The Wolf & The Witch

They didn’t know if James and his wives and his guard intended to fight, and they didn’t care. Lestat scooped Claire up and took off- up the steps, down a hall, into a room and out through a window, and then as fast as he could they escaped the city of Leiga.

Horses, supplies, a good sword, a new bow, clothes- James had given them a lot, and it was true- his wives had healed them twice, and fed them, and given them a warm bed, and offered them transportation. But it was also true- James and his wives, including Beverly, needed Claire and Lestat to attack and kill the two wolf packs for some reason beyond taking a sixth wife.

Both the wolf and the witch had suspected, from the moment they woke in the cell of mortar and stone, that a witch had sent them to the wasteland. And they both were pretty sure a witch had a hand in making this cuff- perhaps not alone, but this cuff was magical, and wolves weren’t magical- strong and handsome, but not magical. Claire had known the priestess was the most likely person- the only person. And Lestat had known. He remembered saying the words: wolves don’t drug people. Wolves can’t teleport people.

And now that same priestess was parading around as the fifth wife of an Alpha wolf in the Land of Ravines. Healing them. Following them. Urging them to kill the packs- all work that would’ve fallen to Adra and Josh, had they survived. Although how the priestess actually intended for her chosen couple to achieve that goal was unknown.

But let her parade and follow and urge. Claire and Lestat knew what they were in this land to do- kill and burn. Packs, covens, alphas, priestesses, forests, villages, bridges, men, women, children- all of it.

But not tonight.

Lestat had his right arm around her, above her breasts, and the reins in his left hand, and as they rode south the smoke of forest fires, and village fires, and perhaps human fires, yellowed the sky and blinded the sun with yellow smoke.

Claire was very excited to see his house and she bounced in his arm. She smiled as they rode, and ran her hand slowly over the muscles of his forearm as they flexed when he turned the horses. But the closer they got to his house, the more nervous she became. She knew how sex worked; she understood the basics, but was nervous, and had no idea what to do, and worried she would be bad at it. What if she was no good at sex? What kind of mate would that make her? She knew wolves had voracious sexual appetites- at least according to the gossip she’d eavesdropped on. And he was so good at kissing, and touching her, that she started to doubt herself. Mostly because, so far, it felt to Claire that she was learning from him- certainly not the other way around. Then she wondered about the biting- she had seen many witches mated to wolves whose bodies were decorated with hickeys, and bite marks. Rana had bite marks up and down her chest and neck. Soph and Olive had a few hidden under the necklines of their shirts. And Lestat had already bitten her a few times, although only the first time hurt. Claire blushed as thoughts ran through her head, and she chewed on her lip and scooted her body back closer to his. He tightened his arm around her, holding her close; he stuck his nose, and lips, into her hair and kissed the back of her neck and shivers ran up and down her body.

They followed a rock ledge for a few miles, then he stopped the horses, and hopped off. He held his hand out- she took it and he caught her and sat her down.

Were they at his house? She looked around- no hut: only a dark forest and green moss on the rocks and trees and ground.

Lestat tied the horses to a tree, scooped her up, and carried her through some underbrush towards a rock outcrop. He pushed his way through the brush, and a small, secluded clearing came into view-blocked on two sides by the stone ledges, and the other two sides by thick underbrush. Claire looked around- this place was very well hidden. And quaint. That was the first word that came to Claire’s mind- his house was small, and quaint. Cute. Water ran from the top of a stone behind the hut, down a long metal pipe and into a large wooden basin, and, because the basin was full, it flowed right back out, and into the forest. The basin was full of leaves and sticks and frogs- it had been three months. The shop had moss on the roof, and moss on the sides, but appeared sturdy. Opposite the basin, on the other side of the hut, was a small garden, gray and dead and covered in leaves. Tomato stakes, and bean poles leaned against scraggly brown vines.

Lestat looked at her- she was chewing her lip, lost in thought. “You ok?”

She was a mix of nerves and curiosity and ribbons- her body was still in the process of chiseling his words onto the inside walls of her heart: I promise I will never leave you. I love you with all my heart. Shivers ran down her neck as if he had whispered in her ear. She smiled, and nodded. “I’m ok.”

He pushed the heavy door open, led her inside, let go of her hand and went back out. She looked around: a brick kiln sat in the center of the room with an iron pipe extending up through the ceiling. The kiln was missing a couple bricks as if a few teeth had been knocked out in a fight, then she wondered- at night, in the dark, a fire in the kiln would throw light out of the missing bricks, and illuminate different areas of the room. She stepped around the kiln to the back half of the room- a large anvil near the wall, with an old blanket folded on the floor for a seat, was the dining room. Two wooden chests sat on either side of the blanket. She opened one- dishes, towels, rags, bowls, a copper razor in a leather sheath, soap. The shop opened to the left- behind her, and she stepped around- there was a bed beneath a large window with folded blankets and a single pillow. She walked to the bed and sat down- dusty, and firm. She laid back, and scooted to the pillow. The window glass was gone, if there had ever been any, but there was a wire screen where glass once was, and shutters, latched closed. She looked at the back of the shop- two closed doors. She went to one and started to open it when he came back with three logs under his arm, a bucket of water, and a handful of sweet potatoes held by the stalks. “Don’t open that one.”

She raised her eyebrows. Why? What was he hiding? She reached for the knob.

“A family of foxes live in there. Or did, last time I was here.”

A family of foxes lived in his closet? Now Claire was very curious. She held the knob in her hand, and started turning it-

“They like bread. They would probably like biscuits. But they don’t like to be woken up, and they’re very protective of their pups.”

Pups? Baby foxes? A family of foxes? Claire couldn’t resist. As quietly as possible she turned the old knob and stuck her head in- it was dark, almost black, but she could see them. Two large foxes curled up in the indention of a moth-eaten blanket, and their pups snuggled up close and warm, and a hole on the other side, dug under the floorboards. She shut the door, grinning, and opened the other closet: clothes, a sword, axes and hatchets, gardening tools hanging on the walls, boots, a cedar chest… “How long have you lived here?” His house had convinced her- there was no way in hell she was taking him to hers.

“Not a full year, but close.” He put the logs in the kiln and they worked together at building a fire.

“Why don’t I do the potatoes, and you get us more water?”

He handed her the dirty potatoes, and walked out.

Claire smiled. She cleaned dirt off the sweet potatoes and nestled them inside the kiln, against the bricks. Then she hopped up and went to the bed and got to work. She pulled the blanket and pillow off, flipped the mattress over, shook dust out the bedding and remade it. She pulled her boots off, and her bow, and her pouch of arrows, her pack, and the water skins at her side, and sat them all in the corner.

She heard him come back in, and heard the sound of two wooden buckets thunk as he sat them on the floor. She heard a rustling sound, and walked around the corner. He slipped his boots off, then his shirt, then his pants. His back was to her, and she watched his every move. His muscles, his body- she ran her eyes from his dark hair, down his muscular back, down his butt, to his thighs- she could still see the faintest indentions from where he had been thrown into a burning fire, and he had an old scar on the back of his thigh she didn’t know about. He laid a towel on the floor, then sat, and she watched as he dipped his head in one of the buckets, washing his hair. Then he grabbed a piece of towel, wetted it, and washed his arms, and shoulders. She walked to him, and knelt down behind him, and took the towel from him, and washed his back, then went up on her knees and scrubbed his neck, and ears, and shoulders. He turned, naked, and she looked down and blushed, but she didn’t look away from him. She dipped the cloth in the water, wrung it out, scooted closer, and washed his face, and chest, then his arms, and stomach, feeling his muscles. She blushed as her hands and eyes followed his body down to his dick- not hard, not soft. She didn’t ask, and thought that if he didn’t want her washing all of him, he would say something. But he didn’t stop her, and he didn’t tell her to stop. She washed him carefully, and felt him harden in her hand, under the cloth. She smiled, and squeezed him, and washed his stomach clean with one hand, and held him in the other. Then she washed his legs, and his feet, and went back for-

“Your turn,” he said, his voice gray and thick like smoke on a still day.

She chewed her lower lip, but looked at him, and smiled, and nodded, and stood. The pale yellow sunset crawled through the underbrush, blushing red, and the light from the kiln flickered yellow on the wide-board, plat-board walls. She unbuttoned her shirt and let it fall to the floor, then her leather pants, and pulled those down, then her panties, and she shut her eyes, and half-covered her body. She waited a moment, and another, and-

“You are so very beautiful, Claire.”

And that was what she was waiting for. She dropped her hand off her sex, and squinted her left eye open. Light from a missing kiln brick painted her belly in chiaroscuro, and he reached up and put his hands on her sides, and felt her cool skin. He looked up at her neat, tucked-in pussy, blushing just slightly, as her face was blushing. “Come here,” he said, and pulled her to him.

She sat in front of him, and he turned her around, so she was facing the sunset through the open door of his house, away from him. Then he gently washed her body. He ran the wet cloth over her shoulders, and arms, out to the tips of her fingers, then her back and neck. Then he reached around from behind and scrubbed throat, and collarbones, and shoulders, he washed her full breasts, holding them, squeezing them. Then her stomach, and hips, then his hands stopped, and he held the cloth out to her, suggesting she finish.

She shook her head. “No- you do it.”

So he did. He pulled her up on her knees, and reached around and very gently ran the wet cloth over her sex, and she felt his fingers, and drops of water run down the folds of her pussy, and ripples followed, and her heartbeat followed the ripples, as if her body were both a quiet pool and a floating leaf.

She realized that this was the exact same way she had knelt, on her knees, that first morning with him so many months ago as she looked out at the dead city of dust. She had been certain she would die, and so certain he would rape her, and take advantage of her- so positive there was only hate in her heart for him and every other wolf. She turned, still on her knees, so that she was above him, her breasts in his face. “Take me to bed,” she said, her voice low, and thick, like honey at the bottom of a jar. She kissed his forehead and put her arms around his neck.

Lestat picked her up, and stood, and carried her around the wall to his bed, and laid her down. He laid down beside her, and put his arm under her head, and pulled her body close to his, and kissed her. He kissed slowly at first- he could feel her nerves, and tension, in her lips. He could feel tension in his. But as the fire popped, and as the sun set, and as the day slid to night, their kisses deepened, and the tension melted.

He moved from her lips to her face as he touched her stomach, and side. She pulled his hand to her breast, and he squeezed, and fondled her, gently. He kissed her cheek, then her ear, then down her neck. He turned over so she was on her back, and propped himself up above her. He kissed his way down her body, and noticed she was being very quiet- for Claire, anyway, and shy.

She shut her eyes, and held her hands on his shoulders as he kissed his way down her ribs, down her stomach, again to her hip, with the twelve stitches. He felt her body move with his, and felt her squeeze him with each kiss, and so slowly, very slowly, he moved his mouth closer, and kissed the outside folds of her sex, and she groaned, and grabbed his hand and bit down on his fingers. He looked up- her eyes were clamped shut. He lowered his nose into her pubic hair, smelling her- smelling her sex, then kissed his way back up her belly, her ribs, and she chewed on his hand, nervous, and melting. He kissed her breasts, and each kiss sent shivers down her body like vibrations down a wind chime, and she hummed and reverberated with each touch. She realized she was moaning, and biting his finger at each kiss, and each touch, and grew embarrassed. He moved from her breasts to her neck, and kissed her, and nibbled.

“You ok?” he asked.

“Yesh,” she answered, his finger still in her mouth.

“Did you like any of that?”

“Hall of hit.”

He went back to her mouth, tugged his finger free of her teeth, and kissed her, gently again. One of his hands was behind her head, and she felt his hand creep down her stomach and he very gently touched her sex with his fingers. Touching, but not exploring.

“Touch me,” she said, her mouth at his ear.

He did- he moved his fingers gently around her, exploring her. Lestat was as much a virgin as she was, but both of them, by this point in their lives, knew how sex worked. He gently rubbed her, not sure what he was doing, but watched her face- and used her moans, and her breaths, to guide him. He kissed her face, and neck, and breasts as he explored her sex with his fingers. Claire’s face was bright red- she grabbed his hair and pulled his mouth to hers and kissed him, hungrily, inhaling him.

He moved his body over hers, and rubbed her clit with his dick, watching her, listening. It took a few tries of poking around, but he eventually found her, and slowly slid himself inside.

“Wait,” she gasped. “Wait- slow...slow...” she said, and looked up at him, and smiled.

He leaned forward and kissed her forehead, and her nose, and waited for her to move against him. He pushed their foreheads together, their noses, their lips, and slowly, very slowly, she moved her body against his, then a little faster.

He propped himself over her on one hand, while she had his other. She had one hand on his hip, and the other on his face, and they moved against each other, and with each other, and she was so turned on her leg muscles quivered, and her toes curled up, and she bit harder, and pushed him deeper, and with every thrust white sparks flashed across the backs of her eyelids. She bit down on his neck, and grabbed him, and came, and her body shook, and her vision blurred, and went white at the edges, and then she felt him- his breath at her ear, going ragged, and moaning, and she realized she had just come before him, so she pushed into him, and held him close, then felt his body go stiff, and then they both stopped, breathing heavy, their faces touching, collapsed into each other. A bead of sweat ran from his forehead to hers. She unlocked her jaw, and slowly let go of his neck- she had bit him very hard- he had a ridge of teeth marks that would turn into a bruise.

“I… love… you,” he said, breathing heavy.

“I love… you too,” she said, and realized as the words left her mouth that she felt different- closer to him, much closer. She felt like there was no way possible she could leave his side now. She looked at him, and tears welled up in her eyes, and she sniffled, and cried, and he didn’t pull out, but went slowly soft, and turned over, and held her close. It felt to Claire as if their souls had just melted and resolidified into a single soul. They held each other- their souls held each other, and their hearts held each other.

Ten quiet minutes passed with only their breathing, and the fire, and their beating hearts adding to the silence, all three slowing at the same speed. The potatoes burned and scorched black. Claire sat up and leaned down the bed to their water skins and drank.

He sat up beside her, and put his arm around her- he smelled blood, and sex. “Are you alright? I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

Claire grinned, and smiled, and she wiped the last of the tears from her eyes. Her body had finished etching all of his words onto her heart: Belong. Respect. Mine. Trust. Beautiful. Value. Mate. Love. “Again?”

He leaned over and kissed her ear, then took her earlobe in his teeth, and pulled her back into the blankets.

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