Wild Watchtower: Shield & Claw Book One

Chapter Eight: First Harvest

Being at the watchtower during the first harvest of the year was a novelty. Often, we were still living out in the wilderness, and taking turns to oversee upkeep of the beacon and citadel. It provided some distraction, at least. Rather than being cooped up inside, I opted to join the labourers in the fields, picking up a scythe and working alongside them as the sun burned overhead. Even as the sun blazed down on me, it felt nice to be away from the tension which lingered in my family home, turning friendships into sullen silences.

It didn't even matter that the evidence of my beating remained written on my bare torso, because the people of Cuannagealán had lived alongside us for so long that nothing surprised them. Subordinates sometimes bore marks left by their alpha. It was our way, and no one commented on the bruises and cuts as I sweated alongside them, pulling my weight even though other nobles would have found manual labour beneath them. I enjoyed the repetitive work; the wholesomeness of a task that provided for my people rather than waged war on someone else's.

The sense of community soothed me too, and when a young girl carried a pail of water along the line of labourers, holding a ladle of cool liquid to the lips of each man and woman, I accepted gratefully. When I broke a loaf of bread to stave off hunger for a little longer, I shared it with the rest of my team. I laughed at jokes told in the guff tones of common voices, and answered them in their own dialect, settling into my stride beside the people I would one day rule, and who I might need to command to war. The future didn't matter as we worked, because our communal effort was all I cared about as my muscles burned with exertion, and I loved those hours of peace, when my mind leeched of doubt and worry and my body strained to keep tools moving through fields of wheat and barley.

The humans and elves who scythed alongside me stripped down to their britches too, and even the women only bound their chests in thin bands of fabric. Whereas those who lived inland retained their sense of shame in their own bodies, those who lived near watchtowers often acquired some of our... Shamelessness. Our influence meant that they, like me, let the breeze cool sun warmed skin, only resorting to tying damp linen neckerchiefs around their necks when the heat became too unbearable.

To any creature without a wolf’s sense of smell, it would be difficult to tell me apart from the humans either side of me. And if it hadn't been for the subtle pointed tips to their ears, it would’ve also been difficult to distinguish the elves either side of them as. Sharing our culture and our efforts proved to be a great equaliser, and I felt pride in what the packs of the Tírgarda had accomplished within the settlements that had grown up around their towers.

We had a culture unlike that found in the capital, where high elves ruled from delicately carved towers and where beggars were forced into grim back streets where diplomatic visitors and wealthy lords wouldn't need to see them. It was different from the wood elves in their treetop villages, and the dwarves in their stone halls. Ideas were shared and adopted, and while variation existed in the gods we worshipped and the fashions we followed, we accepted each other, and understood the symbiotic relationship we all shared, from the seasonal workers who helped meet the demands of the harvest, to the merchant sailors who brought fresh seed when our own stocks were low. I loved my home and my people, and even though I occasionally longed to be free of my duty, I felt relieved that I would never have to leave. While my siblings would all eventually go their own way, I got to keep this, cherish it; I got to defend it.

“Are ye joinin’ us fer thi celebrations tinight, m' lord?” the man beside me asked.
“Wouldn't miss it,” I answered, lowering my scythe for the final time. “I believe some of my sisters were going to help decorate the town square for the dance.”

A woman straightened further down the line, untying the ragged neckerchief from her throat and mopping her sweat-damp brow as she admitted, “Ah sair Lady Fiáin stringin' buntin' a’tween thi butcher's shop an’ thi candle-myeker’s. Whin yer kin are at hyem, thi Lady Aisling oft plans thi banners an’ flewers, but t’was nice ti see thi Lady Fiáin an’ Lord Éirimiúil bein’ say involved.

That had a smile tugging at the corners of my lips. Fiáin had taken my words to heart, at least, and she’d thrown herself into organising the festivities, pretending that she wasn't afraid of Misniúil’s killer, and of the journey she needed to make. Or maybe she felt as I did, and escaped the confines of the tower to avoid the tension which had infected our home.

At least Éiri kept his word. Accepting my decision on the matter, he'd taken to standing beside Fiáin, a silent reminder to Aisling and Céillí that they needed to fight more than her alone if they wanted to clear a path to the top of the pack's hierarchy.

“Aye. She’s making the most of this celebration. It should be a good evening,” I said with a broad smile.

Rolling my shoulders, I swiped back the hair which clung to my brow in sodden strands and attempted to obscure my vision, easing the burn in knotted muscles as I moved. Despite the heavy feeling in my arms and legs, the result of a good day’s work, I felt strong; I felt better than I had while pinned under my father's weight. Everything seemed right with me, despite how much ominous uncertainty lingered in the future. Maybe that made me over-confident. Maybe it pushed me to take a risk that I wouldn't usually accept.

Whatever the case, when a youth came running across the fields from the woodland, yelling that he'd seen a strange wolf in the ‘Sí glade’, I didn't think to hesitate. I leapt into action, pressing my scythe into the hands of the man next to me, and shirking off the thin linen britches I'd worn to work in.

“Warn the guards at the gate. Have them tell my father, and get everyone who's in the fields back inside the citadel's walls,” I demanded of him, fearing that the white wolf had returned to cause further mischief, and further fear for Fiáin.

Even as the man nodded, accepting my orders without question, I was already shifting and shaking out my fur, the deeper red-brown of my summer coat sprouting to hide skin and injury. Then I ran, leaping over the field's woven willow fence in one easy bound, and racing towards the treeline and the familiar trail into the woods. Instinct told me to defend my territory, even when waiting for my family to join me may have been wiser, and my paws pounded over the drought hardened earth with a steady rhythm that confirmed just how well my wounds were healing. Despite having had my ass handed to me by my father, I didn't feel afraid. Maybe that should have been my first warning; a warning that and entirely different opponent lay in wait.

When I reached the glade, where white and blue flowers saluted the late afternoon soon and long grass swayed under fluttering butterflies, it wasn't a white male I found. Instead, a petite red and cream furred female crouched over a freshly killed rabbit, taking delicate bites of her meal. Still, when I careered to a stop, the she-wolf raised her head, her ears going back as she snarled at me, intent on defending her kill. Her hazel and green eyes narrowed and her lips peeled back from bloodied fangs.

Pausing, I tried to assess just how much of a threat she was. Despite looking slight, I knew from my sisters that she could be fast, nimble, and if we clashed, she could still do me some damage before I subdued her. And anyway, just because the white wolf had been spotted recently, that didn't mean this female was anything more than a visitor to our island, intending no harm. That she'd reacted as any wolf would, protecting her prey, didn't mean she'd attack. So I lay down where I was, sprawling in the sun, just outside the shadows of the trees, letting her know that I had no intention of taking her meal from her.

She watched me warily, appraising me with as much scrutiny as I had her. For several minutes, she continued to growl her warning, before finally deciding I had no intention of coming closer. Once she came to than conclusion, she lowered her head to eat again, even though her eyes stayed focussed on me, intent and suspicious despite my efforts to seem unthreatening.

I let her eat in peace, and only lifted my head from my paws when she finished her meal and began licking her paws clean. Her ears flicked towards me and her eyes narrowed again, but when I stood, I made sure to remain relaxed, my tail and ears in a neutral position, rather than raised in a way meant to intimidate or flattened to show any intention of fighting. Tipping my head, my tongue lolling in what I hoped was an inquisitive by welcoming expression, I waited for her to make the first move; to give in to her own curiosity or flee, or decide that she had what it took to take on a male who was so much taller and broader than her.

When she approached, it was by a few cautious steps at a time. She scented the air, familiarising herself with me as she drew closer, her intense gaze watching every twitch I made, as if waiting for me to attack. But I did nothing, letting her draw nearer until we were almost touching. It was only then that her own body tensed, her tail lifting into a dominant position that said she would fight to remain on top of whatever hierarchy we chose to enforce.

My hackles raised in response; I wasn't prepared to let some stranger unseat me, so I mirrored her confrontational pose, pressing forward, closer, confident in my own ability to hold my own. She seemed to sense that standing my ground was second nature to me, in a way that came from a childhood of ensuring my siblings knew they were behind me, and an adult life started with the expectations of a pack heir.

The female tipped her head, as curious about me as I was about her, and when she finally decided I'd only resort to violence if pushed, she shifted, revealing her human-looking form and confirming that she meant to harm as she asked, “Who are you, male? I have no interest in playing games with a stranger in the woods.”

I shifted too, and her gaze slid over me, appraising yellowing bruises and the still red lines cut by my fathers claws.

“Let me guess,” she murmured with some accusation, “your father or brother finally chased you from your birth pack, and left you to wander Tírlaochra in search of a mate to claim or pack to steal.”

“Hardly,” I answered, frowning at the woman who seemed to be one-part rough edges and one-part delicate, almost fae, grace.

It wasn't fae, though; whatever made her hold her head that bit straighter than she should've done while alone in another’s territory. I couldn't place my finger on what made her seem so ‘other', or why she captivated me, even as she squared up to me, her fierce eyes telling me she had thrown herself into too many impossible battles in her life, and yet had come out still standing.

“I am Cróga Túrfaire of Cuannagealán, heir of Láidir, and you are on my land, female,” I added, without backing down.

The female’s brows jumped slightly in surprise, and her gaze raked over me again, reassessing me. “Lord Cróga Túrfaire? And you're out here alone?”

“The one and only,” I answered, bristling at the implication I should be guarded, coddled and protected rather than risking myself. “A few days ago, a family of elves were attacked by a strange wolf while crossing the southwest causeway. Unfortunately, by the time we followed, the trail had gone cold. So, when I received word that another stranger had been spotted in our territory, I decided not to waste time before confirming you meant no harm. I am not afraid to defend my borders, she-wolf. Don't assume my title means I am anything less than a wolf.”

She laughed, a smirk playing across her lips as she teased, “Many settled packs have forgotten how to be wolves. They sit in their watchtowers, pretending to be little lords and ladies, eating the scraps granted by their elven masters. Are you different, Lord Cróga of Túrfaire?” Poking at my bruised side, she asked, “Is that why you bear so many scars, are you prepared to fight for your place?”

“I was born for it,” I retorted, not backing down, even as both irritation and interest piqued. “And you? What is your purpose here?”

She pressed closer, so her front was against mine, her warmth radiating into me and tempting my body to react in a way it never had to any other female. A low rumble vibrated through my chest, in warning or encouragement, I wasn't sure. The female smiled at the sound, plump lips curving as she leaned up to whisper at my ear.

“I'm getting a head start,” she answered, her breath warm on my throat, teasing tanned skin and warming it more than the sun ever had.

“A head start at what venture?” I asked, feeling uncertain for the first time. I suspected I had nothing to fear from the female... Or I had everything to fear from her, and not because she was stronger or a better fighter, but because she could be a distraction.

She chuckled, her fingers trailing down my chest, over my heart, as she murmured, “Assessing whether the rumours are true.”

“Do you always talk in riddles?” I demanded, frowning and pushing her hand away, more because her touch seared, casting a spell that fogged my mind and heightened my awareness of her scent, her warmth, and encourage me to stake a claim I'd never made before, rather than because I wanted the separation. “What rumours are you trying to confirm?”

Turning on her heel, she strode away, and my body moved automatically to follow, as if called to this strange female who hadn't even given me her name.  Trailing in her wake, my gaze slid over her shapely body, and I wondered what it would be like to push her into the grass, to sink into her as a male claiming his female.

Where had that errant thought come from, unbidden and unwanted? I had delayed the inevitable search for a mate for as long as Father would allow. I wanted to worry over the fleet, not over the females who would arrive in the autumn, when I would be expected to chase tail whether I wanted it or not. Yet this stranger, who'd given me neither name nor indication of intent, had initiated urges I hadn't even realised I possessed.

“Not always,” she admitted as she wound her way across the glade. “As for my intentions, they are honourable. I am on your side, heir of Láidir, provided you prove yourself worthy.”

“And how do I do that?” I demanded, not expecting it when she spun on the spot, her balled fist arcing up to collide with my jaw.

For a moment, I did nothing but blink in surprise, too taken aback to react, but when a flurry of blows rained down on my cheek and chest, my arms came up to defend myself. Grabbing the female's wrists, I tried to subdue her, only to find myself sprawling on my back, having been launched over the petite she-wolf's shoulder.

With an angry growl, I leapt back onto my feet, any thought of subduing her peacefully slipping from my mind. If she had been some delicate elven lady or fragile human maid, I would have backed up, abiding by the etiquette of their people, but this female was no elf, she was no human, and if she demanded a show of strength, then I would give it to her.

When my fist lashed out in retaliation, she darted out of reach, dancing around me, so light-footed and nimble that she could've rivalled Céillí, perhaps even Fiáin. She, like my father, would wear me down, striking and darting away, over and over, until I could do nothing but concede. But while I had been reluctant to challenge my father, even though I'd needed to do it, I had no such qualms about this female.  She had wandered into my territory and dared to attack, and I would defend myself. I would see her submit.

When I lunged at her, I didn’t care that she would be forced to defend, lashing out, or morphing and attacking with teeth and claws. Either way, I just needed to get close, to get a hold of her, to use the advantage of my size and strength before she used her speed to exhaust me, especially when I was already tired from a day working in the fields, and still aching from the injuries my father had inflicted.

We met in a clash of precisely thrown punches, each trying to stun the other enough to press an advantage. She swiped at my visible injuries, sending bursts of fire into still healing flesh, while I blocked, jarring both her limbs and mine. When I landed a blow to her chin, her head snapped back and she staggered, momentarily dazed, shaking her head as if to clear stars from her vision. I winced on her behalf, but she had started this, and I was intent on ending it.

Taking the opportunity her momentary confusion offered, I barrelled into her, using my mass to knock her off her clean feet. We hit the ground hard, the impact knocking the breath from her lungs as I landed on top of her. She tried to claw at me, to dig her fingers into the claw marks on my side, but I grabbed her wrists, stronger than her and having the advantage of my weight bearing down on her. Pinning her hands on either side of her head, drew a frustrated snarl from the female, and she almost pouted, tempting lips pursing as she glared up at me, fire in her eyes.

My body pressed against hers, holding her down as she thrashed and writhed, in a futile attempt to wriggle free. But while her persistence drew a warning growl from me in response, the feel of her squirming under me caused my body to respond in quite another way. Desire coursed through me, my body going hard against hers in ways I'd never experienced with any other female. Or with any other person. My erection lay against her belly, heavy and demanding, and I had no idea what to do about this new situation.

Then she smiled, her movements becoming less about escape and more about seduction as she arched under me, lifting her hips and thrusting her heaving breasts towards me. Her peaked nipples were rosy, tempting me to lick and suck pebbled flesh, even as I stilled, uncertain. The fragrance of her desire taunted me, giving away her own need, even as she bit her lower lip and moaned softly.

“If you submit, I'll let you up,” I ground out, trying to wrestle back control of whatever was happening.

“If I submit, I'd rather you didn't,” she breathed, wriggling again, and causing my erection to twitch, reminding me that it didn't want to let her go either.

“In the autumn, I'll have a mate,” I stammered, as if that warning had any relevance right then.

“In the autumn, so might I,” the female responded, and she leaned up, biting my jaw, her teeth teasing my skin without breaking it.

A groan left me, and my hips rolled automatically, grinding my erection against her belly while my body sung, too hot and too desperate to feel her nails raking over my flesh, and to feel her teeth marking my skin. Just moments earlier, I'd pushed curved talons away, and now I wanted the sting of them gripping me, pulling me closer as I buried myself in a female for the first time.

“I don't even know your name,” I insisted, because I thought I should. If I was going to do this, I wanted to know the name of the female I'd taken.

She relaxed, victory in her eyes as she murmured, “Aoibhinn, I am Aoibhinn Bandia. And I want you, Cróga Túrfaire. If you want me, then I am yours to claim.”

Rocking my hips again, emphasising the hard ridge of my desire that still lay between us, I retorted, “That I want you seems rather obvious, Aoibhinn Bandia...”

Only I couldn't say more, because the questioning barks and growls of my family interrupted. Leaping to my feet, I positioned myself between my female and the others, my arms coming up in a defensive position, even as they skidded to a halt, staring at us in surprise. My father tipped his head, questioning, while Éiri's expression became one of amusement as he took in the sight before him. Fiáin didn't seem to know where to look, becoming overly interested in a purple flower at her feet, whilst Aisling huffed, turning her back on me completely. Taibh stared at the still erect thing attached to my front, as if he’d never witnessed such a thing before, despite having seen my father and Aonair react to their respective mates before. We really weren't a shameful species.

Behind me, Aoibhinn rose to her feet, her body pressing against my back as she peered from behind me, not cowering or needing protection, but not questioning my right to take charge either. Still, the feel of her skin against mine was a distraction, and another groan escaped before I could bite it back.

When my father shifted, taking his human form, there was a wry twist to his lips as he fought back laughter. He eyed us curiously, unashamed of the bruises and cuts that still marred his skin, that gave away exactly who I'd been scrapping with, and just as unabashed by the fact his heir stood before him with his manhood putting the watchtower to shame.

“I assume you have this situation in hand?” he asked, without waiting for a response before adding, “Why don't you invite your... friend... to join us at this evening’s celebrations? You can introduce her to your mother.”

My cheeks heated at the realisation everyone would find out about this, unusual, considering I didn't embarrass easily. Nodding stiffly, I tried to find something to say, but when Éiri huffed a laugh, a low growl of irritation left me instead.

My father chuckled, shaking his head. “I would say follow us when you're done here, but I don't want you out here alone, all things considered, so I suggest we all make our way back to the tower?”

I nodded again, because there was nothing else for it.