4. Leif

Chapter 4

Leif

A lec’s face was priceless—shock and curiosity, and some amusement. He expected nothing else, really—most people assumed he was telling a story when he disclosed the truth behind why he was living alone in the woods without a pack. Werewolves did not do well alone, both mentally and emotionally. Like their natural counterparts, werewolves were gregarious, with magics inherent to them as a species that were meant to be connected to others of their kind, an interwoven tapestry of magic and souls that kept them strong, both as individuals and as a people.

Werewolves weren’t meant to be alone.

“It’ll sound like a fairy tale,” Leif warned, leaning forward just enough to grab a log from the stack beside the hearth and place it on the fire. He usually went to sleep in the deeper hours of the night, though he was known to sleep through the morning entirely and wake midday. He had no need to work, no nine-to-five ordeal for him, so the hours he kept were more inclined to favor the wilder side of his nature .

He used the iron poker to arrange the logs burning on the grate, and got up to sweep in the ashes and coals, banking the fire out of habit. His bed was deeper down the mineshaft—there was no space for a bed in the cabin section of his home, even with the additional space from the old cave entrance.

“I used to love bedtime stories,” Alec murmured, perhaps picking up the hints from Leif that it was time to sleep. “But I won’t ask you to tell me if it’ll be too much of a bother.”

“Not a bother.” He paused, putting away the fireplace broom and tidying a bit around the hearth. “Those I’ve told have either laughed it off as a tall tale or eyed me with pity and some fear, as if the curse will rub off on them merely for knowing about it.”

“Mundane humans?” Alec asked, fingers tugging on the furs in his lap.

“Some. Others were practitioners, curious about my lack of pack on my travels. I’m far from my ancestral lands, and lots of folk look askance at a lone wolf—it’s less romantic a thought when most lone wolves are exiles from packs for atrocious behavior.”

“You hardly seem atrocious to me,” Alec said firmly. “You could have left me in the cold and damp, but you brought me to your home and fed me, took care of me. Unless your plan is to fatten me up and eat me.” That last bit was said with a teasing lilt and flushed cheeks.

“Eat you? Nah, not unless it’s for something other than food, little greenbough.”

Those high cheekbones grew redder, and the honeysuckle sweetness of arousal filled the cabin, making a low growl ease out from his chest.

Alec’s blush was delicious, and he wondered if the young man tasted as good as he looked. But then he scolded himself, reminded that Alec was recovering from being held captive and needed sleep. He went to the armchair and held out his hand, and Alec took it with flattering alacrity.

“I can tell you a bedtime story if you like,” Leif offered. “You need sleep. My bed is clean and warm, and it’s yours for the night.”

Alec accepted his help, getting slowly to his feet, a slight wobble helping to remind his libido that seducing his guest was bad manners.

“Where will you sleep?” Alec asked, a wicked gleam in his gray eyes belying the innocence of his tone.

Leif grumbled a bit under his breath, and Alec snickered, a hint of flirtation under the exhaustion and aches. “In my fur, under the moon,” Leif replied. Wouldn’t be the first time.

He hated seeing Alec take such painful steps, and he indulged his instincts and swept the young man off his feet and into his arms, cradled to his chest. Slim arms went around his neck and Alec pressed his forehead to Leif’s temple, not at all put out by the presumption, if the sweet scent of arousal and the tight grip were anything to go by—but consent before and during sex was important, and Leif needed the words instead of relying on scent, so he went no further than carrying his guest down the mineshaft.

The lights along the walls came on as he went deeper into the den, motion-activated lamps hanging from the walls on iron hooks, the wiring recessed into carved tracks in the ceiling and walls so nothing hung down in the way. There was a slight slope, not much, but about thirty feet later and a few feet below the main floor of the cabin lay his bed. It was a raised wooden platform about two feet off the ground, circular, about ten feet in diameter and more than enough space for a fully transformed werewolf alpha to stretch out. The bedroom ceiling was carved rock, and he had plenty of headroom even when standing on the platform as either man or wolf.

“Is this your bed?” Alec asked, voice a low murmur as if he were falling asleep already.

“Yes,” Leif answered, and he set Alec down on the edge of the platform, the stone around the bed long polished by his paws and human soles over the decades. “Now it’s your bed until we can get you home.”

He had more than enough furs and blankets to keep his guest warm, along with pillows of assorted colors and designs in rich earth tones. Lights hung from chains around the bed, coming to life with a low, soft glow that was more than enough to prevent stubbed toes, or to read a book if he were so inclined.

The temperature was a tad cooler in the mine, but not too bad, and not damp like an unaltered cave might be—he made sure over the years to make it a comfortable, if lonely, place to live.

He helped Alec sink into the furs, covering him in soft blankets until the young man was all but invisible, just the top of his head peeking out. Leif went to the control switches for the lights and turned the lamps on the wall leading up toward the bathroom on, in case Alec needed to use the toilet in the middle of the night.

Alec’s breathing was slow, steady, far closer to sleep than wakefulness. “I’ll be in the cabin if you need me. Sleep well.”

He turned to leave but Alec made a soft noise of distress, and Leif looked back to see Alec peering up at him from the blankets. “Don’t go yet. Tell me the fairy tale. ”

“It’s not pleasant,” Leif stalled, not wanting to see pity or fear in Alec’s eyes.

“Scary stories never bothered me,” Alec said, and one hand crept out from the blankets and fingers wiggled at him in entreaty. “I don’t want to be alone.”

He eyed Alec for a long moment, but the pleading in those pretty gray eyes slayed his resolve and he took the offered hand, the gentle tugging making him sit at first on the edge of the platform, and Alec shuffled back a tiny bit. He tried not to smile but lost the battle, and he acquiesced without a fuss, sliding down to lie on his back beside Alec.

A rustle and some grumbling, and he found himself with an armful of fae, Alec sprawled on his chest, head tucked under his chin. “That’s better,” Alec breathed out, gradually relaxing, even with them plastered together, thin cotton sweats and his loin wrap all that were keeping them apart. Alec was warm and snuggly and smelled of wildflowers, and he fit with utter perfection in his arms.

“Once upon a time,” Leif began, smiling up at the ceiling when Alec made a tiny, exhausted giggle at the line. Smiles were rare. He gently tightened his grip on Alec, who snuggled in even more.

“In a far off land, along the seaside cliffs of what would one day be Denmark, a very long time ago, an evil vampire and an even eviler witch decided they wanted to be together forever,” Leif began his tale, and he could tell Alec was listening, not quite limp in the way of deep sleep. Hopefully this tale wouldn’t give him nightmares. “But as everyone knows, vampires can only mate where true love flourishes, and neither the vampire nor the witch were the kind of souls capable of truly loving someone more than their own selfish desires. Obsession and lust could not grow a soulbond, so desperation and greed turned to murder. ”

He paused, and Alec stirred a bit, nuzzling into Leif’s chest, warm breath brushing across his skin. “Keep going.”

Leif gave up waiting for Alec to fall asleep and took up the tale again. “The evil witch concocted a spell to tie her to her vampire lover for eternity, since the soulbond failed to grow between them. She hunted for victims to steal their years of life, and keep them for herself so she need never grow old and die. Humans had too short a lifespan to interest her, and the fae were impossible to trap and kill. Vampires spurned her lover and he lacked a clan to provide unsuspecting victims, so she turned her eye to the werewolves.”

“Oh no,” Alec whispered, likely guessing where the story was going, arms holding Leif tightly, as if afraid he might disappear into the dark.

Leif hummed in agreement with Alec’s dismay. “The evil witch, with her lover, hunted for werewolves, and in the depths of a moonless night killed a small pack, sacrificing the children to fuel her dark magics. Whispers of the atrocities they committed spread through the forests and glens, and packs united to stop them. Alphas led hunting parties after the killers, but the vampire was old, strong, and willing to kill to protect his lover. The witch was canny and skilled, and obsessed with immortality. The losses were great.”

Memories of funeral pyres and the howls of grief echoing through empty forests rose up, and he took a moment to breathe in the warmth of the man in his arms. Nearly a thousand years later and he held proof that no spell lasted forever.

“What happened next?” Alec whispered, barely awake.

Leif was feeling tired too, but he wanted to finish the story.

“A young alpha, full of bravery and not much sense, tracked the vampire back to his witch, and they fought. Nearly dying, the alpha prevailed against the vampire by pure luck, having attacked near dawn when the earliest rays of sunlight weakened the old vampire enough that the werewolf took his head, but not without being grievously wounded himself.”

Blood, hot in his mouth and on his skin, haunted his memories. The bitter vampire blood, not sweet as humans claimed, choked his senses, and he remembered dropping the headless corpse and collapsing to the forest floor a few steps away from his defeated enemy.

A scream of rage heralded the witch’s appearance from the trees, and the flash of silver as she struck with a wickedly sharp athame, plunging it into his chest and narrowly missing his heart.

“The witch stabbed the alpha as he lay wounded not far from her dead lover, missing his heart, and he struck out in reflex, claws ripping her from throat to belly. She had enough breath in her to lay a curse, her own life’s blood giving it power as she died.”

Alec was on the edge of sleep, but fingertips gently ran over the scar on Leif’s chest. “What was the curse?” The words hung in the still, quiet air, too soft to reach farther than the comfortable softness of the bed.

“To die, but not alone—the cursed blade was meant to drain the life from an alpha, along with every member of their pack, using the pack bonds, stealing their long lives and power and giving it to the witch.” Leif sighed before finishing the tale. “The wounded alpha knew he would die unless he removed the blade, but he was too hurt for control, and the athame broke within his flesh when he tried to pull out the blade. A part remained lodged in his flesh, behind bone and muscle, but the breaking of the blade blunted the worst of the curse, and he lived. But not without cost.”

Alec was silent, and Leif wondered if he was awake enough to hear the end of the tale. “Instead of draining his life-force and leaving him a husk of fur and bone, the broken athame and weakened curse became instead a siphon of life magics. Instead of draining the alpha, the curse pulled from the pack bonds, eating away at his family, friends, loved ones. He healed, but his mere proximity weakened any wolf he shared a bond with, and so in the end, he still lost everything. Any werewolf he shared a bond with was in danger. They would never be safe. So he became an alpha without a pack, and carried a curse that killed any chance of gaining a new pack. And so the alpha left behind his people and his homeland, and wandered the world for a thousand years until he found a small, abandoned mine and made a den, still carrying a curse that can’t be lifted.”

Alec was asleep, totally limp, breathing slowly. He figured that was for the best. Alec wouldn’t remember the sad tale, and Leif could avoid the pity that usually came his way when someone learned of his…affliction.

With the witch dead, the years she had already stolen from innocent lives cut short went instead to Leif. A healthy werewolf might see five to six centuries before dying of old age—he was cursed with the life-force of every werewolf killed by the blade, potentially a dozen or more lifespans, and he suspected he had a few thousand more years to go before he saw his first gray hair.

After a thousand years, with the witch long dead and the curse a mess, the tip of the silver blade burning whenever he stayed too long among his own kind, he had given up trying to lift the curse and retreated from the world.

Practitioners of all types and creeds tried to remove the curse, but the consensus was that it was tied too indelibly to his flesh and blood, and removing the silver blade would require an intrusive surgery his own nature would compromise. He healed too fast for a surgeon to remove the metal, and the curse drained his heart and soul if anyone tried defeating the magic and leaving the metal behind. Removing the curse would kill him, and removing the metal was an impossible task of butchery he refused to ask of any surgeon.

The silver didn’t hurt him, not anymore. His body covered it in scar tissue and he was in many ways immune to the effects of silver after constant exposure. It wasn’t fatal to him, not like human stories claimed. Not anymore. The early years he suffered through sporadic illnesses and spates of weakness until his body grew accustomed to the toxic invasion and adapted.

All he had in the end was an ache in his chest to match the loss of his people, and he got by as best he could.

Yet now Fate sent him a gift, in the most unusual fashion, so maybe he wasn’t meant to be alone. He never thought his future might include a wildflower-scented young man with pretty gray eyes and a smile that lit up a room.

No avoiding it, not really. Fate somehow decided his time had come, and his mate was at last in his arms. Whether he lived to see his happily-ever-after remained to be seen, but he had hope now, instead of endless years of loneliness.