Chapter Text
Osric, Captain of the Guard, stood on the parapet and glared down at the mounted party approaching the gates of the keep. It vexed him that the treaty negotiations were happening so close to his peaceful berg. He knew it was important to finally end the sporadic border raids that have taken place over the past ten years, but he trusted these godless heathens only as far as he could throw them.
Today there was to be a final exchange of prisoners, both kept as hostages for the past two years to keep the peace and he knew for a fact that Lord Nigel didn’t really want the return of his third daughter—he has enough homely wenches to dower and marry off. He was also reluctant to return the young clansman to his kin. He was a scholarly man with no sons and had hoped to keep the young man and perhaps educate and adopt him and failing that, convert him and dedicate him to the church. He has grown fond of the handsome, affable young man, teaching him to read and do sums and delighted when he soon delved into Latin and Greek and other languages with gusto.
Why and how, Osric had no clue. How could one grow fond of a creature that was capable of shifting into a beast? Why? Because he had to be imprisoned in the dungeons behind iron doors during the full moon lest he attack every soul in the holding. Yes, the youth was handsome and intelligent, but he was also other, and even if one could not immediately discern this upon seeing him, it eventually became obvious in the unnatural way he moved and acted, in his preternatural strength and stealth. It mattered not that the boy had yet to shift. Vargr blood always ran true and he was now well past puberty and capable of it. His woad tattooed skin and spiky warhawk braided with bone beads and charms set him apart, especially since he refused the more modest clothing offered, preferring his roughly woven plaid kilt, leather vest and bare limbs. Indeed, Osric suspected he barely felt the cold.
Osric has seen him sit still for hours in the walled garden that Nigel allowed him to take daily exercise in, in a preternatural way, like a predator waiting for an unwary meal and pace his cell restlessly during full moon nights head tilted up as he scented the air, eyes gleaming gold in the torchlight. No, Osric did not trust the boy, dubbed John, by Lord Nigel’s lady wife. The young man might be mild mannered and courteous when in gentle company, but Osric grew up in the northern mountains and he and his kin fought the Vargr from their doors for years, and the fact that their nomadic packs have moved slightly closer to their border with each season unnerves him. Soon they would be well over the border and the nobles none the wiser and unprepared for the literal wolves in their sheep folds.
The herdsmen and shepherds have fearfully informed him that they regularly hear a deep chorus of howling during the full moon in the deep forests in the upper valley now. That means a tribal pack has taken up residence there. This is not good and Lord Nigel refuses to see and acknowledge the growing danger, believing himself safe under the King’s law. But the king and his soldiers are far to the south. If the Vargr swarm like hornets over the border there is no army to stop them, only a few far spaced garrisons.
Beside him, his sergeant at arms, Wulfric huffed at the sight of the small company as they approached. There were less than a half dozen woad-painted, well armed warriors and they could see the heavily armed men on the walls foolishly relax, not realizing how deadly a single berserker could be against an entire company of experienced soldiers.
The leader of the company was a graying, burly warrior with impressive whiskers clad in a brown bearskin cloak over his polished, bronze studded brown leather brigantine. He wore an old Roman helm. His keen, pale blue eyes swept over the walls taking in the position of every man. Behind him a lean, dark man with a wrapped Moorish headdress rode a nimble desert mare and Osric noted that the woman riding pillion behind him was Nigel’s daughter. He could tell by the long, mousy braids that matched her mother’s and the fact that she was the only female in the company. She did not appear happy to be returning home to her people, a surly scowl on her long face.
A diminutive man clad in fox furs and a mottled gillie cloak was next, riding a nimble gray mule, his narrow face lifted as he scented the breeze. His face was nigh concealed by a deep hood, but Osric caught a glimpse of burn scars on his throat and cheeks. Two lean men who wore their sleek, black hair in long tails pulled back in top knots and wore brightly colored feather ruffs over spotted, golden cat hides were next, each sporting matching, formidable war axes and green jadeite arm bands. Foreigners to Osric’s eye. They were flanked by two trotting men on foot, alike enough to be brothers with a small pack of war dogs at their heels, huge, broad chested mastiffs sporting spiked collars and armored harnesses. Osric shivered. He had not realized that the Vargr kept Roman war dogs.
But it was the man bringing up the rear on a pale war horse that caused Wulfric to swear and cross himself beside him. Osric peered closer and swore silently also as he recognized the huge, ebony clad warrior. He was dressed in black leathers and cloaked in the dappled pale fur of a rare mountain snow cat and wore a white wolf skin hood over his head and shoulders. His face was concealed by a grinning wolf skull mask. He was huge, a thick braid threaded with bone beads and silver rings hung down his back, while the pale skin of his muscled arms and broad chest was scarred and tattooed. There was a snarling white wolf skull painted on his round black shield.
This was the White Wolf, the Ghost of the Mountains. The most feared berserker in the land. Osric felt a chill crawl up his spine. The last time he saw this Vargr warrior he was cutting his way through the ranks of a company of hedge knights like a skilled yeoman with a sharp scythe harvesting wheat.
Osric and Wulfric held their spears tight and watched closely as Nigel and his guardsmen rode out to meet them, John in their midst. It was wise of Lord Nigel not to allow these men within the gates but also discourteous and he prayed they took no offense at the slight. Perhaps they were too savage to notice the lack of hospitality. More likely they simply would not care. Vargr despised being inside walls and avoided large settlements. It had vexed young John greatly to be kept inside walls and he had paced them often, face to the wind.
As they watched Lord Nigel and the Vargr Captain greeted each other with cautious courtesy and the Vargr gestured back to his man, who nudged his horse forward and reached back and swung Nigel’s daughter down. She appeared healthy and unharmed, modestly dressed in warm, woolen travel garments. To their amazement, the girl protested and tried to cling to the dark rider’s stirrup, pleading face turned up to the man. Osric could not hear what she was saying, but the handsome, dark warrior was unmoved and gingerly nudged her away with his boot towards her father, who curtly motioned to two of his men to retrieve her. She was weeping now, hands over her face, as they pulled her away, but the Vargr appeared unmoved.
Instead they smiled, white teeth flashing as a beaming John eagerly pushed his way forward without a backward glance or bye-your-leave to Lord Nigel, and was instantly welcomed and enfolded into the company, each man eager to lean over and tousle his hair and tug his braids and slap his back. Osric watched curiously as each seemed eager to bury their faces briefly in his hair or throat, to nuzzle, nip his jaw and breathe him in. Scenting him like wild animals.
Clearly he knew them all. He hesitated only when he shyly approached the Ghost, who sat silently on his mount watching him come, head tilted and dark eyes focused on his flushed face and bright smile. As tall and sturdy as the lad was, he was small next to the Ghost. They both ignored Lord Nigel and the Vargr Captain who spoke briefly and exchanged wrist clasps and stiff nods of farewell.
As Osric watched, the huge warrior abruptly kneed his horse forward, leaned over, clasped his wrist and swept young John up in front of him, tucking him warmly inside his cloak, shielding him from their sight. There was something shockingly intimate in the way the huge warrior greedily buried his face in the younger man’s throat and breathed him in. He abruptly wheeled the animal about and spurred it away in a gallop. The others followed more sedately, grinning and exchanging ribald japes in their incomprehensible, growling tongue. The Vargr company then nudged their mounts into a gallop to catch up, the houndsmen keeping pace easily as they all tilted their heads back and howled victoriously as they took their leave without ceremony.
Nigel and his men returned to the keep, his daughter firmly in hand. She had behaved shamelessly and face hot, he gave her a hard, remonstrative slap and shoved her into her mother’s waiting arms with orders to lock her securely in her chambers, lest she run like a bitch in heat after the Vargr warriors. Later Osric and Wulfric would learn from the serving wenches that Ulfhild had shamelessly declared her love for the dark Vargr warrior though he scorned her, even after her father took his quirt to her narrow back to discipline her.
It was decided she would immediately be sent to be confined in the closest nunnery, lest she corrupt her sisters. At least she was undefiled, as ascertained by the Herb Mistress (the Vargr had been honorable in keeping her safe and chaste), but no decent Christian man wanted a woman who lusted after monsters and it would spare Nigel having to provide a substantial dower to bribe a suitable groom. The Abbess would keep her firmly in hand and hard work and daily prayer on her knees could only be good for her wayward soul.
****
Price and his warriors met with the rest of his pack at the edge of the green wood, where their beloved Tav was being fawned over and scented by the matriarchs and the weans. The Shamaness, Katte, watched, pale blue eyes gleaming with great satisfaction from behind her veil of leather strips threaded with charms and elk and boar teeth. Her heavy blonde braids fell to her waist beneath her headdress of fox pelt and stag antlers and were tucked neatly in her belt. Her wife, the Seeress stood heavily veiled in black behind her, tattooed hands clasped demurely although her dark eyes gleamed with pleasure at the return of their youngling. Tav has been much missed by his pack.
Tav was their secret weapon, reluctantly surrendered in the hostage exchange and now happily reclaimed by his kindred. He was much beloved for his sweet nature and his ability to memorize any and everything from faces, town plans and cyphers and languages. They were delighted to finally reclaim him and be rid of the lazy, cow-eyed wench forced upon them in the hostage negotiations. The girl had been useless. Refusing to even learn their tongue though the matriarchs welcomed her kindly, lift a finger at simple chores or even care for the pups. Instead she slunk after and tried to attach herself to a dismayed Gaz, reeking of lust. They were well rid of her. She knew not how close she came to having Roach’s knife in her gut, or her throat torn out, for her foolhardy pursuit of his mate. One did not invite oneself into a mated pairing, an invitation from both was required for casual couplings. Only her valuable hostage status kept her alive.
There would be much celebration around the fire tonight as it was also the full Harvest moon and they would be celebrating Tav’s first shift. Price chuckled as Ghost abruptly had enough and jealously reclaimed his wayward, soon to be mate, with a huff, scooping him back up into the saddle and reining his horse away. The pack laughed and teased him for impatience and Tav for his rosy, flushed cheeks, as they formed a neat travel line and rode and trotted deep into the forest, taking a narrow half-hidden game trail. They had a well hidden winter camp set up the previous year in the heart of the elder woods where the elders waited, where none of the Christians dared venture and there would be much loud celebration tonight. They had hunted earlier to acquire enough fresh meat in anticipation for Tav’s return and a full moon feast in celebration.
****
At the camp, near the long, log house half built underground into a hill as a den, most of the women immediately began to prepare the food, a celebratory cauldron of rich venison stew and an entire spitted boar turning slowly over a fire pit of hot coals, while root vegetables baked in the ashes. The naked littles ran screaming and howling about, playing at chase and pounce. Katte, her wife, the herb mistress and the midwife firmly retrieved a blushing Tav from a scowling Ghost and led him away for the ritual bath to wash away the unclean scents of the town at the holy spring in preparation for his First Shift, nuptials and mating run once the moon rose.
Ghost huffed and begrudgingly seated himself beside an amused Price and restlessly began to oil and sharpen his many blades, though his head kept tilting towards the spring and the merry laughter that erupted from behind the concealing brambles. Price lounged back against a log and watched benevolently. He knew better than to nettle the man, he was already on edge, his sharp incisors gleaming through his scarred lips and the tips of his claws visible.
Price could only admire his immense patience and self-control. More than once over the past two years he had expected Ghost to scale the landsmen’s keep walls and retrieve Tav. Instead the big warrior had lurked every month outside the town walls, upwind so that his beloved could catch his scent from his prison and be comforted and know he was not forgotten or abandoned to the enemy.
Katte had advised patience and he had reluctantly obeyed, even though he yearned for his young betrothed. They had kept to the rules of the treaty because it kept the Christians calm. In reality, the Vargr packs have been slowly moving into their territory for years and quietly establishing solid tribal territory along the border. If they wished they could invade the borderlands on a whim. However they preferred patience and the long game. Let the One God men grow complacent and lax in their guardianship. Then the Vargr would strike like lightning and swarm over the border to reclaim their lands.
Tav himself had exercised immense control and not once shifted or escaped to roam the woods, while captive behind those thick, stone walls even when the moon taunted him each month. Now Price could smell the impending shift buzzing beneath his tanned skin and flushing his veins as his scent rose and grew potent as his young body prepared for the change. The proximity of his soon to be mate’s rich, potent male musk has only accelerated the process. After they mated, their scents would entwine like the brambles of the pale wild roses and become something new. Especially if young Tav proved strong enough in his shift to change internally enough to bear young and caught with a pup.
It was one of the Vargr packs’ most closely cherished and guarded holy mysteries—that one born full male could oft shift internally enough to bear young, or if female shift enough to sire. The humans feared such deep magic even more than they loathed the fact that the vargr cared not which gender they mated with and that a bite could sometimes change a human to Vargr, although most could not hold control and emerge with their minds intact through the change to control the wolf within.
Price threw a fond glance over into the shadows, where Roach and Gaz were canoodling, already half undressed as they nipped, nuzzled and kissed, lying entwined on a blanket, while Gaz reassured his mate that the Christian girl was long gone. They had both pitied her, and her desperate desire to belong, but been more than annoyed by her persistence in pursuing a mated man. Perhaps he would be invited to join them later, unless Gunn or Sif had other plans. Both were too heavily pregnant now to take much interest in mating, but one never knew with those feisty wenches. Idly, he wondered if it was either he or König who sired their pups this time. Time and their scent would tell.
Just beyond them Meat and Ruin were already naked, sweaty skin gleaming as they curled together with several lasses, laughing and sharing a wine skin, while nearby their guests from the far southern isles; Alé and Rudi sat close, sleek, dark heads together as they murmured together in their musical language. As he watched, Valeria joined them, naked, oiled skin gleaming in the firelight, with a platter of food held on her hip. He could hear Alex and Farah coupling beneath the trees.
It would horrify the Christians if they learned the Vargr’s southern brethren could shift into huge, spotted jungle cats. The humans had no clue to just how well connected the shifter tribes were over the Isles, with their own trading and sailing routes and alliances. Most had no clue that many of the Norse tribes could shift into white or brown bears or that some seafolk in the western isles could shift into sleek, dappled seals, and those in the far East, foxes and dragons.
At the sudden thud of a drum beat, Price sat up, and Ghost stood, abruptly sheathing his knife and turned to face the Spring as a small procession of womenfolk appeared holding up a virginal white linen sheet to shield young Tav from his sight. All the Vargr watched attentively to bear witness to the sacred ritual. The drum beat like a great heart, and the women’s voices rose in plaintive song as they walked toward Ghost. The big man stood at attention and lifted his skull helm off to bare his brutally scarred face to all present.
Katte stepped forward and beckoned Ghost forward and he stumbled a bit as he obeyed in his eagerness. She asked him three questions in her low raspy contralto and he nodded each time, big hands clenching at his sides. She gestured and the matrons and maidens abruptly dropped the concealing veil.
Tav stood naked before his beloved, clad only in wild rose flowers crowning his head and red ochre paint stippling his cheekbones, brow, chest, flanks and belly like the roe deer. His long hair was unbraided and flowing over his broad shoulders to his hips. His shy gaze was downcast and he kept his head down, face flushed with the sacred wine he had been plied with at the Spring. He was beautiful, his hirsute body sturdy and perfectly proportioned, wide shoulders narrowing down to strong hips and muscular buttocks, golden skin gleaming with the olive oil the women had massaged in after his bath. Shyly, he lifted his chin and raised deep blue eyes and peered at his beloved through thick lashes.
Ghost has never seen anything more beautiful in his life. His nostrils flared as he breathed in his honey sweet, musky male scent, and his mouth filled with saliva as his arousal grew as he stared hungrily at his soon to be mate. The women’s song reached a high note and abruptly ceased as did the drums. He was barely aware of the horn cup that Katte placed in his hand. He quaffed it down without a glance and tossed the cup aside, eyes still locked on his love’s, barely tasting the heat of the potent drugged wine as he swallowed.
The drug hit his system and set his veins on fire.
With a hiss he threw back his head and lifted a shaky hand to unclasp his cloak. It dropped along with his weapons belt and harness and his clothes as he shrugged off his vest and dropped his trews and stepped out of them, pulling off his boots, pale muscular body unabashedly nude. He stood proudly for inspection by his intended, heavy genitals stirring.
He waited, lips parted as he breathed his love in and panted with a growing need, watching as Tav stepped slowly forward and circled him slowly thrice, eyes sweeping greedily over his bare body. On the first circuit, Tav’s scent thickened with arousal his thick cock filling, on the second, his eyes gleamed gold in the firelight and on the third, his fangs and claws had dropped and he grinned cheekily at Ghost before darting forward, hands on his shoulders, leaping up and nipping his jaw sharply, then turning and darting into the forest shadows, pale buttocks flexing, with a last coy look flicked over his shoulder. Ghost stood like a frozen marble statue for a moment, then at Price’s amused chuff, raised his head and howled joyfully at the moon and bounded out of the clearing to chase down and claim his mate.
The vargr cheered and howled in encouragement and set to, to feast, dance and celebrate the Mating Run. Katte calmly set aside a large portion of meat for the couple. They would be ravenous when they returned tomorrow. Then she took her shy wife’s hand and drew her into the spiral dance around the fire as the drums resumed and their bard’s voice rose in ribald song. Price startled and chuffed as Gaz and Roach suddenly plopped down in his lap. Gaz nibbled lazily at his jaw as Roach held a goblet of wine to his lips. It was a celebratory night indeed, he thought, as he slid big arms around their trim waists and gave them a pleased squeeze. Sometimes it was good to be alpha of the pack.
****
Ghost ran through the trees, keeping his shift firmly beneath his skin. Tav’s blood rich scent taunted him, but the little shite remained elusive, winding through the trees, just out of sight and reach. Occasionally a merry laugh would echo back to tease him. Finally he popped out of the underbrush and emerged in a lush meadow next to the river, and paused, befuddled, because his mate’s scent ended here as well. Swinging his head about, baffled, he chuffed and scented the wind, keen eyes sweeping the moonlit clearing.
It was beautiful, the lush grasses and fragrant wildflowers silvery in the moonlight and nigh knee deep, the cool breeze off the gently flowing dark water soothed his hot skin though it did nothing to relieve his growing need. Puzzled, he peered slowly around before it dawned on him to look up into the branches of the huge grandfather oak he stood under. Raising his head, he met a pair of bright, laughter filled eyes, Tav had one hand clamped over his mouth to keep his laughter contained. At the sight of Ghost’s chagrined face, he dropped it and cackled aloud. Ghost growled, but before he could scale the tree, a sturdy body launched itself from the wide branch and knocked him back flat on his arse back into the grass.
The laughter abruptly cut off, now replaced by rumbling growls, purrs and moans, and eventually the sound of sleek skin against skin and soft yelps and cries as Ghost took control and proceeded to ravish his young mate, big body covering his and pressing him face first into the soft earth as he mounted and claimed him, teeth in the nape of his neck, clawed hands bruising his hip bones as he was roughly claimed. Ghost was a big man, and his virgin mate would feel that claim on his skin for days after and bear the love bites and scratches from his teeth and claws. Tav’s voice rose in a howl of pained pleasure that was echoed by Ghost as they both reached climax within seconds of each other and for a while the tall grass was still as they panted and recovered their senses.
A barred owl spread wings and rose silently from a nearby branch as the grasses moved, the sound of bone and sinew popping and shifting, along with deep growls sounded and two large, furred forms—one snow white and the other ebony black abruptly erupted from their nest to gambol and frolic in the meadow, sharp teeth gleaming in the moonlight as they played and again mated in the riverside clearing. This time when deep twin howls rose above the water, the Vargr pack answered, celebrating their mating shift from the next valley. The sacred ritual was complete and the pair considered bonded mates for life. Like wolves, some Vargr chose only one mate for life.
****
A fond Ghost carried his sleepy mate back to the pack’s den the next day. His groggy love was worn out from the potent drugged wine and their vigorous matings in both human and wolf form. When Ghost had scooped him up he’d barely stirred, except to grumble and bury his face in the crook of Ghost’s neck to hide from the bright sunlight. Ghost nuzzled his tousled hair fondly and pressed a kiss to his scruffy cheek. He loved his mate and he loved how their scents were now almost one. If they were very lucky, his Tav might even be with pup now.
The vargr camp was quiet, most still sleeping off the celebration, but a couple of warriors on guard at the perimeter and a few matrons washing at the stream greeted him as he approached, grinning at his sleeping burden. Stooping, he slipped into the long house, snorted at the chorus of drunken snores echoing from the shadowy depths of the building and smirked at the sight of Price, sprawled naked on his back nearby snoring like a bear, bracketed by Gaz and Roach. He made his way to the area near the door, where he’d claimed a sleeping space, pleased to find their clothing and weapons already stacked neatly there by his sheepskin and deer hide pallet.
There was also a wooden trencher covered with a cloth, and a delicious aroma that had Tav’s and his noses twitching immediately and when he sat down with his mate in his lap, the lazy little shite sighed happily and opened his mouth like a pup, demanding that he be fed. Ghost grinned, charmed, and obligingly dropped a bit of roasted vegetable in the open orifice.
Tav scowled and his eyes popped open even as he chewed vigorously, before reaching for a large slice of boar meat on his own. Ghost gave him a shit eating grin, displaying his own mouth already stuffed full of savory pork and with a growl his mate pounced and they wrestled vigorously before old Alfred snorted awake and growled grumpily from his pallet nearby. Grinning like fools, they sheepishly ceased wrestling and ate their meal.
Afterwards Ghost reached into his belt pouch and removed a heavy, double linked chain of pure silver and gently fastened it around Tav’s throat. His first love gift. To his horror, his mate’s eyes filled with tears and he blurted,
”Ah have nothing as fine ta gift ye!”
Slowly, reluctantly the lad produced a simple string of crudely polished lapis lazuli and jet beads (refashioned from a rosary he had filched from a visiting Bishop at Lord Nigel’s keep) from a small pouch. It was the best he could do, while being held captive and having nothing to trade.
Ghost cupped his face and made much of it—his very first love gift as well—and demanded he put it on him immediately. Abashed, Tav obeyed, knotting it securely around his mate’s thick neck and silently vowing to acquire a proper clasp soon. Ghost took his time soothing his ruffled feathers, assuring him it was a very fine gift and the blue beads very lucky. In reality, he loved the simple strand of beads because they were the exact color of his love’s blue eyes.
Satisfied, sated from vigorous lovemaking all night, and now with bellies full, they curled together in Ghost’s bed—now their bed—and drifted off to sleep as the tribe slowly awoke around them and set about preparing for a very lazy day. All was well. Later they would rise and Ghost would comb and braid his mate’s hair, slyly weaving in gifts of gold and gemstone beads. The nearby God’s men were appeased enough to leave them in peace for now and the heavens turned above them in the sacred cycle of the seasons and the tribe prospered. Let tomorrow bring what it might, they would meet it courageously as always.
****
Some months later Gaz, Roach and a small hunting party were stalking a herd of deer farther down the valley, when the animals were suddenly startled by something and scattered into the nearby forest. Gaz cursed and Roach raised his head above the flowering heather to see what had startled them. The next moment, he lay back snickering and wheezing, and pointed down the valley. Puzzled at his mate’s antics, Gaz popped his head out and peered downhill as well.
There struggling through the gorse, skirts hitched up and tucked into her sash and braids full of briars was a very familiar female. Ulfhild, Nigel’s daughter, was marching up the valley, no doubt in determined pursuit of Gaz. Behind her, farther down the way came a small party of horsemen in pursuit of her. Roach grinned at Gaz and signed something extremely vulgar and waggled his brows.
Gaz growled in response. He didn’t care how persistent the woman was, he simply wasn’t interested. By the Great Wolf’s teeth, she hadn’t even been put off when Gaz had deliberately copulated with Roach in front of her and half the pack last winter. If he fucked her, he would never be rid of the wench. She was worse than a bog leech.
Dropping low, lest she catch sight of him, he shifted and shamelessly fled the field leaving a grinning Price and Roach to watch with great interest as the woman’s exasperated kin encircled her and carried her away, despite her howls and kicks. One had to admire her grit and persistence, misplaced though it was.
It was a pity she was not born among the Vargr.
FINI
07/08/2026