Volle (23 page)

Volle ruffled his fingers through the wolf’s fur, enjoying the softness and the scents, the herbal aroma mixed with the scents of passion. He nuzzled Richy’s ears and smiled, enjoying the warm closeness and the silence. So much of his life, in the palace and the Academy, was about keeping up appearances with words and clothes, or hiding sex behind layers of etiquette and propriety. He understood the need for it, but also appreciated the chance to step back from it and just be a fox, in a bed with a wolf, neither of them worried about status or what would happen in the morning or anything other than the other’s pleasure.

Part of his training as a spy had been the subversion of his identity, the assumption of traits that others expected of him. He was used to the idea, knew how to keep himself separate from the persona he played, while at the same time putting enough of himself into it that it was easy to maintain. Over the long term, especially, it was necessary to minimize the role-playing, because that could easily burn out even the most well-trained spy. It was exhausting work, and here in the brothel he could forget about it as he had never been able to before, not since he’d entered the Academy.

He hadn’t been in the habit of frequenting the brothels in Caril, no matter what the others thought; he couldn’t afford it and couldn’t see why he should when with a little effort, he could get anything he wanted in the pubs. Those encounters had carried with them some concerns, as liberating as they’d felt. Here—as long as he was paying, of course—he didn’t have to worry. Richy would be here whenever he wanted him.

On four nights out of the week, anyway. Where was he the other nights? Didn’t matter. He’d be here, and Volle could escape once a week, to a place where he didn’t have to be a Lord, didn’t have to be a spy, didn’t have to be anything but a fox.

Book 2: Xiller

Chapter 10

His life over the next two weeks continued the routine he was building up. He spent time with Arrin in the conservatory and at dinner, and on his new loveseat, they progressed to deeper kisses and gentle explorations under clothes. He’d been embarrassed when Arrin asked to see his bedroom and the latest P. Zinsky book he’d borrowed (“The Slippery Slope,” whose cover showed an otter lying on his back, tail hole exposed) was sitting right out there in the open. Arrin had just laughed and said, “I like “A Brush With Love” best, don’t you?” and then it was okay.

Ilyanna visited for another dinner with Tish and Tika, and they spent the entire dinner discussing her cotillion. Volle hadn’t known quite what the event would entail, but he had gathered that it would be a dance of some sort, and that it marked an entry into society for Ilyanna. By the end of the evening, he was dazed from the discussion of invitations, manners, catering, flowers, music, venues, and dance steps. Tish took him aside and gave him some words of advice: “You only need to know three things: how to eat, how to dance, and how to hand over far too much money. And Tika and I are taking care of that last part.” Volle had protested that he had plenty of money, but Tish had overruled him. “We’re getting you into this, the least we can do is pay for it.”

Which was fine with him. He had pondered many different ways of getting out of the engagement, as he’d found himself increasingly unwilling to reject Ilyana. She was too nice, and the only flaw he could find in her was that she was too honest, but rejecting her on those grounds would mean a parade of dissembling vixens, a thought that made him shudder. His best option, he thought, was to get her to reject him somehow, and though he hadn’t quite worked out how to do that yet, he felt certain he could behave badly enough if the situation warranted. The meeting with her parents was arranged, which would be his first opportunity—if they didn’t like him, the courtship was off. He began to practice rude comments in his spare time.

The Secretary sent word that some of the requests the governor of Vinton had made were in the process of being addressed—meaning, he was told, that in a couple weeks someone would be hired to begin the process of putting together a team to make the changes, but at least the process was moving. At least the king had sent some of the weapons they’d requested. He sat down with Lord Black and hammered out an agreement, and ended up inviting the raccoon to the pub with Helfer, where the two of them made a start towards rekindling their friendship. Everyone had a good time, even though Black kept getting propositioned, which annoyed him and Helfer both; the former because he didn’t want to be bothered, and the latter because he did.

He and Helfer ran every day, had dinner several times, had clothes made at Helfer’s tailor, and visited the pub together. And once a week they went down to the Jackal’s Staff, and Volle lost himself in the arms of the young, sexy wolf. After the slip with Jonas, he’d decided it was better not to see him again, and anyway, Richy was delightful enough that he didn’t miss the cougar.

At the second meeting with his team, when he still had nothing concrete to report, Sherr browbeat him into letting Tella into the palace via the secret entrance, over Volle’s objections that it could compromise him, the passage, and the whole team. They arranged a time the previous Gaiaday; Volle was to let her in immediately before the church services, when the palace would be empty, and she was to finish and get back out before services ended. Sherr also insisted that he start using more anti-Ferrenis rhetoric when he talked to other lords, and this Volle found reasonable, and agreed to.

Apart from his nervous twitches during Tella’s mission, Volle thought everything was going well. Tella hadn’t found anything new for him to investigate, so he didn’t feel like he was missing anything. His mission and life were progressing smoothly, and everyone seemed to think he was doing a good job, even if he hadn’t uncovered anything yet. He had begun to think that the palace held no more surprises for him.

As a trained spy, he should have known better.

The Ursiday after that meeting, while he and Helfer were preparing for their run, he saw Dereath lurking in the main hall. The rat vanished quickly into a corridor, but Volle was sure it had been Dereath. He hadn’t seen the rat in two weeks and had hoped the rat had forgotten him. Helfer and Lord Black had joked about him at the pub, but Volle hadn’t joined in. He was not inclined to discount a potential enemy nor the damage one could do.

Now, he felt uneasy again as they jogged down the main steps, but he didn’t want to let on to Helfer, who was chattering about an upcoming banquet. He nodded and made short replies, trying to put Dereath out of his mind. It didn’t help that the last of the flowers had died the previous week. Several of the trees and bushes in the garden were glowing a fiery red or a bright yellow, and the muted blues and violets of several shrubs were more visible now that the flowers were gone. But overall the garden looked darker and more sinister, and the gardeners had not removed all the dead flowers. They seemed out of place in the lively garden. Volle tried to avoid looking at them.

Helfer looked at him oddly as they were making their way through the section of the palace that separated the front gardens from the first rear garden. “Are you okay? You’ve been in another world since we started.”

“I’m fine. Just…” He hesitated to mention Dereath, because Helfer didn’t take the rat seriously. “Just thinking about the cotillion.”

“Oh, that. Don’t get so wound up about it. You’ll do fine. Besides, everybody will be looking at her, not at you.”

“I’ll be dancing with her all night,” Volle pointed out, “so they’ll be looking at me as well.”

The rear garden’s familiar emptiness seemed more ominous to Volle today. It was chillier than the front garden, as the path ran through the shadow of the palace. He felt his fur prickle, and lifted his nose to the wind, but the only scent he could catch was Helfer’s strong musteline smell. The bushes rustled slightly in the shifting breezes, making his ears swivel back and forth. He glanced at the palace windows to his right, and thought he saw a shadow move across one of them, but when he looked again, it was gone.

His sense of unease grew, but he was still reluctant to mention anything to Helfer; the weasel would laugh at him for jumping at shadows. So he kept running, ears alert, scanning the garden while Helfer talked about the ladies his governor was lining up for him at home.

They rounded a corner, and Volle’s whiskers twitched a half-second before a large shape leapt out from behind a large bush, not two yards in front of them. They froze, startled, and the shape closed the space in a heartbeat. A large paw lashed out at Helfer, who spun and ran.

Volle’s fur was bristled out and he had just enough time to register the shape as a large cougar before it was on him, knocking him down and landing heavily on top of him. Dizzy, breathless, he felt its paws pin his arms and its weight slam his hips to the dirt path. He had snapped his muzzle downward to protect his throat, and now he could hear its low growl and feel the hot breath on his whiskers. He struggled, but the feline only shifted his weight, pinning Volle more firmly as his muzzle sought purchase in Volle’s throat.

Volle squeezed his eyes shut and whimpered, trying to remember his unarmed combat training. Most of it, unfortunately, was devoted to avoiding precisely the position he now found himself in. He tried squirming out from under the heavier body, but the legs spread out to either side of his and pinned him in. The teeth were searching at his throat, but so far he was able to keep them away. The one thing he remembered was that as a canid, his long muzzle was vulnerable in this situation: an enemy could get his jaws around it and bite down, which would essentially end the fight. So he kept his muzzle moving quickly, alert for the first attempt to bite it.

The cougar was so heavy that he was having trouble breathing, even as he squirmed. And he couldn’t help noticing that the cougar was very male, and very excited. What made it worse is that Volle himself was getting aroused, though he certainly wasn’t thinking about sex. But the cougar’s scent was strong and feline, and his body was strong and taut, and his breath was hot and musky and passing right over Volle’s nose.

Gradually, he realized that the cougar wasn’t trying very hard to bite him. In fact, the growls sounded like chuckles. Warily, he stopped moving his muzzle and opened his eyes. The cougar placed his muzzle gently around Volle’s throat, just enough for Volle to feel his teeth, and then looked up, hazel green eyes bright.

“Scared ya, huh?”

Volle wheezed out, “Who
are
you?”

“Get away from him!”

It was Helfer’s voice, and when Volle turned his head he saw the weasel in an aggressive stance, waving a large stick of wood he’d picked up somewhere. “I said get off!
Now
!”

The cougar shifted his weight, and before Volle could cry out a warning, had launched himself at Helfer. A moment later the stick of wood was lying on the path and Helfer was holding one paw in the other, dazed. The cougar growled softly at him. “I’m off. Now what?”

“It’s okay, Hef,” Volle called, sitting up slowly. “He’s just trying to scare us.”

The feline face looked back at him with a grin that had some savagery to it. “I was only trying to scare
you
,” he said, and turned back to Helfer.

The weasel took a step back, looking much less sure of himself now that he had no stick and Volle wasn’t in danger. But Volle could see the twitching of the cougar’s tail; it wasn’t lashing in a hunting mode, it was twitching with excitement and amusement. The cougar himself, now that Volle could get a good look at him, was taller than he was, and kept his fur trimmed shorter than Jonas did. Volle could see the tight thigh muscles below the line of the supple leather armor he was wearing; they rippled beneath the fur, flexing as he shifted his weight back and forth, staying alert. His chest was armored, with flaps running across his shoulders but not around them, giving him more flexibility at the expense of some protection, and the way he was keeping his arms moving and ready suggested he knew how to use them.

This evaluation was done in a second; Volle twisted, reached up, and grabbed the lashing tail, kicking out wildly at the cougar’s legs. He clipped the edge of one of the leather knee braces the cougar wore. It wasn’t enough to knock him down, but it did throw him off balance, and Helfer took advantage of the moment to charge at the cougar’s midsection. That did knock him backwards, onto Volle’s legs, and for a moment they thrashed around, a frenetic tangle of fox, cat, and weasel.

Volle was struggling to get his legs free, keeping hold of the cougar’s tail, while the cougar was trying to contain the squirming weasel. The idea of calling for help in the deserted gardens hadn’t occurred to Volle at all, and apparently it only occurred to Helfer when the cougar’s huge arm clamped across his chest, pinning him to the chest of the prone cat.

“Help!” he shouted. “Help!”

The cougar’s other arm was grabbing at Volle’s legs. It paused for a moment, the cougar’s weight shifted, and he growled, “Stop.”

Helfer stopped.

Volle didn’t know what had happened, but he was almost free. He pushed a bit harder, holding onto the tail with one paw and batting away the cougar’s with his other, and then the paw slid up his leg, under his skirt, and closed on his sheath and sac. “You too,” the cougar growled.

Volle gulped, and stopped immediately. The paw was soft, no claws extended, but the threat was there. It was huge, too, easily enfolding his privates, and was not squeezing nearly as hard as he was sure it could.

“First rule of fighting is to protect your valuables,” the cougar growled softly.

“We didn’t come out here to fight,” Helfer said, panting.

“You should still protect yourselves better.” The paw was starting to move on Volle, and his sheath was responding no matter how much he willed it not to. Looking up, he could see Helfer’s skirt lifted and movement under it.

“Hey,” Helfer started struggling again weakly. “We’re out here in the open…you can’t…”

“Oh, but I am,” the cat purred. “Nothing quite as relaxing after a nice tussle, wouldn’t you say? Besides, there’s nobody else out here. And you don’t seem to mind.”

“I…” Helfer twisted his neck around to look at Volle, and their eyes met.

Volle gave a small shrug, eyes wide. “I don’t understand either, Hef, but I’m sure not moving while he’s got his paw…oh, there…” He panted as the large, soft paw slid along his fully erect member.

Helfer’s eyes slid down and Volle realized the weasel could see up his skirt, but he didn’t care. He let go of the cougar’s tail and lay back, submitting to the caresses, which were now moving more quickly. The paw slid back and forth along his length, and through his own pants he could hear Helfer making small chirps of pleasure. The stroking continued until Volle was panting and his claws were pressed into the dirt of the path.

“Nice to see you both so cooperative,” the cougar murmured. “I wonder which will be faster. My, you’re a squirmy little thing.” This was to Helfer, who was having some difficulty keeping still on the cat’s chest. “Do you want me to stop?”

Volle thought he wasn’t quite so far gone that he couldn’t have said yes to that, but Helfer moaned, “No…” A few moments later, he was curling up around the cat’s paw and moaning loudly into his own paws, trying to muffle his cries. Even from his prone position, Volle could see the lithe body’s twists and turns as he came, and then lay back panting. The strong scent of weasel floated to him on the air, and he thought, that’s just what I’d expect him to smell like after sex.