Children of the Wolves (28 page)

Satisfied that all the lines were secure, she checked that Michael's saddlebags were loaded onto the sled, then stepped aboard herself. She showed him how to place his feet and how to hold onto her as they moved.

“Hang on,” Jelena said cheerfully. “You think your horse can go?” She whistled and called “Hi!” to the wolves. They leapt to their paws, sinking their deep chests into the harness and pulling. Having established a bit of momentum, they increased speed, their powerful legs smoothly eating up the distance. Jelena let them run flat out for a few minutes before encouraging a slower pace that would allow them to make steady progress over the hours.

Michael clung to Jelena, burying his face against the back of her cloak, closing his eyes, feeling clumsy and tense. Then as he became accustomed to the rhythm of the sled and the movement of the wolves and the warmth of Jelena's body beneath his arms, he began to relax. He found that if he tensed as they rounded a corner or mounted an incline, his tension caused a stumble and jerked one of the wolves out of pace. Jelena had to set the pace all over again. But if he remained relaxed and flexible, his body moving effortlessly, then the wolves moved effortlessly, too.

He sank into Jelena's body and remembered the feel of her, the scent of her. She'd needed protection in those days. Strong, yes, she'd been strong. But she'd needed protection. She hadn't understood the world or her place in it. He'd loved that woman, and his heart had yearned to keep her safe forever. She was different now, but that was attractive in another way. She was coming into her own. He wished he could have been there to see it, to watch her blossom. He would come back, he thought, when the matters of the tribe were less pressing. Yes. She would remember the bond between them. He would spend time with her, like a man did a woman he wanted to partner with, and then she would come back to the protection of the trees.

He didn't know how long he'd been holding on when Jelena finally called a halt. His muscles were stiff and numb — it had become a little harder to be relaxed and effortless when every muscle below his waist burned from the stress of staying upright on a sled traveling so swiftly over the snow.

Jelena tossed one of the saddlebags on the ground and he sat on it, his shoulders slumping wearily. She unhooked the dogs and let them run free, then poured water from a skin into a wooden bowl that she unhooked from its place on the sled.

Digging into a pack, she came up with a couple of handfuls of dried venison. The wolves gathered around the bowl, slurping water, running off to relieve themselves in the snow then coming back to slurp down more water. When they smelled the venison, they abandoned the water to line up in front of Jelena, sinking to a sit position, their tails wagging, feathering the snow behind them.

Jelena fed each wolf a treat, then tossed the other saddlebag down and joined Michael on the ground. She rubbed her hands over her face, red and chapped with the cold.

“We'll let them rest a few minutes,” she said. “Then I'm going to check over their feet, see that they're doing okay. After that we're going to have to get started again.” She hesitated. “I know it's cold, but we don't really have time for a fire. There's a more protected place where we can stop for the night, but we'll have to push hard to get there.”

“I understand.”

“But you're freezing?” Jelena laughed. Michael's heart squeezed at the sound. Beautiful, clear, unaffected. She tilted her head back and howled into the still air. The five wolves just yards away stopped what they were doing and howled in response, then leapt and tumbled over to where Michael and Jelena sat. “Come on,” she said, encouraging the wolves to move closer. “Grab a wolf, Michael, and wrap yourself around it. Go on, at least put your face next to Emerald's. Ay, see, she likes you.”

“She's licking me to death.”

“She's a terrible flirt. See how she looks at Garnet before licking you. Trying to get him jealous.”

“And if she succeeds, what does he do, rip my throat out?”

Jelena laughed again. “No, the worst he would do is nip her, not you. But he's too much of a sweetheart to even do that. Now I mean it, lean in close, wrap yourself around a wolf.” She suited the action to the word. Reluctantly, he followed suit. He saw Jelena smile when Emerald slurped a long lick up the side of his face.

He pressed his face against the wolf's neck, feeling the silky fur against the unprotected parts of his face. He could feel Emerald's chest move in and out as she breathed, the steady thrum of her heart, the pungent animal smell of wolf that was curiously relaxing and calming. He inhaled more deeply and felt the tension leaving his shoulders.

He tried to remember if he had ever heard Jelena's laughter before. Had she ever done so when she was under his protection? For surely she hadn't afterwards.

It was a sign, a good start. They had many miles to go, and a perilous journey to undertake, but that didn't mean he couldn't use the opportunity to persuade her.

Though they couldn't speak much while they traveled on the sled, Michael heard Jelena's story during the meal breaks they took and at night, after the fire died down but before they curled together with the wolves to sleep.

The first night, he'd cleared a spot on the ground away from Jelena's blanket, though near the dying fire that still threw off sufficient heat to keep him warm enough to fall asleep. Then the night chill had taken hold and he'd woken up, shivering. Remembering Jelena's counsel earlier in the day, he turned to find a wolf to burrow with but found Jelena instead, warm and soft and sleepy. She didn't protest when he wrapped his arms around her, and though he attempted no greater intimacy, the act of simply holding her in his arms satisfied something deep inside him.

The next night he put his blanket beside hers and she came into his arms without speaking. He closed his eyes at the gentle pleasure, ignoring his body's demand to explore her sweetness further. This was enough for now.

The days passed quickly with hard travel and quiet nights, and he learned all that Jelena had done and marveled at her strength and wondered how he would ever convince her to return. The weather held crisply cold but clear, the sky blue and unclouded overhead.

He sensed the tension in Jelena's shoulders as they drew closer to Wudu-faesten territory and wished the travel could go on forever, just he and Jelena and the wolves, endless and eternal.

The empty stretches of prairie gave way to the scrublands that surrounded the forest where the people lived. He noticed Jelena went slower now but he didn't remark on it.

That evening, Jelena called a halt for the night a little earlier than usual.

“The twilight makes it difficult to see,” she explained.

He nodded; the twilight hadn't been a sufficient excuse to stop before, but he didn't challenge her. He understood her reluctance to return to the village. He shared some of it. He tried to imagine this Jelena, back among the people, and failed utterly. And yet he couldn't leave the people. They needed him more than ever.

Could he let Jelena go again, after these days of such deep, satisfying companionship?

Jelena untied the wolves from the sled and watched them tumble in the brush. Almost no snow had fallen here and the weather was a little warmer, though there was no doubt it was the middle of winter.

She turned back to the sled, but Michael had already unhooked the water dish and was filling it from the skin. She smiled and went to the pack instead, to pull out the dried deer meat that she'd feed the wolves later, once they'd relieved themselves and recovered from the tiring day's travel.

“May I?” he asked, turning his palm up.

Jelena hesitated for a moment, then gave him the meat.

“Thank you.” He knew feeding the wolves would increase their trust of — and affection for — him, and yet he didn't know why it mattered to him to have it. He could make Jelena no promises. His shoulders slumped. He could no more make her promises now than ever.

He turned and offered the meat to the wolves, who eagerly awaited the food, licking his fingers and bumping against each other, twining around his ankles. When he held up his hands to show he had no more food, they lost interest in him and curled into piles of warm fur on the ground.

Jelena had started the fire though they probably didn't have to have one tonight. They shared a silent meal then, though Michael would have given anything to say what was in his heart.

Jelena packed away the leftovers, then spread her blanket on the ground. He put his next to hers, as he had done on all the other nights.

“We'll be there tomorrow,” he said and without thinking, reached for her hand and clasped it in his. To his surprise, she leaned into him, putting her cheek against his chest, as if to seek his comfort. His breath caught at the movement and then he brought his hand to her head and stroked his fingers through the long silky strands of her hair.

His heart thudded faster and he knew Jelena could feel the quickened pace against her cheek, and must know what it meant. And still she didn't draw away.

His hand slipped from her hair to touch her cheek and then to tilt her chin up so he could look into her dark eyes. When he did, he couldn't remember any reason why he should not have her and be her partner for the rest of their lives, even if it meant they must live as exiles from their own people.

He lowered his head and touched her lips with his, as he had wanted to do for all these years, and never had and only a foolish, foolish man never would.

Her lips were soft and gentle beneath his, and she made no protest, no movement to stop his kiss and so he deepened it, and her mouth opened beneath his and he kissed her like a man, not like a friend or a protector, tangling his hands in her hair to pull her closer.

She gave a soft sound of encouragement and he took the encouragement and shifted until she was on her back on the blanket and he could settle his body against hers. He groaned at the pleasure; her body soft but firm with muscles against his. Her arms went around his neck and she whispered his name against his lips and he knew she wanted this — him — as much as he wanted her.

His hand stroked down her face to her breast, so soft and warm in his hand and then she gasped and put her hand on his, pushing him away. He dropped his hand to the blanket but didn't move, couldn't move.

“Jelena,” he whispered, and then the words spilled out. “I want this. I want to touch you. I have wanted it for so long — ”

She kept her gaze on his, her eyes warm and full of longing, the same longing he felt, so why must she stop him?

She reached up and touched his check. “Then what, Michael?”

“I want to be with you,” he said. “I want you to come back home. I want to see you in the days and have you in my arms in the nights.”

She didn't say anything for a long time but he could see her blink back tears, the same tears that stung his own eyes. Then she swallowed hard and whispered, “Michael, there was a time when that was all I wanted to hear from you.”

The words splashed like cold water on his face. “There was a time?” He rolled away from her, trying to breathe but it was hard because a fist crushed his chest. “That time has passed?”

“I can't go back there. And I don't believe for a moment that you will leave.”

“They need me,” he said, though the argument wasn't as convincing to his heart as it had once been.

“You are who you are, Michael,” she said.

At the moment he wished he was someone different. “Jelena — ”

The sound of a large body crashing through the underbrush stopped his words. He jerked to a sitting position, then heard the grunting call of a wild boar. Jelena jumped to her feet, kicking one of the small logs free of the fire. She lifted it, like a torch, peering into the darkness as Michael grabbed for the broadsword next to him.

One of the wolves rushed by him, snarling, and then the crash of tough animal bodies rolling through the brush, tearing and ripping and growling. He couldn't see what was happening but knew that other wolves had joined the first.

Jelena ran forward with the torch, calling for the wolves. Michael was at her side, sword held at ready. The bloodied board snorted and charged at him, razor sharp tusks slashing upward. Michael danced out of the way, slamming the sword into the boar's side. It grunted, then wheeled and charged him again. Michael thrust the sword the moment it lifted its head, piercing its throat. The animal squealed and fell heavily, panting, then stopped breathing at all.

Michael took a deep breath and wrenched the sword free. He made sure the animal was dead, then turned to Jelena, who was on her knees, the torch burning unheeded by her leg.

She had a wolf in her arms. He didn't need to see the tears on her face, illuminated by the glow of the torch, to know the animal she held was lifeless.

He fell to his knees next to her. “Oh, Jelena,” he said. “I'm so sorry.”

“Garnet,” she whispered and buried her face in the animal's fur. Michael put an arm around her shoulders but he didn't think she noticed.

After a while, he built the campfire flames higher, and said the words he had never said for an animal before, and Jelena put Garnet on the flames, as if the animal could go beyond self and reach enlightenment, and Michael didn't say it could not.

“Why don't you go ahead? Let the sentries know that they don't need to worry about the wolves.”

Michael nodded as he stepped off the sled. He had been as quiet as she since the boar had killed Garnet last night, but she knew Michael didn't grieve the wolf.

She watched him walk towards the sentries, never looking over his shoulder at her. Last night he had revealed more to her than she'd ever dreamed and yet it was just that — a dream. She couldn't live here; not after what she'd done and who she'd become. It would destroy her. And Michael couldn't leave the tribe. All that he was had become bound up in his service to them.