Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Prairie Rose

Despite the auspicious warning during the drive before they reached Sedona and exchanged the rental SUV for a truck so lifted, modified, and heavy that it looked like something out of apocalyptic movie, nothing could have prepared her for the shocking land and people she now belonged to.

They'd driven for what felt like forever, leaving the main road and heading down dirt paths. She wished they'd made the journey in the daylight so she could see more than just flashes of the red cliffs and towering striated buttes. She'd barely been able to sight any vegetation as it flashed by in the headlights. The promised token images of massive cactuses or sandy hills hadn't been a reality for her yet.

The desert never opened up or made way for civilization. There was no modern oasis. Just a chain link fence with rolls of barbed wire on top that turned into a stone wall on the back with high lookout towers. It reminded her, shockingly, of a prison.

She was wedged into the backseat beside Ireland, who was slight of build but still huge, and Bathos, who was not slight of anything. It was a struggle not to put her elbows into either of them and wedge them over so she had room to breathe. She'd thought the desert was supposed to be a hot, scorched place, but the cool air that rushed through the Gideon's driver side window when he rolled it down to greet the man guarding the gate was cool.

They were waved through the gate, the whine of the electronics on the fencing slamming shut behind them, locking them in.

"People think we live in a cult," Ireland scoffed. "With the Earthships and the compound with all our apartments, I'm sure it must look that way. The whole area's a hotspot for tourists now. They come out this way sometimes, thinking it's a good place to host some kind of music festival or get away from society. Others must think it's a prison and they stay clear. Either way, the fence keeps them out and we'll shoot down any drones we might see. There have been a few."

She didn't ask if that was legal. If they'd survived out here without humans interfering for so long, it must be because the local police were either taken care of, or because they just couldn't care less about a few odd acres of private land with some high fencing in the middle of nowhere. It had probably been searched once or twice and likely everyone was satisfied it wasn't any sort of drug operation or that people were being locked up there to be trafficked or something else sinister and illegal.

Ireland answered that unspoken question. "We're technically registered as some sort of religious institution, and no one gives any trouble. It allows great tax benefits as well."

"Don't people come wanting to join, though? The fanatical ones?"

"Not very many can even find us out here, and those who might give it a try are soon enough chased off. They get nervous when we don't open the gates, and in the dead of night they hear wolves calling in the unprotected wilds of the desert. Of course, nothing happens to them. We see to that because we don't want to fight with humans."

"We had enough trouble with our own kind." Bathos offered.

That still disturbed her far more than she wanted to admit. She'd known only peace for so long in her own pack, but she knew it wasn't always so.

Gideon drove the truck straight into the heart of the enclosure. She was able to see through the windshield if she looked straight on, a long white structure that curved around in an L shape. It had a flat roof and looked to be made of some kind of concrete. A bunker? Barracks? Maybe that was the apartment block they'd just mentioned.

She hadn't even climbed out of the truck yet and the whole area had a ‘don't ask, don't tell' vibe about it that brought to mind experiments, aliens, and wild festivals.

All four doors of the truck opened like the men planned a synchronized exit. She was left suddenly alone in the back on the bench.

She shivered even though she wasn't cold. She'd worn her best wool sweater, thinking she could shuck it along the way and a pair of leggings under her vintage dress. As she climbed out of the truck, she was glad for it. She'd always heard the desert was cold at night, but she was struck by the crispness of the air. Still, she was used to winter in Wyoming. They'd done their mating ceremony outside, in the middle of a blizzard.

Her wolf howled with danger and thrashed uncomfortably within her as she took in the elongated buildings in the distance and the flat, squat building with all the doors and small square windows near where they'd stopped. It looked like a seedy motel.

"Come," Agnar commanded briskly. "We walk to our ceremonial site."

He wasn't a man to wait around and take her hand. He didn't ask her if she needed anything or care that her equilibrium was way the hell off. To him, she'd given her word, he'd prepared her accordingly with harsh words along the way, and that was all that was needed.

She left her bag sitting out in the back of the truck and hurried to keep up with the men who stalked ahead, hulking black shadows in the night. As they got further past the buildings, there seemed to be a garden and several greenhouses. That made her heart quicken with joy. There was nothing she loved more than gardening. Vegetables, flowers, and herbs, she loved all of it in equal measure. She took little joy in cooking, was hopeless at flower arrangements, and was less than useless when it came to practicing medicine, but from planting to harvest she excelled.

Prairie Rose was taken aback at the way the chain link fence continued on, those rolls of gleaming, razor sharp barbed wire glistening sinisterly in the moonlight. Was the whole of their land fenced? Likely only their living areas, food, water, and ceremonial places would be fenced to keep them safe from intruders of all sorts and attackers alike.

She'd worn sturdy hiking boots under her dress, well broken-in during Wyoming spring, summer, and autumn months. She couldn't see the red of the earth beneath her feet, but it had a strange smell. The whole of the air did. It was earthy in a way the forest wasn't. She missed the sharp pine scent or the bright hay and wildflower aroma of home. But the stars here… they burned with a bright magnificence, so clear that they rivalled even the northern sky where she'd grown from a child into a woman. She turned her face up to the nearly full moon. Another pang of homesickness shot through her. They'd be having the full moon celebration soon. Half of her wanted to be there, celebrating the way she knew how, a way that seemed familiar and was safe. She wanted to be among the faces of the people she knew and loved, not here in a land of strangers. But the other half of her, that half that always craved adventure, wanted to see the world more than anything.

Of course, she never had. She'd never done anything crazy except lie to her parents and the rest of her family over ten years ago for Sagen, a wolf from a pack not so far from theirs. He'd mated another in the end, but she'd never asked him for anything, and he'd promised her nothing in return. She wasn't heartbroken.

She had nothing to do but think as she walked. Not one of the four men turned around to make sure she was still there or ask her if she was alright. These weren't sensitive, kind people. It probably never occurred to them to check on her.

Her glance strayed to the broad back of her mate. Tall didn't begin to describe him. The man towered like a giant. He had to be six five, which made her five eight feel tiny in comparison. He had a stony face, and it was far from beautiful, though it was interesting. Peppered with scars, he had a more obvious one that bisected his thick, trimmed beard along his jawline and one on his forehead that cleaved his eyebrow in half and swirled by his eye. His nose wasn't straight and the rest of him was stone hard, but it was that stone that also made him fearsomely wondrous to look at. She didn't want to get caught at it, but he was interesting in the way that he didn't look like anyone else.

She'd found her sister's mate, Castor, so exotic because of his half-shaved head, beard, and tattoos. He'd looked like a Viking warrior. Agnar was markedly different, though he wore his hard past like a garment. His hair was long on top, but the sides were shaved. He kept his tied in a knot high up on his head and didn't braid or adorn it in any way. He wore all black, which suited him. It set off his mahogany hair and beard with the few silver strands shot through and his strange, silver eyes.

He was the kind of man who easily owned every bit of oxygen in any space he entered, and from the first time they'd met months ago, in a neutral meeting ground to discuss the mating between them and the vow of peace, she'd been captivated.

The terrain changed after another ten minutes. If it hadn't been so thoroughly dark despite the moon and stars, she would have noticed the buttes rising in the distance. Maybe she'd been too fixated on Agnar's proud way of walking. He took long, powerful strides, like a giant owning the earth. The power in his body practically emanated from him.

If you should want children beyond the two I have already, I'll give them to you. They won't be brought about by immaculate conception, so you'll have to suffer me at the time.

In truth, she wasn't as aware of their surroundings as she should be because her mind kept throwing those words he'd said on the drive here, back to her. She'd watched his hooded eyes become dark when he dared to just throw that out there so tonelessly. Tone deaf, more like. And everyone in the SUV heard it.

She was sure that the only suffering involved with having Agnar's huge body do unthinkably dirty things to her would be the roughness she'd enjoy. Agnar was a shadow, the kind of darkness people fell willingly into. She didn't want to admit to herself the way her blood thrummed through her veins and the low buzz that hummed everywhere.

The thought of him never loving her smarted because she wanted what her parents had in a mating. The kind of love that would let them die happily. If all she could have was a dark sort of passion, could that be enough?

No. It wouldn't be enough to make up for an empty heart.

It was fine to be attracted to her mate, but she didn't want to give more of herself away to a hard man who offered little in return.

The four figures cut to the right abruptly. She nearly tripped over her long dress as she followed them up to the side of a towering butte. The cave appeared out of nowhere, sheltered by a rockface, the entrance hidden behind it. As soon as she entered, she could feel more than hear the rhythmic pounding of drums.

She was right about Agnar's force of presence. As soon as the five of them came into view, the whole celebration paused.

She blinked, awed at the massive bonfire that raged in a circle of huge boulders in the very middle of the cavern. Tables laden with all sorts of food groaned at the far side of cave.

There were at least sixty people in there, and more than a few of them in their wolf form. Those in human form were in various states of undress, from the clothes remaining, all of Agnar's pack seemed to favor black, men and women alike. Four bare-chested men paused over huge deer skin drums at the back of the fire. There were horns that served as cups and chalices everywhere. Giant kegs lined the other side of the wall, the source of the good humor.

It was such a marked difference from her pack's ceremonies and celebrations. She'd been warned about this, but it was like the whole place had been torn from the pages of history. Many of the men looked just like Vikings, though dressed more like modern-day Vikings would dress, with the military fatigues rather than animal skins and chainmail. There were a few carved weapons glistening around the cave, axes and knives. Everyone present seemed incredibly muscular and vaguely threating.

No wonder Agnar saw her as a delicate flower.

Agnar lifted both hands and, without a word, the drumming started up with a pounding that was echoed in her heart and blood as well as the soles of her feet. Bodies surged into action. They swayed around the fire, picked up their cups, went back to loading up plates, or… took their pleasure… She tried to follow Agnar's advice of keeping her expression neutral, but as her eyes went to the darker corners of the cavern it was hard to ignore the sight of people openly having sex. Taking a breath, she fixed her gaze on the floor of the cave.

Agnar's men dispersed, but her new mate motioned for her to follow him towards the back of the cavern. Only when the shadows opened up did she see a single huge chair there. Far from being a throne, it was hewn out of stone, and though rough, was still exquisite.

There was only one chair, and that clearly belonged to Agnar. Was she expected to sit at his feet? Stand beside him all night? She was already drawing curious looks. Not in a nice way either. The open and contemptuous stares of the men and women scalded her. Her skin crawled and the hair at the back of her neck stood up. Her wolf howled inside her, trying to claw her way out to defend her.

With a grunt, Agnar grasped her hips and roughly pulled her onto his lap.

She recalled, in vivid detail, Agnar admonishing her not to publicly scorn him, but the possessive paw he held over her hip and the way his arm banded around her waist like a steel bar was too much. She struggled slightly, fighting against the way the warmth of him crept into her through her dress, and how the sharp scent of cloves and musky sweat and earth oozed from him.

A woman approached them. She had a black leather fringe jacket on and what looked like a bikini top underneath. Her fatigues were slung low on her hips, displaying an impressive set of bronzed abs. Her hair was jet black, slicked high above her head and twisted off in a long, flowing ponytail. She looked like a dominatrix and the only thing missing was the whip.

She was the only person so far who afforded her even so much as a hint of a smile. She produced a horn filled with a pale bubbling substance. When Prairie Rose took it, the other woman turned and left silently.

Voices were raised in conversation around the cave, giving the throbbing drums some competition. It just seemed as though no one wished to talk to her. This was a celebration of their mating, but it seemed more like she was invisible. No one would ever have treated anyone like this in her own pack. She was half annoyed and half sick with grief at ever having thought she could do this.

"Drink." Agnar's thick, calloused fingers closed over hers and raised the horn to her face.

"I don't—" She cut herself off. At this celebration, she'd prove herself as even more of an outsider if she didn't participate in their customs in a small way. Her pack, as a rule didn't drink alcohol, scorning anything that might cause them to lose control. She understood—the fear of discovery was probably the reasoning behind that taboo. But perhaps these wolves with their closed society and prison walls felt safe.

She sipped at the cold drink, astounded at the way the bubbles flowed over her tongue. It was strong and slightly sweet, with a bitter aftertaste. She found herself parched and drank deeply. It was a mistake. She hadn't had anything to eat and within a few minutes, her head started to feel fuzzy and her tongue thick. She kept sipping anyway. At least it was something to do with her hands while she had to sit in front of everyone and be observed and judged and probably found wanting in every way.

Maybe if she drank enough, she'd forget the humiliation of being fixed in place on Agnar's lap.

The minutes wore on and the drums seemed to intensify. More people joined the dancing around the fire. Her horn was suddenly empty and replaced with another that appeared from Agnar's hand. The sounds and shadows started to become one long pounding, throbbing rhythm.

Prairie Rose turned her head at a muffled cry from the left. They were far back in the cave, pressed practically against the wall. At first, she thought someone was being hurt, but then her eyes found a pair of shadows, and even when she realized what they were doing, she couldn't stop watching. Unlike earlier where she'd been embarrassed, now she was transfixed.

The woman's legs were wrapped around a man's waist. He held her pinned against the wall. Her eyes fixed on the way the woman's head was thrown back in pleasure as she was roughly fucked against the wall, every thrust scraping her hard against the rocky surface. The man bent his head and yanked down her top, exposing one of her breasts.

Unconsciously, Prairie Rose parted her legs. She straddled one of Agnar's thick thighs, aching and empty at her core. She moved slightly, rubbing against her leggings, which were horribly wet. So wet he could probably feel her dampening his pants.

The thought of that broke the spell she'd been under. She leaned back, shoving her legs together so fast that liquid sloshed out of the horn, spilling down the front of her dress. She scooted her bottom up too far and too hard and then she felt it. She froze, gasping when she felt the hardness in his pants thicken beneath her. For just a fleeting second, she had another filthy thought of tearing off her leggings and arranging her dress to hide everything as Agnar unzipped his pants and took himself out. She'd sink down on him, filled to overflowing from behind while everyone in the room watched, none of them the wiser as to what was happening right in front of them.

Her clit throbbed and her empty walls clenched. Fuck.

She stood up so suddenly she nearly tripped on her dress again and the rest of her drink spilled onto the ground. The hard, packed, red earth of the cave's floor soaked up the liquid.

"Food," she mumbled in Agnar's direction, hoping to hide her flaming face.

He stood up and stepped beside her, placing one hand on the small of her back. She refused the shiver that shot up her spine and the rush of wetness that soaked her leggings. "Yes. Let's."

His guidance around the room wasn't much for protection, but more a stamp of ownership. She was drunk and that was why she found it thrilling. It was why her body was slick and ready. Why she couldn't stop thinking about Agnar taking her to the back of the cave and fucking her in the shadows.

It was all wrong. Why hadn't she just pretended to drink the beer or ask for some water? Was it spiked with some kind of aphrodisiac for the celebrations?

Her hands were useless, and she could barely keep herself upright. Her legs felt like water. Agnar had to fill a plate, which he did, and then he led her back around the cave. Her head swam violently, and her empty stomach started to lurch with it. Her vision tilted crazily, or was that the cave? The drums were now a part of her, vibrating inside her chest like her rapid heartbeat.

Agnar was a battle-scarred warrior, but he carried himself like a king, even when they walked past an exceptionally dark area where the cave's wall provided a crevice like a second smaller room. There were people in there, and they were doing things she'd never imagined. Agnar acted like he didn't even see, walking on, but she paused momentarily, transfixed.

A woman, entirely naked, on her hands and knees on the hard floor. A huge man knelt behind her, his face buried between her parted legs while she rhythmically slipped another man's engorged cock in and out of her mouth.

She was propelled along by Agnar coming back and taking her hand. He led her, swimming through the cave like it was dark water, back to the stone chair. He roughly twisted her onto his lap so her legs both faced the one direction, keeping her clear of his crotch and more balanced on his muscular thigh.

"Say nothing," he repeated. Even his voice shivered through her, sending a heatwave arrowing straight between her legs. "Here. Eat this. It will help."

She parted her lips and nearly moaned in pleasure as he thrust in a torn off piece of chicken. The meat was hot and delicious, the juices in her mouth flowing at the first taste of food since their early breakfast probably more than fifteen hours ago. There was definitely something wrong with her because she wanted to grasp Agnar's hand and suck his fingers clean.

He kept feeding her and it was both unbearably erotic and extremely satisfying. The more she ate, the less her head swam and the more ashamed she was of herself for wantonly riding Agnar's leg. Sort of. Something wasn't right. She was still tingling all over. Her body was on fire and every time her mate slipped food between her lips, she had to resist the urge to suckle his fingers. She wanted to take them deep in her mouth. She wanted to do what that woman in the alcove was doing. Undo Agnar and take that long, thick cock she'd felt in his pants into her mouth. She wanted to suck him until he exploded down her throat.

Her legs inched apart ever so slightly.

Agnar paused, his finger on her lower lip. He traced the shape of her lip. The skin where he'd touched blazed fire and she couldn't help herself. She licked his index finger, humming in pleasure at the taste of him. It was suddenly so hot in the cave, so very, very hot. It felt like the flames had leapt from the fire and trailed a path straight for her, where they caught her dress and consumed her body.

Agnar forced her mouth open and then he kissed her without warning, a brutal stamping of his lips against hers, his tongue sweeping out and caressing the length of hers.

She wanted more and instinctively reached for his face to hold him closer, wishing he'd make good use of his hands to shred her clothing apart or that he'd reach up under her dress and tear off her leggings and slip those brutal digits inside her, working her open, getting her ready and—

She was so unceremoniously dropped off his lap that she nearly landed with her face on the floor. Her hands caught her fall, hard earth grinding between her splayed fingers.

"Who drugged my mate?"