By the fourth day, she was desperate enough to ask her father if he had seen the soldiers.
“They’ve gone hunting,” he replied.
She should have considered that possibility. Still . . . “Aren’t wolves very good at the hunt? I would not have thought he would be gone this long.”
“It depends on the prey they are hunting.” When her father did not follow up that statement with a diatribe about how the Faol hunted the Éan, Una was both confused and surprised.
The fifth day showed no more sign of the men’s return than the first. She returned to her home in the trees quite late, hoping if she stayed in the village with her parents, she might be there when the men returned from their hunt.
But her mother sent her home after the sun had set, saying she and her father were old people and needed their rest.
Una barely noted her father’s umbrage at once again being called old, and flew up to her home in the treetops, determined to seek out her prince the next day and ask him the whereabouts of the two soldiers.
Surely it was his responsibility to know, as he was beholden for their behavior while among the Éan.
She readied herself for bed, brushing out her hair with desultory movements, holding little hope that tonight would see her on another sojourn to the spirit realm.
A sound like claws scratching on the floor came from the other room and Una froze in her movements. While the noise could not possibly be what her senses were telling her it was, it was definitively not the sound of branches rustling in the wind, either.
She knew each nuance of that music with great mastery, as she’d spent her entire life hearing it.
The candle beside her bed cast the room in which she slept in dim golden light, but there was no mistaking the shape of the shadow in the doorway.
Wolf.
She dropped the brush in shock . . . but not fear. She’d been so certain if she ever saw his other form, she’d be terrified out of her mind.
But in that moment, Una realized it was not the wolf that she feared. It was the evil in men’s hearts that would allow them to do to her what the ones who had caught her had done.
He whined at her, like asking for permission to enter.
She took a deep breath and letting it out, patted the spot on the furs beside her. “They were not wolves when they hurt me.”
She knew she sounded like she’d just made that realization, but then again . . . she had. All this time, she’d been so afraid. Of the Faol that hunted her people. Of the warriors in her own tribe. Of men.
But she had no reason to fear the wolf.
She knew it in her deepest being.
He crept forward slowly, as if not to scare her. She waited with held breath for him to come closer.
He settled on the furs beside her and she let the breath out in a long sigh. “My eagle is certain you are my protector.”
He nodded his canine head and then nuzzled into her lap.
She reached down with tentative fingers and brushed them through the soft wolf’s pelt. “You are a beautiful creature.”
They had no need for words, for she could see the satisfaction her words gave Bryant and his wolf.
“I was afraid to see you like this, but nothing about your wolf frightens me.”
He made a chuffing noise and nuzzled her again, more forcefully, nearly knocking her backward.
She found herself giggling, a sound she hadn’t heard from herself in so long, it momentarily stunned her into immobility.
He shifted so his head rubbed into her neck and she giggled again. Stars above.
But she was ticklish.
“I forgot,” she whispered into his ruff.
He made a whining sound of question.
“That I am ticklish.”
That chuffing sound came again and then he was rubbing the other side of her neck and finally she knew what he was doing.
“You are scenting me.”
It was not as if he could answer in his current form, but his ministrations increased, his wolf rubbing against every bit of exposed skin she had.
Her neck, her face, her hands, her feet and then he was trying to nose under her shift.
She jumped back. “Stop. What are you doing?”
He made a whining sound again, this time more plaintive.
“I will not take off my shift,” she assured the wolf.
He took hold of the hem in his teeth and tugged, his intent clear.
“Stop that. You are going to rip it.”
The wolf did not appear to care, pulling harder on the fabric.
“You are too forward,” she accused and then realized how ridiculous she sounded.
Telling a wolf, of all things, it was too forward.
Oh, she knew that like other Chrechte, Bryant was fully cognizant as a wolf. But she also knew that like herself, when in his animal form, for the most part his animal instincts ruled.
“You can’t mean to scent me all over,” she said, though she was very much afraid he did.
His only answer was to tug harder on the hem of her shift. The sound of fabric renting filled the air.
She cried out. “Fine. Will you please stop? I’ll take it off.”
He stopped tugging, but did not let go of the shift.
“I promise,” she said, unable to believe her own words, but even more the genuine intent behind them.
She was going to allow the wolf to scent her. His need to do so was so strong, she could not deny him.
She did not understand, but she knew that she’d missed him these past five days and feared never seeing him again.
The ache to be near him had caused her eagle to constantly fight for supremacy . . . she had wanted to take to the skies and find him.
She’d had no thoughts to fly beyond the deepest parts of the forest in five years.
Bryant released her shift and she tugged it over her head, but put her hand up to stop him coming closer. “After you have scented me, you will shift. We will talk.”
He gave a short bark of agreement and she dropped her hand.
He marked her body with his scent, making her giggle more than once as she discovered more ticklish places than she knew she had.
Finally, the wolf seemed satisfied and lay beside her on the furs, a strange rumbling sound much like a purr, but not, coming from deep in his chest.
Mayhap it could be described as a happy growl?
Regardless, ’twas more than apparent the beast was appeased.
She let him bask in his contentment for long minutes before reminding him that he needed to shift.
He gave another bark of acquiescence and she turned her back to give him privacy for it.
“You no longer fear me,” he said by way of telling her it was done.
She turned to face him, curiously unashamed of her nudity. “There is naught to fear in you.”
He was the only man who would ever see her thus. Of that she was certain.
“Some have reason to refute that statement.”
“No doubt, but they are not me.”
“Nay, they are not you.”
She swallowed, finding it difficult to form the words she wanted to say, but she forced them out. “I missed you.”
“And this surprises you?” He did not sound happy by the prospect.
“It does.”
“Why?”
“I do not know you.”
“You know me too well.”
“But . . .”
“In the dreams we shared—”
“They were not dreams; I explained when we were together in the land of Chrechte spirits.”
“Call them dreams, or a different place our spirits go, but we shared our time there, aye?”
“Yes.”
“You allowed me to kiss you.”
“I have courage there I do not usually enjoy.”
“You have a sense of safety there you do not feel when you are awake.”