Chapter 20 Ditch
Ditch
The Mount of No Swords
The werewolf king stared at her appearance, jaw slackened, until he finally clawed his way back to speech. “What”—a heaving breath—“the”—another—“fuck?”
Ditch glanced down at her wardrobe choice, or lack of one.
“In your invitation to meet, you didn’t specify attire, so I wasn’t sure how to dress.
Awash with doubt, I chose not to.” She wore only a black thong and knee-high boots.
Her long hair lay loose, veiling her breasts—at least until the next breeze combed it aside.
“It’s very liberating. Less fun for sitting.
That boulder over there looks like a fine perch, but it will give my ass and tail a crease no female can pull off.
” To herself, she muttered, “Ass creases—the bane of the nudist.”
“What are you bloody playing at?” He choked out the words. “Do you mean to tempt me beyond reason?”
Scandalized, she pressed a hand to her chest. “King Thane! Are you flirting with me??”
Scowl. “Why do this?”
“Because audacity is everything.” Why did everyone always assume she would play by rules she didn’t create in the first place?
Such as clothing choices for a political meeting.
“Everything.” She spread her arms to the night sky.
The Mount of No Swords was all light breezes and white stone this eve.
No black fog in sight. “I didn’t have to meet with you, so the words you’re looking for are ‘All my abject gratitude, generous Wiccan.’”
He paced, tension packed into every step, like a trapped wolf testing the hold of a spring snare. His self-control was iron…but fraying. No choice but to chew your own leg off, Lykae.
She must tick all his boxes. To be fair, he ticked her box as well. His big erection strained against his leather breeches, drawing her gaze like prey.
“You’re either here to fuck me,” he said, deep burr thickening, “or to fuck with me.”
Yes. She meant to keep him unsettled. “I’m clearly here for constructive dialogue. Hark my opening salvo.” She snapped the top of her thong with a satisfying thwap.
He faced her then with his jaw ticking and nostrils flared, and his attention dipped to her body once more.
As if he’d willed it, a breeze lifted her pale hair, teasing locks over her breasts; a red nipple flashed through the strands, tightening at the cold. “Oh, how that tickles,” she said conversationally.
He made a sound—part growl, part prayer.
“You did say you’d surrender after one fuck.” She cast him her come-hither grin. “What a way to go down, wolf. Just abdicate your kingdom’s rule to me…”
Gnashing his teeth, he crossed the distance to her in three strides—not pouncing (a pity; her horns and tail were poisonous) but shrugging off his long leather coat to drape over her shoulders.
Heat pooled around her as his scent swept her up. She wasn’t the only one with tricks up her sleeves. His innate scent—pine, sandalwood, and aggression—was like an arousal elixir.
Still, she hadn’t planned on being fully clothed. She’d wanted to test how this brute would react without the confines of civility. “Thanks, but I’ll decline—”
He caught her chin. Not hard. Firm. Searing attraction ricocheted between them as sharp as a dagger and just as dangerous. “Take off that coat,” he said low, “and I’ll turn you over that boulder and give us both what we need.”
Tempting.
“Otherwise,” he went on, easing back, “keep it on so I can voice a proposal. The reason I called this meeting.”
Curiosity won, just as it had when he’d sent his invitation outside the factions’ normal communication channels.
Did no one else know he was here? What could she do with this unexpected opportunity?
“Very well. I’ll keep the coat on. For now.
So tell me what you propose…” She trailed off just as he cocked his head.
“Do you sense something?” His eyes narrowed toward the ridgeline.
“A wave of…energy,” she murmured, listening. The mountain’s ancient warding hummed, yet this was more. A mystical force swirled like weather, but she couldn’t define it.
Since she’d arrived in the Skein, she’d had an awareness of inexplicable things here.
She suspected this place only acted straightforward.
Her home world of Akelarre could entice one to her doom; Ditch believed the Skein concealed its own hidden threats.
“With my powers muted, I can’t pin the origin. ”
Thane’s hand twisted toward his lean hip, a warrior’s reflex for a sword that had been forbidden. “Could you undo the Mount’s dampening spell?”
“It’s very old, and it warns away from any tampering.” Which dared her to tamper. Like her tail, Ditch was fundamentally unruly.
“Evil?”
“Not all magic is evil.” She laughed. “Can you perceive the spell all around us as well?”
Curt nod. “I doona like it. Find it disturbing.”
“You wolves, magic always puts your fur up.”
Instead of denying that, he glanced up at the swelling moon, its silvery light dusting the contours of his rugged face. Chiseled lips, stubborn jaw. Beams reflected in his intense gray eyes.
King Thane of Craigdúr really was magnificent.
After a taut moment, he relaxed and faced her once more. “I scent no threat nearby,” he said at last.
“Good. At least you retain some talents here.”
“Tell me about your powers. They must be great if you were sent here to conquer the Skein.”
“You’ll discover my powers in time. Besides, I only admitted to continuing our war. I haven’t said a word about taking over this entire realm.” Would immortals look upon my true face and tremble?
“You dinna need to say it,” he pointed out.
“The Accession brews. Resources are finite. A new high priestess makes a hostile takeover. You’re here for nothing less than everything.
I might be the only force in your way, unless the Red Riders doona favor you.
How is your power base in the Witchwood? ”
“Secure enough,” she lied. The Riders were actively trying to undermine her. Their secret cattle raid had been clever—until Valkyries had arrived like an avalanche.
Still, Rosewyn the Banehand was young and growing in power. Though she possessed the ability of only one caste, her war magic was concentrated. Experience would catapult her strength into the heavens. “I’m not going anywhere, wolf.”
“Did Lazara no’ think the same?” he asked mildly. “Seems it’s eat or be eaten among your kind. Mayhap those Riders stole our cattle to undermine you.”
Just so. He saw much. “There was a cattle theft?” She bit her knuckle. “How horrible.”
His lips thinned.
Maybe that run-in with the Valkyries had been orchestrated too, another obstacle laid in Ditch’s path.
Even now, something was brewing among the shield-maidens; she felt it as she looked toward Valhalland, past the icy fjords below this mountain and into the greener heartland beyond.
An electrical storm of emotion seemed to course across the entire territory.
“If the Riders are against me,” she said, “you could join them and try to topple me.”
He blew out a breath, then admitted, “Should I stand with any witch, it would be you.”
His gruff words charmed her. “Why? Because of your lust for me?” She preened, her tail doing a pleased little S-curve.
“The lust is mutual,” he said without shame. “And alliances have been struck for worse reasons.”
Fair point. She inclined her head.
“We war because of scarcity, do we no’?”
“Debatable. Some of us just enjoy violence.”
He frowned. “If we combined forces, we could take other factions’ resources. Any…need for violence could also be sated.”
She laughed again. “Do you think I haven’t gotten the lay of the lands in my new home?” She’d quizzed Meera during every spare moment between training sessions. Ditch had instituted brutal regimens meant to turn novice witches—regardless of caste—into efficient killers.
Meera, as frustratingly benign as she was, knew a lot about the geopolitical realities of the Skein.
Ditch said, “The Lykae run with Berserkers, drink with demonarchies, and court Valkyries. The Fey are your friends and game managers. Tell me, which ally will you betray first? Or perhaps you think the vampires’ territory, with its swamps and storms, can sustain everyone? ”
“Your coven and my pack could hunt the Helter together,” he said. “I plan to scout it soon. It’s rumored to teem with game.”
“It teems with monsters,” she added sweetly. “Contagious ones. Do you really want to go tweak the noses of the undead? Maybe they’d follow us back?”
“Across the Firis? No’ likely.” That lava river made a fiery moat. “If the Helter does no’ tempt your coven, then we should work together to manage crops and livestock.”
“Yes. Food is important.” But she also had to worry about magic resources.
“For some of us more than others,” he said. “You witches can flee to Akelarre. Lykae have no world to return to.”
“Travel to Akelarre takes an obscene outlay of magic, so we aren’t going anywhere. This is good land,” she said, holding his gaze, though the truth was more complicated.
The House of Witches’ entire society ran on magic. No magic, no witches. Yet in Akelarre, it was a stripped gear, power ground to filings.
The Skein had been green with it. Some elder witches whispered the interacting of species made the light flow—that the Skein’s tapestry between beings was magic.
Yet it was declining too, and no one knew why.
“So we both know the stakes,” he said with a nod, as if they had made progress. “War will hurt us both and blight this good land. We need cooperation.”
Or a supreme ruler to govern this place. Instead, she said, “Cooperation sounds fascinating. Meet me off this mountain, wolf, and I’ll consider your proposition.”
He exhaled. “No, you will no’.”
She chuckled. “No, I will not.”
When he frowned again, she decided he had nice brows—darker than the thick hair on his head, slashing over those heavy-lidded eyes.
“Are you always so dishonest? Was anything you said the other night true?”
“I mean, the possibility exists,” she said. “What do you think?”