Savage Satisfaction (2 page)

“You will love the skies here,” her mother whispered. There
was longing on her face. She’d often spoken of mountains and deep-green
valleys, unlike the golden hills of the Mediterranean or the black forests of
Eastern Europe Mirela knew.

“Do not worry for me.”

“I do not. You have always been more of the sky than the land.”

There was a rap on the door and Mirela’s father called out
for them to come, the cars were there.

It took the assistance of three people to get Mirela and her
huge skirt down the stairs. The innkeeper’s eyes widened when he saw the black
dress, but he didn’t say anything.

Mirela climbed into a carriage drawn by four horses and her
aunt stuffed her skirts in. The carriage started out and Mirela leaned sideways
so she could see the sky through the window.

She was not afraid. She’d been raised to know her duty. She
did not feel deprived because she would not know a man or bear children. She
did not see anything desirable in the relationship between men and women.

All she needed was the sky.

* * * * *

William stood on the gravel drive in front of the house.
There was no sound save the twittering of birds and the occasional rustle of
leaves. The servants had strict instructions to stay away from the house today.
The groundskeeper wasn’t allowed to do any gardening.

Standing there, wearing a sword older than the house,
William could easily imagine he was in a different time.

He’d wondered in his rare fanciful moments if he hadn’t been
born in the wrong era. He was ill-suited for the niceties of this world. His
silence was taken as rudeness, his desire for control as aggression and his
commanding presence as arrogance.

He was better suited for a time in which might made right
and strength of arm was valued.

Perhaps that was why he so anxiously awaited the arrival of
the falcon and the wolf.

They were a reminder of a time long gone. They would know
him, understand him, because they would have been told what his family was
capable of and, by extension, what kind of man he was.

The Hunting Pair. That was the title his family used for the
falcon and wolf each Lord of Eahrington possessed. In medieval times the
ownership of a falcon of uncommon intelligence and command of a fierce wolf had
earned the Lords of Eahrington reputations as master hunters. No one knew that
the reason the communication between hunter and beast was so good, or why the
animals seemed so intelligent was that they were not just animals.

The falcon would be a woman, as a male falcon was useless
for hunting, but the wolf could be either man or woman. His father had
possessed a female of each. Thinking about his father’s wolf brought a bad
taste to his mouth so he pushed the memory away.

The crunch of gravel broke the silence. William
straightened, resting his left hand on the handle of the sword he wore strapped
to his side. He wore jeans and a black button-down shirt. There was a knight’s
tunic in a trunk in the house that tradition dictated he should be wearing. It
had been carefully preserved and at some point reinforced with new fabric, but
William was too big for it. He had to make do with modern clothing, trusting
the sword at his side would be enough to remind the gypsies what was at stake.

A carriage rounded the last bend in the drive. There were
five carriages in all, and cars behind that. The carriages stopped in the drive
and men, women and children piled out.

They were elaborately dressed, in outfits that would at best
be described as trashy. He knew more than most about the Romany people. His
family was, after all, a patron of the Romany. At times when the prejudice
against them was strongest, the Eahrington lands had been a sanctuary.

They were a strange people, full of contradictions. The
women were chaste, guarding their virginity with a vigor that was entirely
missing from the modern world, yet he saw vast expanses of flesh bared by their
skimpy outfits.

There was a moment of discomfort as he saw a man in a suit
climb out of the most decorated of the carriages. The girl’s father. They
treated this like a marriage, and the father would have spent thousands of
pounds organizing the event—but it was not a marriage. The girl was William’s
property, not his wife.

A giant black meringue climbed from the carriage.

William blinked and blinked again, astonished by the size of
the girl’s dress. They lined up, processing up the drive to the house. Small
girls in hot-pink dresses scattered rose petals in the gravel, then moved off
to the side.

William kept his eyes on the girl, who was covered by the
large skirt and a concealing black veil.

She was so swathed in fabric he couldn’t tell anything about
her.

“My good and kind Lord Eahrington!” her father shouted,
coming to a stop.

William bowed in acknowledgement, then said, “My good
tinker, welcome to my lands, may you always find sanctuary here.”

“Thank you. You do my people a great service.”

William nodded slightly. The father opened his mouth, then
closed it and looked away. Again, William felt a pang for this man. Among his
people, girls were given away in marriage but they would never be far away. It
was rare for a child to really leave, as his daughter was about to.

“My, ahem, my Lord Eahrington. In acknowledgement of the
service your family has done mine, and in hopes that we might continue to know
your favor, I offer you a tribute.”

The man’s voice, already thick with an Eastern European
accent, grew harder to understand as emotion filled his words.

“I offer you flesh of my loins, blood of my veins. I offer
you my daughter, a beautiful woman and a fearsome flier.”

He pulled back the blusher that covered her face and William
caught his breath.

She was heart-stoppingly beautiful.

Her face was a pale oval with almond-shaped eyes fringed in
dark lashes. Her breasts swelled from above the bodice of the overly sequined
dress and her waist was so tiny he was sure he could have wrapped his hands
around it.

Her lids were lowered, hiding her eyes. The silence
stretched as William struggled to find his voice. She looked up, a question on
her face, and he was caught by her stare. Her eyes were the blue of a deep lake
and as captivating as the glitter of a sapphire.

“I-I—” he stuttered. William shook himself and looked away
from the girl. “I offer you my thanks for such a tribute. It is with pleasure I
welcome one of the Romany into my house.”

He drew his sword. He held it with the tip pointed down.
Slowly she came forward, moving away from her father. The girl was supposed to
kneel and kiss the crossbar of the sword. As she was about to kneel William
caught her elbow. A shock as sharp as if he’d licked a battery zipped through
him when his hand made contact with her bare skin.

He raised the sword, bringing it to her lips rather than
making her kneel. She smiled, a dark thing of wonder that made her eyes
glitter. She kissed the sword, then dipped her head and backed away.

The women in pink gathered around her as if they were a
flock of radioactive flamingos and escorted her back to the carriage. The men
stayed in the clearing, waiting.

He hadn’t expected to have this kind of reaction to her. His
father’s falcon had been a dark-skinned, dark-haired woman who laughed too loud
and ate too much—nothing like this beautiful girl.

One of the women ran up to the girl’s father and whispered
in his ear. He nodded.

He approached William, who shook himself to return his
attention to the present.

“My Lord Eahrington, enjoy your gift and remember the
Romany.” He handed William a thick leather glove. William slipped it on. The
inside had been lined with sheepskin, the leather beautifully tooled with
patterns of the cosmos.

William nodded.

The girl’s father stood there for a moment, poised as if he
would say something more, but he didn’t.

Instead he motioned for one of the other men to bring
forward a trunk, which was set at William’s feet.

The Romany were all looking to the sky. William tipped his
head back, knowing what was to come but excited nonetheless.

She appeared from among the tops of the trees. She was sleek
and beautiful, darting through the sky effortlessly.

The falcon rose high into the air until she was no more than
a speck, then dove, wings drawn in slightly to increase her speed.

With his heart in his throat, William held out his arm. He
had eyes for nothing but the peregrine descending from the heavens. The falcon
dipped so low he worried for a moment she would hit the gravel, but she pulled
up, wings spread to break her progress, and landed with a heavy thump on
William’s outstretched wrist.

The falcon turned wide, round eyes on him, regarding him
with an intelligence that could be mistaken for nothing but human.

Tentatively he stroked her back, whistling softly. The falcon
dipped its head.

He’d imagined this moment for so long, yet his imaginings
were nothing compared to the wonder he now felt.

When he looked away from the falcon the drive was empty, the
Romany gone.

The falcon too looked around the empty driveway. Her beak
parted, wings lifting but she did not fly away.

William opened his mouth to say something to her but
realized he didn’t know her name. He looked at the trunk at his feet and
wondered what it carried. Carefully balancing her, he knelt and flipped it
open. Jeans, shirts, makeup, a brush, underwear. Blushing, he quickly shut it
and stood.

The falcon was watching him. He could see the shadow of cool
blue eyes in her black stare.

Perhaps his grandfather had been wrong. Perhaps there was no
need to treat his Hunting Pair like animals. William’s carefully laid plans for
dealing with the falcon and wolf were fading under the enchantment woven by the
beautiful falcon-woman.

Her head turned, cocked to the side. Her wings spread, one
slapping against William’s face as she took flight. He fell back a step, hand
on his cheek. The falcon pulled a tight circle around his head, then flew to
the house. She landed awkwardly on a window ledge, looked back at him and then
took flight. Again she circled him and flew back to the house.

William didn’t understand she was warning him until he heard
the growl. By instinct he reached for the sword in the scabbard at his side,
but he didn’t free it in time.

The wolf’s leaping attack knocked him down, trapping his
sword arm across his body. It snarled, teeth inches from his face.

The snarl stopped, the wolf’s tongue lolled from its mouth.
William’s heart was beating so loud he could hear it. The wolf licked his
cheek.

“Ugh,” William said.

It made an odd chuffing noise, then casually got off
William. Was the wolf laughing at him?

The wolf loped away, around the back of the house toward the
forest. William stood and lifted his hand. The falcon, who’d been circling the
drive, settled on his wrist, head bobbing.

“It appears my other tribute has arrived,” he told the
falcon, “with much less ceremony than you received.”

She cocked her head and William wondered if she could
understand. Falcon hearing was different, more precise, than that of humans.
His grandfather had told him that neither the falcon nor the wolf could
understand the words of humans when they were animals, but that they could read
lips.

William considered saying it again, more slowly, but decided
to wait.

A blond man, tall and lean with arms roped in muscle and a
quicksilver smile, appeared from the forest. He carried a duffle bag and a
leather coat.

With a mocking smile, he dropped the bag and bowed.

“From your, ah, furry friends,” he said in a deep Norwegian
accent. “Don’t let the bad men shoot us, and in exchange you get me.”

He couldn’t be more than twenty-five, and looked younger
when he grinned and swept his long, blond hair back from his pale face. So this
was the wolf.

The werewolf cocked his head and looked William up and down
in a decidedly lustful manner.

Wonderful
, William thought sourly.

The man leaned toward the falcon, taking a deep breath. His
pupils dilated briefly and he snapped at the bird, who jerked back, nearly
falling from her perch on William’s arm. Her talons dug into his arm, painfully
pinching his flesh through the glove. He reached for her with his other hand
and the falcon snapped at him, her sharp beak gouging a piece from his arm.

“Stop,” William barked, tone reverberating with command.

Perhaps his grandfather had been right. For all they could
look human these two were animals. The soft feelings that had blossomed when
he’d seen the girl were ruthlessly uprooted.

These creatures were his property—nothing more.

“You will return to human,” he told the falcon. He lifted
his arm and she flew into the sky, disappearing into the trees that lined the
drive.

“You are the wolf,” he said to the blond man.

“Christoffer, my lord.” He bowed mockingly.

William would teach the boy to respect him. He blotted at
his bleeding arm with a handkerchief. Christoffer grabbed his arm and began to
lick the wound. William pulled his arm away.
Disgusting.

Christoffer laughed.

William’s teeth clenched in mounting anger. The situation
was slipping from his control and he would not have it.

There was a rustle and William and Christoffer both looked
to the trees. The girl, completely naked, tentatively stepped onto the gravel.

Her hair hung to her waist. She’d pulled it forward to cover
her breasts and had one hand spread over the apex of her thighs. Her gaze was
lowered, a painful-looking blush covering her cheeks.

William took a step forward, intending to go to her, but
Christoffer loped over to the girl. She shied away, her hair falling away to
reveal one pert breast. William ran over. He grabbed Christoffer, pulling him
away from the girl. He was surprised at the younger man’s strength, as he
wrapped his arms around Christoffer’s chest and struggled to hold him.

“Dress,” he barked at the girl. She winced as she made her
way across the gravel to the trunk. William released Christoffer.

“She smells good.” Christoffer leaned in to William’s
shoulder and sniffed, then pulled back sharply, his eyes wide in surprise. “You
smell…” He shook his head and said something in what William assumed was
Norwegian.

“You will speak English from now on,” William said tersely,
tugging the hem of his shirt. Christoffer smiled, showing his teeth.

William turned his back on the boy, though his shoulders
prickled. Instinct bade him keep the wolf in his sights, prevent a sneak
attack, but he knew better than to show that he was rattled.

The girl was now clothed in a pair of low-riding jeans and a
tight shirt made of some fuzzy fabric in a horrid lime-green color. Travelers
were not known for their modesty or good taste, for all their “purity laws”.

“My God, what is she wearing?” Christoffer propped his elbow
on William’s shoulder.

William pushed his arm away. “She’s Romany,” he said,
knowing it wasn’t really an explanation.

“
Sigøyner
?” Christoffer barked out a laugh. “She’s a
gypsy. No wonder she dresses like a Czech hooker.”

“You’ll show her respect,” William commanded, feeling protective
of the girl. Christoffer raised his brows and, for a moment, William doubted
himself. Had he shown weakness by defending her? No. She was his property, just
as Christoffer was, and he would have to teach Christoffer to respect her
because of that.

Christoffer snorted and wandered away to pick up his duffle
bag. William moved to the girl, whose head was bent, her hair falling around
her face. She was still blushing. Christoffer walked up and she lifted her
head.

“You will watch your words,” she said, voice tight.
Christoffer’s eyebrows rose in surprise.

“The little bird is angry with me,” Christoffer said to
William, rolling his eyes. He grinned and turned to the house, dismissing her.

“You cannot run faster than I fly. You cannot weave through
trees quick enough to protect your eyes from my claws. I am Kalo and you will
respect me, you filthy, butt-licking dog.”

Her eyes sparkled, her chest rose and fell with each panting
breath and William realized her face was tinged pink with anger, not embarrassment.
Christoffer’s mocking façade slipping for a moment. His shoulders hunched
forward, his knees bent and his eyes narrowed. The laughter was gone and what
remained was a predator. The girl’s fingers curled into claws.

Animals. They were animals.

It was time to assert himself. The girl’s beauty and
Christoffer’s unconventional arrival had thrown him, but no more. He was
William Fitzwilliam, Lord of Eahrington.

William grabbed Christoffer by the back of the neck and
forced him down. Christoffer fell to his knees, his shoulders tense. He reached
back to push William’s hands away but William transferred his hold to
Christoffer’s hair, forcing the boy’s head to bend and exposing his neck.
Tension radiated off the werewolf and William stepped closer, looming over him.
He pushed away fear, knowing the wolf would be able to scent it.

You are mine. I am your master
, he chanted to
himself, exuding dominant energy.

Christoffer relaxed, his body going limp and his head
falling forward, further exposing his neck. William grinned in savage
satisfaction. He turned his attention to the girl.

“You will not harm him,” William told her, his hand still
fisted in Christoffer’s hair. “He is my property—as you are, and to harm him
would be to disrespect me.”

The girl immediately nodded her understanding. She moved to
William’s side and dropped to her knees, leaning into his leg.

William placed his free hand on her head. Her hair was
wondrously soft.

As he looked down at the creatures that knelt at his feet, satisfaction
such as he’d never known swelled within him. He was powerful, strong. He was
complete now.

The Hunting Pair had arrived.

Christoffer stared at the gravel of the drive, heart
pounding. This man was not what he’d expected. He’d imagined the lord would be
commanding—he was rich and landed, which always came with some authority—but he
had not expected real dominance. When the lord had forced him to his knees,
forced him to expose his neck, Christoffer had slipped easily and quickly into
the submissive role.

The lord was Alpha, the way Christoffer’s own father was.
The minute Christoffer had felt and scented that dominance he’d had no choice
but to obey. His veins hummed with calm expectation. Calm because a leader was
there, and a leader meant guidance, security. Expectation because Christoffer
must be ready to obey the Alpha at any moment.

The calm and expectation were the properties of the wolf.
The human side of him was shivering in fear. This man was not what he’d
expected, not what he wanted. He wanted someone soft and pathetic, someone he
could push and goad by being outrageous so that when he left, betraying the
agreement between the lord and the wolves, the lord would not seek retaliation.
He’d agreed to be the tribute, but he had no intention of truly giving his life
away.

Panic, creeping as the forest’s shadows, stole into
Christoffer’s heart.

With a sigh of pleasure, Mirela leaned against the man’s
leg. He was a strong man—that was good. He could control the wolf, which
lessened her fear. She did not know much of or like people who were not Romany,
and the lord seemed different than other regular people, easier for her to
understand.

She was not without worry. She’d seen the blood dripping
from his arm where she’d caught him with her beak, but it had been an accident.
Perched on his arm, if she fell she would not be able to spread her wings fast
enough to take flight, and a fall to the ground could mean a damaged wing,
which she could not bear.

She was glad he’d taken control of the situation with the
wolf, who was a very strange person. There was no great quarrel between wolves
and falcons, as they were both master predators of their respective niches, but
there was no doubt that while on the ground the wolf was the more powerful.

She would protect herself if needed by taking to the sky,
but she would much prefer that the lord control him. She dismissed the wolf
from her mind. Her only concern was the lord. She would have to train him to
hunt properly with a falcon, as she did not want an inept handler, but other than
that she would have very little to do with either the man or the wolf. Her home
was the sky.

“Rise,” William said, taking his hands from their heads.
They climbed to their feet, the girl standing straight, calmly meeting his
gaze, the boy keeping his face averted. The situation, which had briefly gone
awry, was back under his control. He could now follow the plan he’d spent
months crafting and outlining.

“First I will allow you to eat. Then I will show you to your
quarters. Follow me.”

He pushed between them and started toward the house. Halfway
there, he still hadn’t heard footsteps. He turned. The falcon was struggling to
lift her trunk, the wolf watched with a smirk.

“Leave that,” he barked. “And you, leave your bag. You won’t
need it.”

The wolf narrowed his eyes but slowly lowered the bag from
his shoulder. The falcon immediately started forward and her compliance was
deeply satisfying. William passed through the opening in the front wing, their
footsteps moving from the crunch of gravel to the muted slap of stone. He
opened the door, leading them into the foyer.

“Very English,” Christoffer said. William ignored the insult
in the tone. The falcon was looking around with an appropriate level of awe. She
stepped toward a tapestry. It was nearly five hundred years old and incredibly
fragile.

“Don’t touch that—” His teeth snapped closed as he realized
that he didn’t even know the falcon’s name. It was better that he think of and
refer to them as animals, but a name was most likely necessary.

“What is your name?” he asked the falcon, who whirled away
from the hanging.

She fisted her hands behind her back and murmured something.

“What was that?”

“Mirela, my lord. Mirela Cooper.”

“Mirela, thank you.” He couldn’t pronounce it in the rolling
way she did, so clipped off the syllables. “Follow me this way, please.”

Christoffer, who was halfway up the stairs, though William
hadn’t heard him move, bounded down the steps, landing with bended knees. “So
does this place come with a formal dining room, morning room, a sun parlor?” He
chuckled at his own joke.

“The house is outfitted in a manor becoming the Earldom,”
William said. He led the falcon and wolf not to the dining room, but to the
kitchen. The large room was outfitted with a butcher-block table and benches.
The kitchen appliances were state of the art, and had been paid for by a movie
company that had used his home for the setting of a film about a chef who
retires to the country to raise his child. William had never seen the film, but
his housekeeper and chef had been delighted at the improvements.