I moaned, my nipples tightening as I rode him faster, grinding into his fingers as I chased my release, knowing now exactly how to take my pleasure from him as well as I knew how to give it. He thrust up, my breasts bouncing as I met each of his pumps, our rhythm growing frenzied. I clawed my fingers down his chest, trying to fight that maddening pull within me, like the heavy rip of waves pulling back out to sea.
He thrust deeper, bucking me up and down, as his fingers circled my clit faster. I cried out as my climax roared through me, shuddering ecstasy from the crown of my head to the tip of my toes. Grae groaned, that glorious sound heightening my pleasure, as his breathing faltered and he came inside of me. I rode him through those rolling waves of pleasure, wringing out the last of our releases, before finally collapsing onto his sweaty chest.
I traced slow kisses over his collarbone, a wicked grin on my face. “Now we can go.”
We ran another hour north, our Wolves easily closing the distance to the Olmderian capital. We stuck to the eastern forests that wove around the fjords before cutting inland toward the city and the towering castle in the center of the lake. Farmhouses appeared through the trees, and we shifted back into human form.
My bare feet padded across the mossy forest floor. I brushed my hair over my shoulder and glanced back at Grae. The claw marks down his chest were gone, but the heat in his eyes remained, along with the clear evidence of his arousal.
I smirked, shaking my head. “We need to find you some clothes.”
His proud grin was all Wolf.
My hands trailed over the underbrush, and I paused at a bush covered in crimson berries. Serilberries. I popped a few ripe ones in my mouth. They were very sour raw, usually cooked with honey, but the zing on my tastebuds woke me up and freshened my mouth.
They were used for flavoring recipes and in many medicines, too. All the known spots to forage serilberries in Allesdale were picked clean each season . . . but out here, far from any town, little red fruits filled the bush. They would probably be a worthy payment for whoever we took clothes from. I snapped five branches laden with berries and kept walking with the bouquet in my hands.
Another half hour down the trail, we finally passed a house with washing on the line—trousers, tunics, dresses, and aprons. I had no clue if the sizes were right, but they’d have to do. We heard people talking in the barn, but it was obscured from view by the house and I prayed no one would walk around the bend.
We approached the garden hedge, crouching and peeking over the untrimmed shrubs.
Grae glanced sideways at me, a mischievous grin curving his lips as if we were children playing a prank. “Ready?”
I gave a quick nod and we darted out to the clothesline, snatching a bundle of garments. I dropped three serilberry branches as payment and darted back to cover.
I threw on a tunic that hung down to my knees and stepped into the trousers. They were far too big on me, even with my wide hips and large thighs, so I threaded the tunic through the belt loops and tied the ends in a knot. They were also far too long and I had to roll the hem up seven times before my feet poked out of the fabric.
Grae, on the other hand, was nearly bursting out of his clothes. His muscled arms and shoulders stretched the fabric at the seams until gaps of his golden-brown skin peeked through the stitching. He’d also snagged a tattered cloak off the line, and, clasped around his neck, it only hung to his knee. At least the hood would be deep enough to hide his face. If Rooks were looking for him on the road, they’d be looking in the capital, too.
I shook my head. We were a sorry-looking pair, but it would have to do. We’d find Galen den’ Mora in the city and get our proper clothes and weapons back.
I glanced one more time at the farmhouse, thinking of the life Briar had always dreamed of—the cottage by the river, the vegetable patch. She and Maez could run through the forests and howl to the moon. I sighed. I just had to defeat a sorceress first. But that life she had daydreamed of pushed me forward, winding back into the forest. We needed those dreams, those bright futures, as much as we needed the sobering truth of the past behind us. Both the hope for the future and pain of the past gave us something to fight for.
Grae walked beside me, taking my hand without looking and giving it a squeeze. The red and gold city peeked above the tree line and I picked up the pace, feeling drawn toward the capital as if pulled by a rope around my waist.
The trees parted and the capital appeared. The city of my birth, a home I couldn’t remember, and yet, I knew this place somehow. Grae pulled the hood of his cloak up, hiding his face in shadow as people meandered the cobbled streets. My eyes trailed the wide river that cut through the city, dropping in little waterfalls down to the dark blue lake. Long white boats ferried out toward the palace, crimson pennants waving from their bows. The castle was stark against the dark lake, brilliant shades of red and gold shimmering like the sun in a cloudless sky.
It was the most beautiful place I’d ever seen. Vellia’s drawing didn’t do it justice. My feet walked the worn, smooth cobbles, navigating toward the markets where Galen den’ Mora would be parked. Without thought, I seemed to steer us in the right direction, as if something in my blood recognized this place. A strange familiarity tugged in my chest. The windmills and flower gardens, the town squares and city stables, the glinting gold-flecked stones—I knew them somehow. The smell of freshly baked bread and twittering birds all spoke deep into my soul, like a favorite tune, but with forgotten words, a painting with the edges faded and blurred. But even if I didn’t remember her, Olmdere City remembered me.
Thirty-Seven
We didn’t find Galen den’ Mora in the city square or in the open markets that teemed with people in the corner of town. We decided to meander the stalls while we waited for that massive wagon to come rolling past. Wolves ran faster than oxen could walk and I knew they might be hours behind us still.
We wound through the markets, searching for better clothing and a vendor willing to trade for serilberries. A stall owner peeked up at me over their book, eyeing my clothes and frowning. Trinkets filled every corner of their haberdashery stall. Ribbons hung from the canvas ceiling, baskets of gold buttons lined the tables, and bolts of gauzy fabric leaned against the wall. I gave a half-smile and kept walking.
I paused at a table of herbs, wondering if, after all our travels, Hector still had that vial of nitehock in his possession.
The merchant perked up as we stopped. “What can I get for you?” He lifted a basket of dried lavender to me, raising his brows. “Something aromatic?”
“I’m looking for a particular seed,” I said, squinting at him.
Recognition dawned on his face. He lifted his chin and swallowed, peeking right and left. “You’re not from the capital, are you?”