The Wolf & The Witch

Claire woke on his chest- he was holding her in his arms, close, and tight. She blinked an eye open and looked around, then shifted under the covers, closer to him. Then she noticed she was naked. She looked up at him- asleep, and then she noticed the stitches in his ear, and forehead, had been removed, and in their place a couple small bandages. She lifted the covers and looked down- they were both naked. Huh. That’s not quite what she expected. Clothed in the driving snow one minute, warm and naked under blankets the next.

They were on a bed, covered up, in a tent. Two dressers were to the side, one with fruit, and a pitcher of water, and the other was covered with their clothes- neatly folded. Their packs were on the floor by the dresser, and their dire wolf cloaks draped over the foot of the bed. The iron pike was on the floor.

Lestat felt her move in his arms, and turned over into her and held her. “Are we alive?” he asked, his voice low, his eyes still closed.

“I think so,” she answered, and scooted closer. Their bodies were wrapped around each other. Her legs were wrapped around his; her breasts were squished against his chest. She was embarrassed, but snuggled closer. Because you are mine, he had said, and something about those words made her body tingle- not just her heart this time. She was safe, once again, because of him. He had literally carried her in his arms the last three full days, over mountains, through caves, into blizzards. What did it mean to be owned by Lestat? Obviously safety, and concern, if nothing else. She repositioned herself so that she was closer to him. “Can you smell anything, or hear anything? Any idea where we are?”

Lestat listened a moment: the chatter of men and women, horses, hammering; he smelled fires, and cooking; and wolves. Then, in the background, he heard two women talking- ...shouldn’t be here. James needs to be more careful. I knew it was trouble when she started showing up again. He may be the alpha, but it was Bev who wanted them brought here. Trouble. Yeah, and Bev is just one of his wives- none of the others… “I think we’re in a small village of a few hundred people, including wolves, and witches.”

“Goddamn wolves,” Claire said, and ran her fingers through his chest hair. She looked up and smiled.

“Goddamn witches,” Lestat said, and kissed her forehead. “How’s your leg?”

Claire pulled her leg out from under the blankets. She moved her toes around, and her foot. “A little better. It’s been rebandaged. Someone took out your stitches, too.”

He reached up- she was right. He didn’t know who brought them here, or why, but they were in a soft bed and all their belongings were nearby. So they weren’t captives, at least.

“Think we should get up and-“

“No,” Lestat answered, and put his arm back around her, and pulled her mouth to his. He kissed her gently, and deeply, and she felt her body start to melt. He brought his right hand up- cuffed to her left, and touched her face, and cheek, and held her head. He kissed the end of her nose, and her cheeks, then her forehead, and back to her mouth.

She hesitated- they should not be kissing while lying in bed naked together. This was bound to lead somewhere. She paused, and pulled back, just an inch.

“What is it?”

She looked at him- his face, and lips, his eyes, and she felt him hard against the side of her leg. Her hand was on his chest; their noses were touching, their bodies... “Um… we…” she started. “I…” She had words, and worries, and thoughts- her brain had many things to say about this, but her heart had only one thing to say. She fell back into him, the way ribbons fall from open fingers, and she melted into him.

*

Lestat carried Claire down the street towards the market. They had a couple hours to kill before they met the others at the stables. A group was leaving ahead of them, and a group behind them. A four hour meeting, politely requested by the Alpha, James, and his five wives.

“What do you think?” she asked, when they were past ear shot.

Although they were nowhere near past earshot- not for wolves, but Lestat really didn’t care. “I don’t trust them; we need to be careful.” They were summoned to the Alpha’s tent- the Alpha James, and his five witch wives: Bev, Soph, Olive, Em, and Emma. And all of his guards and village council- all wolves, and all witches, and some men, and a few women. Most armed. And they were told: we will smuggle you into Favoris, where the last couple is waiting. We can help each other- "You help us, we'll help you.”

And how would you help us? We deliver you to the capitol city of Favoris, safe and sound, well-rested, and well-fed. If you go on your own across this land patrols will find you, and you will not arrive safe. Or sound. And how do we help you? Kill the Alpha of this Land. You will fight the last couple in his arena. He is the only person who can open that gate that leads to your land. Kill him. And if we try and fail? You haven't failed yet. Do your best, and we'll take it from there.

“Yeah, you’re right,” she agreed. “I don’t trust, or like, any man who has more than one wife.” She left those words hanging, and looked up at him. Hint, hint, she thought. And your follow up is... but his eyes were down- lost in thought.

The streets were fresh straw and hay and the village smelled clean. The right side of the street were stores and houses with long roofs and big windows with opened shutters. And the other side of the street were market stalls and vendor booths. Long strips of canvas stretched across the street, from stall post to gutter brace, to keep the sun off. Lestat looked back at the alpha’s large house. He did not trust a single word that man, or his wives, said. Even if everything he said was true- the last couple was already there, Deth and Bethany, and they had their own small army. The Alpha of Favoris is waiting on another couple, and you're not them, he still didn't trust him. Something James said was nagging at him, but he couldn't figure out what, or why. And he didn't like the way his wives had looked at Claire- like street filth. Help us and we'll help you...

Claire looked at him- he was looking down.

Lestat wondered- James, the Alpha of this village, said both Bethany and Josh were originally from the Land of Streams. Bethany and her mate, Deth, were in Favoris. And Adra and her mate, Josh? Dead since they didn't make it across the border. So both Bethany and Josh were the only two of the five sent out not from Itthon, and they were both paired with the Alpha's son adn the Preistesses assistant. Those were the "chosen" couples. But if that was true, then this bullshit forced-mating game did more than just push two people together- if they mated, and ruled, then both Itthon, and the Land of Streams, would benefit. But who would benefit most? The land in the middle. The city in the middle. Favoris. And it's rulers: Edward. And what if the chosen couple didn’t win this stupid game? Or what if Itthon was burned to the ground? Then the Alpha of this Land would very much protest.

He was carrying her, and not knocking into things, but he wasn't paying any attention. Claire was as concerned about the meeting as he was, but it didn't change anything. Thier goal was to get to the border, as fast as possible. She nudged him. She bounced in his arms, and he looked up. "Wake up. Let's go check out that stall."

He carried her as she pointed.

The first stall they stopped at sold chicken kabobs grilled over hot coals, and yogurt. Claire bought a stack with their stolen money, and fed him one bite, then her, then him, then her, all with her fingers. “God this is good,” she said, reaching a bite up to his mouth. He bit into a piece of chicken, his lips just scraping the backs of her fingers. He agreed.

He carried her slowly, thinking, looking at her, looking at the shops, and the people. The next stall sold cinnamon sticks, and ground cinnamon. The next garlic and wild onions. Claire pointed, and Lestat followed her finger to a small booth tucked away between two larger stalls- scarves. He carried her close enough for her to lean out of his arms, and watched as she studied the fabric, and the stitching. “Do you like those?” he asked.

“Yeah, but not to wear. Wouldn’t they be pretty draped over a metal lantern?”

Lestat looked at the scarves- flickering yellow light cast through blue and red and green silk, the colors turning slowly, black shadows and red and yellow light on dark walls. “That would be pretty. You think they would catch on fire?”

“Maybe.”

“Buy a few,” he said, and as she sifted through silk scarves at sunset, he looked down again. He looked at the ground, and carried her slowly around the small booth. The last two couples were supposed to meet in Favoris and fight to the death. But he and Claire were not supposed to be one of those couples. What if they just poisoned them before the fight? What would happen if they just burned the fucking city to the ground? Would the cuff fall off when they killed the last couple, or only when they crossed the last border?

The next stall sold beer- jars, quarts, kegs. Lestat couldn’t carry a keg, but he could buy one. He had the stall owner pour him a full mug and keep the keg handy in case he returned. He didn't like drinking much, but his back still ached.

Claire gave him the last bite of kabob and licked her fingers clean. She looked at the beer, curious. And thirsty. “What’s that taste like?”

Lestat scrunched the right side of his mouth up, thinking. “Not all that good. Kind of like watered-down grass that went bad last week. I don't like beer, or wine.”

Claire crinkled her nose. “Then why drink it?”

“My back's stiff. And it’s better than wine.”

“Can I try some?”

Lestat smiled, and handed her the mug.

Claire took a small sip, and crinkled her nose again. Then she took a bigger sip, and another. She handed it back- “That’s a hell of a lot better than wine.”

A woman who thought beer was better than wine? Lestat smiled again, and agreed. “Hey... um... what would you say about poisoning the last couple, or burning another city?”

Claire looked up at him and held his eyes for a second- she knew this wasn’t fear, not him. So what, then? He was hesitating, and in the last two months she had been at his side, she had only known him to hesitate once. It was when he admitted he was wrong, about not liking her. I... said one thing wrong. “I don’t care how we get home, Lestat. I just want to get home. With you.”

He looked at her, and nodded.

He carried her to the next stall, which sold different colored paper, and the one after that sold cheeses, and Claire bought two blocks. Her favorite was a crumbly soft white cheese and she forced him to stop walking and tilt his mouth up into the air. He did, and she leaned up, and broke small chunks off into his open mouth. “Good, huh?”

He nodded. “Pretty good. Is that the kind you like in biscuits?” The purple and red sheet of sunset fell slowly across the land, and across the village, and autumn insects came to life, chirping in the grass.

“I like all kinds of cheese in biscuits, but yeah- this is one of the best.” She took another bite to his mouth and his teeth almost got her fingers. Claire smiled- this was kind of like a date. Feeding him with her fingers, being carried around a village like a maiden. They hadn't gone on a date yet, and were overdue. She started to say something, then looked up at the next stall, and nearly jumped out of his arms- the next stall sold pancakes! She smacked his chest! For dinner! She bought five, served in a stack on a thick sheet of brown paper, all covered in butter, and apple cider syrup, and cream. He carried her across the road, up a walk, and sat her down on some stone steps leading up to a house. He sat down beside her.

“Ogh mah ghod- ear.” She brought a big bite up and didn’t wait for him to open his lips all the way- she pushed it into his mouth with her fingers, bouncing and excited.

Lestat nodded. That was pretty damn good. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I’ve never had syrup like that.”

Claire agreed. Soooo good. She reached up and gave another big bite to Lestat. She still had more cheese, so sprinkled that on the pancake. Perfect! What a fantastic village. The streets were clean, and the people appeared normal- not shiny and grinning at least. Maybe a little standoffish. But that wasn’t a bad thing. Maybe James, the alpha here, was honest. Then she remembered his five wives- five, and thought no- he's a piece of shit. She looked up at Lestat. “Hey, how many romantic dates have you been on?”

He held his mouth open for a bite, and she paused the food at his lips, waiting on an answer. “I’ve been on dates with women before. I’m not sure I would consider any romantic. Or enjoyable.”

"How many?"

He still had his head tilted back, waiting on a bite. "I don't know- twenty, thirty."

Claire frowned; she didn’t like the idea of him going on dates. She fed him a bite.

“Whad ’bout yu?” he asked, his mouth full.

Claire took another big bite of pancake, then a bite of cheese. His eyes were light brown, but, because of his heavy eyebrows, they looked dark. “Aghv een on ots of ates,” she answered, and swallowed, and continued. “The priestess tried hard to marry some of us off. And before her, my father tried over and over. That’s why I left home. Lot of good it did, huh?”

“So hundreds of romantic dates, then?”

“No, not hundreds.” Claire stuffed a quarter of a chunk of pancake into her mouth, then gave him another bite. She had been on perhaps a hundred dates, not hundreds, and none of them romantic. All the men her father found were interested in her breasts, and her ass, and sex, and her servitude, which was made plainly clear by both their choice of dates, their words, and their eyes. And, of course, the only men the priestess ever presented were those that aided the coven- travelling merchants or wolves. She looked up at him. “I don’t think I’ve ever been on one single, enjoyable, romantic date.”

Lestat took another sip of beer, then offered her the rest.

Claire took the beer and finished it off, then turned to the side and burped. “Sorry.” She burped again, then turned back. “Hey, this next village we’re going to- do you… do you want to go on a date?” She blushed, and took another bite of pancakes. With her fingers. Then she looked down, embarrassed. She was getting too comfortable around him. What man would want to go on a date with a woman who ate pancakes with her fingers and burped beer?

He smiled at her, and squeezed her left hand. “James said we’ll be there for two days, right? It's between here and Favoris?”

She nodded.

“Why don’t we go on two dates?”

“Ok.”

*