The Fifth Moon's Wolf (The Fifth Moon's Tales) Read online

  “Let the Blessed Bride come,” the High Priest intoned, opening his hands to welcome Mirella onto the dais.

  Years of etiquette lessons helped her overcome the first moment of panic when she saw the daybed on the dais. She had been told how the ceremony would progress, but hadn’t realized how many people would be present to witness the wedding.

  “They are all here for you.” Her mother seemed to have the power to read Mirella’s mind, and with a last push, helped her step onto the dais, then retreated toward the family pew from where she and the rest of the family would attend the service.

  The High Priest smiled at Mirella, then motioned for her to kneel and kiss the ring he wore on his right index finger. She was relieved when she executed the formality without stumbling over the long train of her dress. Equally satisfied, the High Priest smiled again, then pointed at the daybed where the medicus was waiting for her. She approached the edge of the furniture, then closed her eyes and lowered herself to the mattress.

  “Let the Blessed Bride be examined,” the High Priest called out for all to hear.

  The medicus, a middle-aged man wearing a cumbersome tunic, helped Mirella lay on her back, positioning her so that her feet pointed toward him and her head was to the crowd. As she tried to relax, Mirella noticed a third, massive presence on the dais.

  Lobo had been there all along. He was hidden from sight by a screen angled to protect him from the crowd’s eyes, but that gave him an unobstructed view of the daybed and Mirella.

  The medicus’ gloved hand opened Mirella’s dress, parting the silk layers until he found the knot guarding her virtue. His touch was gentle and clinical at the same time, but Mirella felt the brief invasion and blushed, ashamed that something so private was being broadcast before the entire chamber as her future husband looked at her with impassive eyes. Her only consolation was that the rest of the chapel couldn’t see what the medicus was doing.

  From her supine position, Mirella had a partial view of Lobo, who was in the shadow, but she could see his hazel eyes and wished she couldn’t. Even though hazel was a warm coloring, those eyes were cold and chill-inducing.

  With a satisfied nod, the medicus folded back Mirella’s dress, then removed his gloves and offered his hand to her. When she was upright and with her back to Lobo, the medicus bowed at the High Priest.

  “The Blessed Bride is as pure as the first snow on the Caucasum,” the High Priest said, eliciting a wild applause from the audience. He then bent to retrieve a crystal ampule from a pillow on top of the wooden lectern on his left. “Lupine Master’s Vital Essence is as pure as the Blessed Bride.” He raised the ampule over his head.

  Another applause followed.

  The High Priest placed the ampule back on the pillow. “The Wolf Groom and the Blessed Bride may now meet.” He granted Mirella a regal nod and she stepped forward.

  Lobo rose from his seat, and Mirella stopped breathing. The enormous werewolf emerged from the shadow and walked around the screen, silencing the chamber at once. Taller and broader than any man Mirella had ever seen, Lobo was built like one of those shifters she had read about in her ancient history textbooks. All hard planes, his body looked like it had been carved from Caucasum granite. He had high cheekbones, a full mouth curved in a cruel smile, and his eyes weren’t just hazel. A closer look revealed that his pupils were dotted with green and yellow speckles. Yet, they weren’t warm. His skin tone was fairer than she had imagined though. For some reason, when she had envisioned her future husband, her mind had pictured a dark skinned man with dark eyes and darker hair. Instead, Lobo’s mane was brown-blond with lighter locks, and his skin had a golden tone.

  “Valentine Lobo, here is your Blessed Bride.” The High Priest waited for Lobo to step beside him, giving him time to walk the few steps from the screen to the front of the dais. The werewolf moved around her at a slow pace, taking far too long to examine her, in Mirella’s opinion.

  Valentine Lobo was seldom seen in public, and everyone in the chapel was enthralled by him.

  “Master Valentine, Eleventh Master of House Lobo, do you accept the Elders’ Chosen, Mirella Canalis?” the High Priest asked, and all eyes moved to Mirella, expectantly waiting for her to be judged by the wolf.

  Never in the history of Lupine had a Blessed Bride been repudiated at the altar, but for a moment Mirella’s heart squeezed in fear. What if Lobo found her so insignificant that he would shake his head and refuse her? She had been reassured that everything that happened on that dais was a formality. Mirella’s birth was the result of centuries of natal engineering. In a nutshell, she had been created for the werewolf. She would have preferred not to be in that situation in the first place, but since she was already there, to be publicly shamed would be the end of her life. Nobody would ever want her, and her family would be ruined.

  The moment it took for Lobo to nod his assent was the longest in her short existence. Blood ringing loud in her ears, she barely heard the roar from the crowd as The High Priest announced the bridal party to be escorted to the Wedding Chamber.

  Chapter Three

  Valentine was tired of all the formalities and rituals and his irritation had grown steadier. He was now seething at the mere idea of having to spend time with the simpering virgin waiting for him in the Wedding Canopy.

  Mirella Canalis was exactly the kind of woman he had expected her to be. Young, refined, pretty in a porcelain doll way, and uninteresting.

  Pacing the antechamber in long strides, he waited for his bride to be prepared for him. He drank gulps of Laurum from a goblet one of the High Priest’s disciples had brought a few minutes earlier. Soft murmurs came from the Wedding Chamber, then the clicking of high heels echoed closer and the two doors guarding the room were opened in short succession.

  A tall woman wearing the Canalis’ livery colors approached him with her head low. “Master Lobo, your bride is waiting for you.”

  Without acknowledging the woman, Valentine jerked the handle of the metal door, entered the short vestibule, then pushed through the deceptive screen that looked like a thin layer of wood, but was reinforced with titanium, and entered the chamber. The room was large and cold. The presence of brass braziers and a roaring fireplace wasn’t enough to warm the place, which must remain cool, according to Balenus’ orders. Valentine’s body temperature always ran high, and excessive heat could deteriorate his Vital Essence. The rest of the room’s décor added to the chilly atmosphere. The high walls were covered in white marble and lattice panels while the ceiling had a circular opening letting in the light from the Fifth Moon. Bluish shadows danced alongside the walls, giving the room an aquatic feeling, as if it was buried under the waters of the artificial Mar Caspium.

  At the center of the Wedding Chamber a four poster bed dominated the space. The structure was made of granite and framed by twisted columns decorated with golden leaves. White silk drapes hung from the arched canopy, moved by a gentle breeze created by the fireplace’s burning logs.

  In the middle of the bed, his Blessed Bride awaited him. As ritual required, she faced the mirrored wall on her knees, her upper body lowered toward the carved headboard. Her hands grabbed the leather handles on the bedposts, and her knuckles were whitening for the effort to keep her position. She wore only a flimsy slip, her Purity Knot visible under the sheer fabric. A long chain hanging from the center of the canopy was secured to her right wrist thanks to a bracelet Valentine had provided as one of his wedding gifts. Aldo had chosen the platinum band encrusted with rare purple sapphires.

  Valentine stepped closer to the bed and studied the trembling form of his wife. She was petite. He liked tall, big women. At least her hair was a favorable color, he had always been partial to auburn. And she hadn’t said anything so far, to her credit. She had also kept her position without moving, even when she heard him strolling closer.

  Lowering his knee to the mattress, Valentine heard her intake of breath and saw the muscles in her arms strain as her fingers tight
ened around the handles. He took another sip of Laurum, then put down the half-empty goblet on the tray jutting from the bedframe.

  “Look at me,” he ordered, dipping the mattress with his weight as he raised the other knee.

  Mirella tilted her chin over her shoulder and her long, curly tresses fell to the side, covering her cheek. He leaned forward and reached for her hair, moving it out of the way so that he could see her.

  The moment his fingers touched her white skin, a low jolt of electricity passed from him to her. Her eyes widened as her mouth opened in a silent “O.” He pressed his hand over her shoulder and was rewarded by shivers running through her back. He was pleased to see she didn’t lower her eyes as he stroked her chained arm. His fingers closed around her bracelet as his wolf stirred.

  “You are mine,” he said, caressing the side of her breast. “And you have permission to talk.”

  After a moment of hesitation, she licked her lips, then answered, “Thank you, Master Lobo.”

  His wolf was now wide awake.

  Valentine was surprised by the pleasant lilt in his bride’s voice. Without knowing why, he found himself asking, “Do you sing?”

  Her eyes became even larger, the green pupils widening in surprise. “I do.”

  “Good. You’ll sing for me.” He slid the platinum band up and down her arm, the chain rattling against her skin. “But not now.”

  She was as white as snow, and he thought he would rather see her wearing some color on her diaphanous skin. He imagined she would bruise easily. Leaning away from her, he retrieved the goblet.

  “Drink.” Kneeling behind her, he brought the vessel to her lips and caressed her throat with his free hand.

  She opened her lips, and he angled the glass to pour a few drops of burgundy wine into her mouth. Her small gulps reverberated under his hand, through the column of her arched throat. The liquor was strong and it seemed to relax her right away because her hold on the leather straps loosened and her back sagged.

  His wolf became more agitated.

  Valentine had her drink the whole content of the goblet, then placed the glass on the tray. Positioning himself behind her, he coaxed her legs open with his knees. His hands went to the slip’s hem, raising it to her waist and uncovering her lower body. He took a moment to take a good look at her, half naked, tied, and in the Wedding Position. Although her breathing was fast, Mirella didn’t move during his perusal. Only when his fingers tugged at her Purity Knot did she gasp and avert her eyes.

  Pointing his chin at the mirrored wall, he said, “Keep looking at me.” His words were harsh, but the tiniest flicker of desire had started burning through him, for which he was surprised. He hadn’t expected to be aroused by his Blessed Bride. His wolf pushed inside his mind. Frustrated, the beast wanted to mark Valentine’s bride as its own.

  The caged animal had never shown such interest in any of Valentine’s lovers before.

  With one tug, Valentine released the red silk rope hugging his bride’s most intimate place. He bunched the material in his hand, then caressed her slowly. Her scent reached his nostrils, and his wolf howled, pleased by Mirella’s aroma. Valentine too was satisfied by her melodic gasps resembling soft meows. He spanked her then, one single hard slap that had her yelping, but she still didn’t look away from the mirror. To reward her, he bent and trailed her red skin with kisses, while stroking her with searching fingers.

  Mirella was soft and warm all over now, and her body contoured to his hands, meeting him with a growing eagerness. His desire now burned bright, and his wolf wouldn’t give him respite. Valentine opened the slit in his pants and pushed himself into her until he found her maidenhead. Without hesitation, he breached her, then slowly retreated, only to thrust all the way inside a moment later. At first, Mirella’s body had fought his intrusion, but she soon relaxed and matched his movements.

  Valentine liked the feeling of her around him. Her panting was music to his ears, and it spurred him to please her. His hands ran to her breasts and he pinched her nipples, then kneaded the small mounds. When the quality of her moans changed and became throaty, he moved one hand lower and in between her legs, resting on her little bundle of nerves. A few flicks of his index finger were enough to push Mirella to her loud release. She buckled, closing tight around him, and triggered his own explosive release. His wolf roared in triumph. While still caressing her intimately, Valentine thrust into her deeper and faster, prolonging both their pleasures.

  Even after he was spent, he felt her tremors massaging him. Instead of letting go of her, he passed his arms around her waist and chest and pulled her up against him. “You can let go of the restraints,” he told her when she hadn’t yet freed her hands from the handles.

  As soon as she obeyed, he flattened her back against his chest, placed a finger under her chin to turn her head toward him, and kissed her mouth. It was a hungry kiss. He devoured her, holding her tightly, one hand splayed over her flat belly, the other around her throat.

  “You’ve pleased me greatly, kitten,” he whispered in her ear, before letting his wolf bite her shoulder. “Mine.”

  Chapter Four

  Naked, Mirella stood before the mirror. Her eyes roamed over her body, taking in her husband’s marks on her skin. His big hands had left a distinct trail where they had touched her.

  The bite on her shoulder was the most prominent mark. She had been told the werewolf would seal his possession of her with his teeth, but when his fangs closed around her skin she had been terrified he wouldn’t stop at her shoulder.

  But he had stopped, and soon after he kissed the spot, his tongue soft over the bite, lessening the sharp pain to a dull throb.

  All over her body, pinkish shadows depicted a map of where his hands had been. The trace of his fingers was printed on her white skin. She was sore everywhere, but more so between her legs. Before he left the Wedding Chamber he unlocked her from the chain tying her to the canopy, then he turned her around and took her in his arms, caressing her back tenderly. Next, he released her to the mattress, got off the high bed, and exited the room without a word.

  A moment later, the medicus and two ancillae entered.

  “It will only take a moment,” the taller of the two girls said as the other gently patted between her legs with a soft damask cloth. Once she was done, she immediately passed the cloth to the medicus.

  With a bright smile, the medicus showed the blood stain to Mirella, then folded the cloth and stored it inside a flat glass box he had removed from his bag. “Help her bathe,” he said and turned to give her some privacy.

  The ancillae unclothed and washed Mirella with perfumed water, then dried her with warm towels.

  Once again, she was left alone in the big, drafty chamber.

  Now cleaned and perfumed, she looked at her reflection, thinking that there wasn’t enough water on Lupine to wash away Lobo’s scent from her body. If she closed her eyes, she could still see him taking her innocence as he commanded her to keep looking at him. Obeying the werewolf was ingrained in Mirella, but the compulsion to please him had surprised her.

  The muscles in her arms still ached from holding the leather handles. Slowly, she raised the slip over her shoulders, one at a time, covering her sensitive breasts. The sheer fabric left her nipples exposed, but was better than wearing nothing at all. She retreated to the daybed facing the fireplace and lay on the soft cushion.

  The sound of laughter woke Mirella from her deep slumber. Someone had tucked her under a woolen blanket, and she was toasty.

  “Here she is,” Lucilla said, popping over from the back of the daybed. “Good morning, Blessed Bride.”

  “How do you feel, sleepyhead?” Vera asked, joining Lucilla. She had a tray with two domed bowls, a glass, and a pitcher.

  “I’m fine, I guess.” Mirella gathered her knees under the blanket and straightened against the low headboard. She was still sore and couldn’t help but grimace.

  “Did he hurt you bad?” Lucilla’s eye
s were on Mirella’s throat, where Lobo’s fingers had left their prints.

  “I don’t think he wanted to, but he’s so big—” She was glad her hair covered the fresh bite.

  “Was it like Mrs. Claretta said it would be?” Vera asked.

  Her sisters weren’t allowed to attend Mirella’s classes, but when they had begged her, she had related most of the lessons concerning the sexual sphere.

  “No. It was definitely something else.” Mirella took a long breath and raised the blanket to her chin. “It was different—”

  Lucilla frowned. “Different how?”

  “Was it awful?” Vera sat on the other end of the daybed, carefully placing the tray on the cushion.

  Leaning to uncover one of the bowls, Mirella answered, “Mrs. Claretta forgot to mention that Lobo isn’t like the other men. He’s massive—” with a sigh, she added, “Everywhere.” She brought her knees closer to her chest and hugged them.

  “So, it was awful.” Vera leaned forward and almost knocked over the tray.

  “I was scared at first, because when he talks he practically growls at you, and he’s very commanding with his body too,” Mirella said.

  “Did he make you do things to him?” Lucilla asked.

  In Mrs. Claretta’s classes, the art of pleasing a man had been explained with illustrations, and Mirella was aware that there were numerous services Lobo could have demanded from her.

  “No, he seemed happy with ordering me around, but the whole thing ended rather fast. And thank the Goddess for that.” Mirella didn’t want to imagine what she would look like if he had taken his time.