Wolf's Bane

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Dshannon
Dshannon
139 Followers

Major Roshenko frowned, looking thoroughly disgusted. "Are you saying that your lover is a...dog?"

"No. Not a dog. He's a wolf. Rather, a spirit form of a wolf. The offspring of Loki, the Norse God of Lies. Wherever the wolf has lived, men have worshipped his spirit, as Fenris, Amarok, Sunuwavi, Vila... to Wiccans he represents instinct, ferocity, passion."

"Wolves, gods, spirits... are youinsane? What is all this about?"

Sam stared at him, welcoming the numbness that the drug, or her grief, or both, provided her. "It's about magic, Major. I'm a Wiccan, a witch. An adept. But my ambition exceeded my abilities. Six years ago I sought to harness Fenris for my own designs. Instead he harnessed me, for his own. I was his pet, his plaything. But over time, our relationship changed..." She focused on his face. "You don't believe. I don't blame you."

He grunted. "I only believe in what I see before me. I do not accept sorcery or superstition."

Sam leaned back in her chair, forcing her limbs not to show any struggle with her bonds. The dull contempt in her voice seemed so clear to her. "Your acceptance, or lack of it, is irrelevant. Magic exists, and people can summon, edify elemental forces in the real world." She looked down at her exposed breasts. "Surprised your people didn't note the scratches and bites on me when I was made to change into these."

"They did. But I think I can come up with more plausible explanations that you having a wolf spirit as a lover. Unless of course you'd care to conjure him before me now? I would be most delighted to see him, and perhaps shake his paw."

She was biting her lower lip, but it felt anaesthetised. She wanted to feel pain, physical pain, enough to match the ache in her heart, if for no other reason than it would be so great as to kill her. "I wish I could, I really do. The look on your face before he tore you to pieces would be priceless." She breathed in. "But I can't. He was... killed... at Tsyerkovolk."

"Of course he was. Who is Mikhail, by the way? You mentioned him earlier in your account. Who is he? And how did you 'help' him?"

"If you didn't like my previous answers, you won't like this one."

"Try me."

"He is a member of the Watch, stationed in Belarus. He also has a curse that turns him into a werecreature. But before I left, I helped him to control it with biofeedback and meditative techniques-" At his expression, she shrugged. "Told you you wouldn't like it."

"That much of what you have said so far is accurate. Tell me about when you first met Professor Malikovsky."

Sam grunted. "Alanya... I knew Alanya Malikovsky, or at least her work, but that was in parapsychology and myth, not wolf conservation. So I was surprised to see her appear the next morning in the hotel's cafe..."

*

"It was a marvellous, informative talk. You obviously have a passion for your work."

"Thank you." Sam found herself hiding behind her orange juice glass, afraid she might be blushing at the woman's compliments, especially from a woman whom Sam had admired for years. "Though some have said too much."

"Stuff and nonsense, from jealous circles. Take it from a woman who's been studying in the same fields for over three decades." Alanya Malikovsky was a tall, dark woman in her late fifties, with a gypsy look about her. Not in her clothes - an expensive-looking formal black business suit, tailor-cut - but in her jet black eyes, olive skin, and the smoothness of her shoulder length ashen hair, a smoothness which had a depth of texture to it that reminded Sam of a bolt of sheer silk -or a wolf pelt. High cheek bones that barely displayed any wrinkles, a strong nose and a wide mouth completed an image of obviously attractiveness, and the vitality in her expression belied her years. She cradled her coffee cup between long, slender figures as she regarded her. "With the conference over, what are your plans?"

The question sobered Sam to a degree. The Watch had operations throughout the world, and her reputation as a 'wolf whisperer' took her to many places. She could choose to go to China, or Montana, or maybe even go back home to Britain and write that book she was always promising herself. "Nothing's set in stone. Why?"

Alanya smiled. "I wish to invite you to take part in a project. I'm currently based on an island called Tsyerkovolk, on the far end of Ladozhskoye Ozero - sorry, in English, Lake Ladoga - some 200 kilometres north-east of here. It's primarily a wildlife sanctuary, including a wolf pack of eight adults." Alanya glanced around, lowering her voice before continuing. "But I'm not there for the wolves. I'm there because it's a Hot Spot." She smiled. "You know what that means."

Sam kept her expression neutral, a control honed with years of practice. "As a conservationist I know it means a significant reservoir of biodiversity that's threatened with destruction-"

"I am referring to our mutual interest. As you well know."

Sam did. Hot Spots: alleged areas around the world that were focal points of paranormal activity, confluences of a variety of phenomena, from ghosts to UFOs to phantom animals. They could be former sacred grounds to indigenous peoples, ley line intersections, supposed haunted sites. She herself had found several such places since she had first bonded with Fenris.

But Sam had also found it best to be absolutely discreet about her interest and practice of the supernatural, to avoid either a figurative or literal witch hunt, and risk her job with the Watch. "But why do you think I would know?"

The Russian woman dipped her head, peering over her round, gold-rimmed glasses. "You know of my work, and my reputation. I did not earn that reputation spending all my time lecturing in the University of Moscow. I have travelled, met many people, did many things. Your name, your abilities - and your connection with a certain spirit of Norse legend - is well known."

Sam tried and failed to hide her reaction. To her knowledge, only two people in the world knew of her relationship with Fenris, and neither would tell anyone else. On the other hand, every community talked about its members, even within the Craft.

She set her glass down. "And why would I be interested in visiting your island?"

"Because I have uncovered a site on Tsyerkovolk that suggests a Norse settlement called... Vargrsey."

*

"Yes, and what of it?" Roshenko drew her back, his voice thick with impatience. "You stop there as if expecting dramatic music."

"In the Norse legends, Fenris was born in a place called Vargrsey. And this site may have been thee ancient conduit for the Source that created Fenris."

"And you believed Tsyerkovolk was his... birthplace?"

She nodded. "It was possible. Finland borders Lake Ladoga. I-" Now she looked up at him again, wincing in discomfort. "Major, I need to use the toilet. May I please-"

"Continue with your story."

"But I'm co-operating with you-"

"Rest assured you will not be the first person to lose control in that seat, nor will I judge you for it. Now, I want you to continue with your story. Continue. You accepted Malikovsky's invitation. Continue."

Sam realised that he was deliberately keeping his voice on a steady monotone, repeating himself, never raising it or changing inflection, and it helped lull her already drug-altered mind. Knowing this, she tried to fight the urge to continue speaking. But, like her bladder, she no longer had control. "We left the next day, flew out in Alanya's aircraft, a refurbished Army surplus helicopter." She grunted to herself. "Have you ever been to Lake Ladoga, Major? It's one of the largest lakes in the world, almost as big as Wales... all this beautiful, untouched natural beauty in and around it..."

"I am aware of its scenic charms, Miss Brennan. Continue. She flew you to her island...."

*

The island sat upon the pristine blue of the Ladoga like a turtle, an irregularly-shaped oasis of dense, rich green topped with what looked like a fortress, a black stone block with narrow, slitted windows and small minarets. The only visible concessions to the modern age were the helipad and satellite dish beside it.

Sam had to fight the giddiness of travelling over the water like this, especially as the helicopter did not provide much in the way of suspension. "Beautiful. What's the building?"

Alanya nodded proudly. "A former monastery, built and abandoned and rebuilt, used as a waystation to ferry supplies from Finland during the Great Patriotic War."

"It looks like you wouldn't have much trouble with the neighbours."

"With the island's history, it's generally avoided."

Walking around the area upon landing, Alanya could well understand. The energies permeated the ground, the densely-packed trees, the grass and blossoms and rocks. It was alive in a way she had not felt in a place, in a long time.

"Tell me more about its history."

"The island was originally called the Whale's Back by the Inuit, who used to come to visit their ancestors The Christians took it over, but failed to extinguish the paranormal occurrences of lights and sounds. Humans abandoned it after the war, and it was turned into a restricted wildlife reserve. I gained permission to study the phenomena three years ago."

Then Alanya escorted her to the site: a clearing Sam had not seen when they were flying overhead, being almost completely enclosed from above by centuries-old trees. There was a circle of irregularly-shaped jagged granite stones, ranging from one to two metres in height, all possessing familiar carvings and runic script, all surrounding a large, flat stone in the centre, looking like nothing more than a giant blank gravestone fallen over and half-consumed by the earth around it over time.

"Amazing, isn't it?" Alanya whispered almost proudly to her. "The order that had lived here centuries ago tried to bring down the stones, but they couldn't. They tried planting trees to cover them up, but nothing grew too close to them." The older woman held out her hands, fingers outstretched, closing her eyes.

Sam opened hers. "Do you feel it as well?" After a moment, she ventured with, "I've read most of your books. No one could have written so much about magic, detailed with so much accuracy, and not have practiced it."

Alanya opened her eyes, regarded her with an unreadable expression. "Yes. Yes, I do. I have heard the voices of the animals and plants from the age of thirteen. I taught myself, cast my first spells by sixteen. I still practice. Indeed, here I have been able to summon simple spirit forms, apports, and study them more comprehensively than anywhere else - though for the sake of my position back at the University, I would ask you to say nothing."

"Of course." Sam understood. Then she caught the scent, heard the sounds, and turned to see several adult wolves emerge from the clearing: There were magnificent specimens: sharp-eared, sharp-faced, coated in a greys and blacks, copper eyes pinpointed with ebony, and animated bushy tails.

Sam stared at the pack, then emptied her mind, cleared her thoughts and moved to another, familiar level, ready to talk to them, understand them...

And found someone else was already doing it.

She turned to see Alanya, standing beside her, smiling.

*

"Are you expecting me to believe that Professor Malikovsky was a witch?"

Sam grimaced to herself, tried to ignore the puddle she had made on the seat through her now-soaked trousers, how some of it pattered down behind her, sounding so loud. "Major, I'm expecting nothing from you. I'm just telling you what happened, okay? You can decide what you want to believe."

Roshenko grunted. "I shall. You settled into the facility."

"Yes. There were other people there, technicians, support staff, none of them understanding English – or so I was told at the time. Not that I cared. I was interested in learning more from Alanya. Someone with abilities as strong as my own, but with far more experience. I was fascinated by her – and I believed that she felt the same about me." She swallowed. "Though I didn't understand why until later..."

*

After a sumptuous dinner, Alanya had taken her to the library, an impressive, renovated area lined floor to ceiling with shelves and shelves of leather-bound books. Sliding ladders on rails ran up the walls, extending to even higher alcoves, and a spiral staircase led to what Alanya said was a loft with a bed, for those nights when she was too exhausted to retire to her own room. The chairs and desks were old-fashioned and ornate, and the fireplace with the glowing coals and peat completed an image of tranquillity and composure.

She reclined catlike on one end of a large divan swathed in purple velvet, cradling a vodka glass, as Sam sat opposite her, favouring a whiskey. The older woman had changed out of her clothes and into more casual wear of a vest and jeans, as had Sam. An old-fashioned clock in a glass dome on the fireplace ticked away to itself, as if impatient for one of them to speak.

"How long have you been his consort?"

Sam blinked; the fire and clock had conspired to lull her into an ebb, but now she faced Alanya. "Excuse me?"

The other woman fixed a deliberate stare on her. "Of Fenris. How long have you been his?"

Sam breathed in, realised she had neither the ability to deny it, nor for that matter the desire. And why should she? "Six years now. I utilised the Gardiner Interpretation of the Summoning."

Alanya made a knowing, sympathetic sound at that. "That should have been burned long ago for its inaccuracy. You became his pet. I'm sorry."

"I'm not. My time with him has been more rewarding than I could ever imagine. I served him. I helped create mystic offspring of his. He's given me gifts, abilities unlike any other's-"

"Almost any others," Alanya corrected, smiling. "And... he satisfies you sexually."

Sam didn't feel as embarrassed as she had expected by agreeing. "Oh yes, definitely. And even more now that we are lovers, equals-"

"What?" Something like a sound of disbelief escaped the Russian's lips. "Lovers, yes, but – equals? What makes you think that?"

The question made Sam pause. "He said as much. Three months ago, in Belarus, I was willing to give myself up to another to free him. He said no one had shown him such devotion, that he could no longer see himself as my master, or me as his pet."

Alanya frowned, lips parting slightly, staring in bemusement. "My dear, our gods are not men. There is nothing mutual between us. One can worship, but one cannot trust. Especially not the Trickster Gods like Fenris."

Sam, for her part, shook her head at the acrimony from the older woman "I- I don't understand, why would you think that?"

Now the Russian appeared regretful, perhaps as regretful about opening up as she was about the memory. Tears rolled down her face. "Because you are not the first one he has said to love as an equal. Before leaving her, broken, disillusioned, twenty years ago."

*

Sam paused and wet her dried, cracked lips. "Major, may I have some water, please?"

This time, Roshenko nodded at the aide, who disappeared again. "So, Professor Malikovsky was a former lover to your canine consort?"

"Lupine, not canine. She told me her full story, having experimented with magic while in University. She summoned him, found herself bound to him, serving him as I had been, taken for his pleasure, but growing to love him. So much of it reflected my own history. But she said he'd promised her devotion and love eternal if she unearthed a particular stone tablet he directed her to in Scandinavia, one which revealed new aspects of Norse legend. It became her first real achievement academically, granting her fame. But he never returned to her, never responded to her summons again. The gods have a habit of using us as pawns, but that was little comfort to her." Then she raised her head again, as the aide returned with a plastic cup of lukewarm water, feeding it to her. "Spa'seeba."

Then Roshenko spoke in Russian, making Sam frown in confusion, until she realised he was addressing the aide, who had taken away the cup to prepare another injection. Roshenko leaned back in his chair, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "Continue with your fascinating story... If this were a man, you would be storming after him to slap his face or something."

"Or something..."

*

Sam's quarters were sumptuous, containing a vast bed, paintings, a red crushed-velvet divan, and through an open doorway leading into a templelike bathing area, a stand alone marble tub.

None of which mattered at the moment. She'd knelt on the rug, opening her mind. It was dark now, but he had been silent since arriving on Tsyerkovolk.

So he wanted to play it like that... dressed in a borrowed old-fashioned nightgown, her hands flat upon her thighs, eyes closed, she whispered an unignorable prayer. "O Powerful Fenris, son of Loki and Angrboda, bound to the rock of Gioll, I, your consort, conjure thee on this night and at this hour here, to order firmed affairs with thee..."

Her eyes were still closed, but she felt the tips of her hair rise and dance like snakes of static electricity. She grunted as she caught his scent.Samantha, why are you here?

She twisted in place, watched as he paced around her on his hind legs, blood-red eyes darting about the candlelit room, the sound of his voice in her head laced with an unprecedented unease.

There was so much she wanted to ask him, to clear up – and yet, not, fearing what he would say. But his behaviour distracted her. "Do you recognise this place?"

Yes... But, so long ago... Now he faced her.Why are you here?

"Why did you not come sooner?"

He seemed to stand so tall before her, but quickly dropped into a crouch, sniffing at her hair, drawing closer until she could bury her face into his furry neck and feel the hot breath from his nostrils.You want me...

It was true. His closeness and scent never failed to arouse her, never failed to long for him to be inside her, filling her up. But that was not all she was feeling, and he knew it, and never voiced it. A wariness steeled her, drew back onto her heels to look into his eyes. "Fenris, how many others have there been?"

His pointed ears flicked back.Others?

"Consorts. Women. As Fenris, as all the other Wolves."

He growled.How many stars are in the sky? Numbers do not matter. Men create us, believe in us, and we are what they make of us.He reached up with his huge hands, stroked her hair, nuzzled into her, licking her bare flesh.

She shuddered, clutched his hot, furred flesh for support, feeling her will erode, but still needing to confront him. "Beloved... have you ever told any other woman what you told me in Belarus? That I was the first you ever really loved?"

Fenris couldn't laugh any more than he could speak aloud, but the sounds she heard were fuelled with amusement, as he lifted her in his arms and easily carried her to the bed, laying her back and moving his hands over her breasts, even as his muzzle moved further down, pressing against her sex, his hot breath piercing the material, his claws doing the rest, baring her bush and parted lips to his tongue. Sam clutched the bedcovers, twisting them in her grasp and banging the back of her head against the mattress as he raised and parted her legs even more, drawing up over her.

Her head spun, and her need for answers was eclipsed by another need. Her nipples tightened beneath the tatters of her nightdress as she growled, "P-Please- please fill me..."

Yes...

He rose over her, and now Sam could feel the tapered tip of his shaft pressing at her hot, wet entrance. She uttered an urgent and sweet and jubilant moan as she drove up and he drove down, enveloping him, her hot, sweet pussy sliding over him like a coating. Tears ran down her face as they rocked together, the bed creaking loudly in protest, his cock sliding deep inside her, then back, until only the tip remained, before sliding deep into her again. They clung to each other as if for dear life, their union a declaration.

Dshannon
Dshannon
139 Followers