Page 18 of The Wolf Queen

“…from us.”

Weyland had returned with Dane and Axe, and the bathing room suddenly felt very small. Dane stepped forward, shaking his head.

“If I’d had any idea… If I’d thought for one second…” He drew in a deep breath. I reached out a hand and he took it, squeezing it tight, before continuing. “I never meant for this to happen. Never. I should’ve been the one to make the sacrifice. The crone could have the blood from my bones—”

I heard the flutter of a raven’s wing somewhere in the courtyard below.

“No, she can’t.” On that I was sure, the pain inside me somehow easing. “She can’t have any of you, because if you die, I won’t be far behind you. We got into this mess together and we’ll come out of it the same way. Won’t we?”

I felt like Jan just then, a small child consulting with her elders, begging them to tell her that the shadows in her closet were just that and not monsters.

“I’d walk through hell for you,” Axe said, his smile bittersweet. “You know that. But if what you need is me by your side—”

“Just you try and stop us,” Weyland burst in, his usual jesting expression replaced by one that was deadly serious. “We’ll bring all of Grania and Strelae to its knees if that’s what it takes for us to be together.”

“Is that what you imagined?” I asked Dane, ever the political animal, but it wasn’t my cool-eyed advisor who was with us right now. That mask had cracked and shattered on the floor.

“You.” That was his only reply. “I just imagined you. And even then my mind underestimated your strength, your brilliance. If the five of us together is what you imagined, then that’s how it’ll be, Darcy. I won’t settle for less.”

For once, all of us were in complete agreement. We knew it’d probably take all of our skills and strengths to make that happen but, just like soldiers on the battlefield, we had to believe that we could win the day before we began the struggle.

Chapter13

I sank into the water, immersing myself fully, luxuriating in the simple bliss provided by the massive tub of warm water. When I came back up, blinking and pushing the soaked hair out of my eyes, Gael was stepping in, too. He sat facing me, a groan leaving his lips as the water soothed his muscles. I stretched my arm out toward the soap, but before I could put it to any use, Weyland was there. He plucked the bar from my fingers and said, “What’s the point of having four mates if you don’t put them to good use?” then cocked an eyebrow at his brother, “Axe? Wine.”

“Milady.” Axe returned with a glass filled almost to the brim with good Granian wine, and proffered it with a bow, and I found my mouth watering in anticipation of tasting it again.

“You can wash your own damn self,” Weyland said as he tossed a fresh bar to his brother at the other end of the bathtub. Gael snatched it out of the air before splashing water over his torso and smoothing the soap over his broad shoulders and across his chest, and my eyes followed his every movement as if I was hypnotised. Then Weyland ran his soapy hands across my neck and shoulders and the thick, lemon-scented lather and the fingers that massaged it into my skin had me shuddering with delight. “That’s it.” As Weyland washed my shoulders and arms, Axe stepped closer as well, grabbing the tilting glass of wine as my hand became lax. After setting it aside, he picked up a bottle of liquid soap and then started to work it through my hair.

“So, was this how it was supposed to be?” I groaned, head down, my hair dripping in points. Gael had grabbed hold of my feet and, using the same dexterous hands that could grip a sword hilt so tight, began to loosen the muscles in the sole. It was all I could do to gather my thoughts to devise a coherent sentence. “Because I must say, I’d kill your father twice over for making me miss out on this.”

“I think you’d find all four of us are willing to do whatever it takes to ease your pain.” I opened one eye a crack to see Dane crouching beside the bath, gripping the side like he wanted to pounce on me. “Anything, Darcy. If it’s in my power to grant…”

His voice trailed away as my eyes slid down the front of his shirt. He’d shucked off his armour, leaving only a crushed linen shirt and my eyes were drawn to the tawny expanse of tanned skin there. He sucked in a breath and so did the others. They were breathing in my scent.

“She likes that.” Weyland’s voice sounded choked off. “Whatever the hell you’re doing, keep doing that, Brother.”

My attractionto all four of them, my need for them would never be a secret. My perfume would always advertise to each one of them how I felt. But alongside the scent of my desire, they had to also have caught this: the way I was stiffening against Axe and Weyland’s hands, pulling my foot gently from Gael’s grip, though not jerking it free the way I really wanted to. I felt like I was packing myself back up again, re-erecting my barriers, when Axe spoke.

“You bloody idiot.”

A dull smack and yelp from Weyland made clear how Axe had dealt with the situation, but something uncertain still remained, hanging in the air between us all.

“I don’t think…” I didn’t look up, but even to me I sounded like a coy maid, spluttering over her words as she tried to fend off unwanted advances. “I don’t—”

In Grania, a woman didn’t deny her husband the solace of her body, or so the priests had preached over and over. In reality, women didn’t have a say in it. Even though mymen had given me no reason to think they would ever act the same, those deep-ingrained messages were the reasons behind my hesitation, why my words came out so slowly. Before I tried to articulate my thoughts one more time, Dane grabbed my hand and clung to it, and I lifted my eyes to his.

“No one wants anything from you, Darcy, especially…” He went terribly pale, glancing around at his brothers. “Only what you are comfortable giving. Perhaps…”

“I just need to hold you.” Gael’s words were blunt, his tone naked with his need. “Just hold you in my arms.”

“And mine,” Weyland muttered.

“If I can have that, I can get through…” Gael sighed. “Anything. Anything for you.”

I had been sleeping alone in as many ways a woman can in a tent full of men. Mostly, though, I’d rolled myself into my blankets and away from them, creating a cocoon they’d dared not breach. Did it hurt a butterfly, emerging from its shell? I felt that it must, because it was hurting me to try it. But a problem shared was a problem halved, that’s what Nordred always said. And so I raised my head to meet the eyes of each one of my mates and nodded.

“Together,” I promised, clinging to that word as much as they did, something that became an actuality when we got into bed.

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