned it lustily, pushing into her mind, “Mind the boldness of your tongue, beauty, or I shall take you to the bed closet as opposed to our appointment.”
A great cheer went up from the longhouse’s occupants, including his aunt, who patted her on the back and said something in Old Norse, which could be loosely translated as “Get it, girl!”
“I thought you commanded them not to catcall me anymore,” she said.
“The wolves in my family can only be commanded so far,” he answered, his voice as dry as a desert.
They exited the longhouse to much heckling, but as they did so, she could hear one of Fenris’s male cousins ask his aunt if he might have the words to the fated mates spell himself.
SINCE FIRST THEIR EYES DID MEET, Fenris had heard his fated mate squeak when she shot him with her tranquilizer gun, and screech when he tricked her into coming to his lands, and scream when they lay together. But never had he heard her squeal. Not until he escorted her into the weaver’s shop.
“Yes! Yes! Yes!” she said, jumping up and down. “I was hoping for the loom, but I didn’t want to ask you for it.”
“You mean you did stubbornly refuse to ask.”
“Potato, po-tah-to.”
“I do not comprehend the meaning of your words, but I would point out that you might have gotten what you wished for all the sooner if you had only but asked.”
“Whatever.” She let out another long squeal. “I’m too happy to argue with you about this.” She then sang out loud in her own tongue: “We’re going to make fabric! We’re going to make faaaa-bric!”
The weaver laughed. “I do like your foreign queen, my Fenris.”
“As do I,” he answered in Norse, trying to keep the smile off his own face and failing badly. To his mate who was now doing a dance that included pumping her fists back and forth in front of her chest and pressing her feet backwards in some manner of skipping step, he said. “Now may you sit. There is much fabric to be weaved these next few moons. A messenger did arrive by horse this morn to tell us our ships are due to return in less than three full moons. Remember I did say there would be a celebration then.”
She clasped her hands together and said out loud in tentative Norse: “We will be weaving fabric for my dress to wear to a celebration?”
Fenris and the weaver exchanged a look. “In a manner, yes.”
“Oh, can we make enough so the rest of the women can get new dresses, too?” she mind-asked him. “I’ll feel weird if I’m the only one wearing a new dress at this big party.”
“You shall not, beauty, I assure you,” he answered.
She crooked her head at him with an exasperated look on her face. “With all due respect, you might have been born in this time period, but you don’t know women like I know women. It’s not cool if only one person in the house gets to dress up for the big party.”
“I know not the meaning of ‘cool,’ but I assure you the other women in our household will not begrudge you this fabric.”
“Why? Because I’m the queen?”
He took rather smug pride in answering, “No, the reason be because this fabric you will be making over the next few moons will be for your wedding dress.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
FENRIS did not realize how bad his mood had become until he nigh killed his fastest friend. Randulfr was recently returned with many white pelts from the most northern lands, and had requested to join him in his morning weapons exercises, wishing to engage a wolf after fighting the white bear for so many full moons.