Friday Snippet from…Untitled Menage Story

Awesome title, isn’t it?

This is the first two chapters, and it’s unedited so ignore all the screw ups, I’ll get ‘am fixed.

Here you go and happy almost weekend!

~Lila

Chapter 1

William stood in the stirrups, stretching his legs. His horse, a pretty gelding, huffed out a breath and bent his head to snuffle the grass. William clicked and tugged the reins until the gelding lifted his head. The horse knew that when he was being ridden all his attention should be on his rider—William would not accept poor behavior.

He sat, adjusting his seat and turning the gelding with his heel. They walked through the woods, the horse picking his way along a wide path, well marked by tire tracks. The ground was still soft, and William wouldn’t risk the horse’s legs by having him run. The path they traveled ran along the chain link fence that circled the deer park. William could see a few deer amongst the trees, and when the path led them out of the wood onto the open manicured grass he could see more deer, fearlessly nibbling the grass.

William clicked his tongue and his horse broke into a trot. Effortlessly posting in his saddle, he kept one eye on the deer. They’d acquired a new buck. He’d been hit by a car, and after the vet at a local wildlife hospital treated him for a broken leg he’d been brought here, were he would live the rest of his life on protected lands.

William trotted up to the horse stable, between the fence of the deer park and back gardens of the servant’s houses. The Gamekeeper, a man named Edward, whom William had known all his life, came out of the stable. Andy, Edward’s young nephew, held William’s reins as he dismounted.

“Afternoon, My Lord,” Edward said. “Did you enjoy your ride?”

“I did, thank you Edward.” William patted the gelding’s neck as a reward. The horse was standing perfectly still as Andy removed the bridle and slipped a leather head collar in place. William kept his eye on the young man, who hadn’t been there long. He did not like new people on his property. Andy led the horse to the hot walker to cool down, the bridal and reins looped over his shoulder. The horse, who stood at almost sixteen hands, towered over the boy.

“How is young Andy?” he asked Edward.

“He’s doing well, and loves the horses. I must thank you again for letting him come. And of course for helping my Ed.”

“Ed will be a fine doctor,” William said, stripping off his gloves and slapping them together. William had funded a scholarship to send Edward’s son of the same name to University. The boy had been the horse caretaker, and Andy had come to live with Edward to take his place.

With a nod at his servant William climbed into his Landrover and drove back to the manor house. He drove across his lands, using the track along the edge of the deer park before cutting across the grass. He skirted the walled manicured garden and bounced onto the drive that led to the house. He could have picked up the road that passed in front of the stables and his servants’ houses, but then he would have had to stop and open the massive gates that guarded the start of his long, winding driveway.

He slowed, coming around the last curve in the drive. The trees that lined the drive, which was winding rather than straight, hid the house until this last curve. The house appeared, pale and mighty. It wasn’t an old house, dating back no more than a few hundred years, but it stood on the ruins of a fortress once built by his ancestor in support of William the Conqueror.

It was large and square, with symmetrical rows of windows marching along. The house was built around a central courtyard, where once merchants would have assembled to sell their wares to the Lord. He drove through the large arch in the front wing, parking on the stones that had once been the floor of the fortress.

He climbed out of the car and headed into the house. His boots echoed on the black and white tile floor of the foyer, falling silent when he started up the dark wooden staircase that wrapped majestically around three walls of the two-story tall foyer. The portraits that graced the cream plastering above the wood paneling on the walls looked on as he climbed. At the top of the stairs he passed a mirror, and stopped.

He was grinning.

He never grinned. It wasn’t becoming of the Lord of Earhling.

He wiped the smile from his face, letting it return to its normal stoic lines, but as he turned away the grin returned.

Tomorrow they would arrive. He would take his place in the history of his family. He would not make the mistakes that his father made—he would never forget that they were animals, even if they masqueraded as humans.

Christoffer watched from the trees as the dark-haired man dismounted his horse and slid into a car. It was a very nice car. Christoffer slid down the tree, lean muscles flexing under pale skin. The deer lifted their heads, scenting the wind. They took off, haunches flexing as they ran, fleeing the scent of a predator.

Christoffer stiffened, his body ridged with the need to chase. He knew what it would feel and taste like to have a deer’s haunch between his teeth. The herd, it must have been fifty deer, disappeared into the trees.

He relaxed, tension draining away. As it did his posture relaxed, his weight rocked back onto his heels, his hips cocked at an angle. He rubbed his temples, trying to rid himself of his headache.

Remembering what had caused the headache had Christoffer grinning. It had been years since he’d been to London, but the clubs were as good as he remembered. British people were uptight, except when they drank. Drunk Englishwomen, and Englishmen, were great fun. Last night he’d had a pretty Scottish boy with an accent so thick he’d been able to taste it.

Maybe they hadn’t been able to understand each other, the Scottish boy thought his Norwegian accent adorable but hard to decipher, but they’d had a very good time, and he’d been a sweet fuck.

The Lord, for that is who the dark haired man must be, was nice to look at too, though he didn’t seem like the kind to drink enough to be fun. Christoffer made his way through the forested area to the place he’d left his bag. It was a good thing he’d had his fill of fun last night. This place was a two-hour walk from the closest club. The tiny pub he’d seen in the village didn’t count.

This would be a miserable place for someone of Christoffer’s disposition to live. No fun, no excitement. Luckily he didn’t plan to be here long enough to suffer real boredom. He’d serve his time, pay lip service to the Lord and then sneak away.

The whole thing was barbaric really. Maybe in the past his pack had needed protection, and the Lord of Eahrington had provided it, but those days were long dead. The tradition of paying tribute by sending a youth to live with the Lord was ridiculous.

It had been five generations since his family had sent someone. His sister had been meant to go. She’d been raised knowing it was her duty. She’d studied England, its literature, its history. But then she fell pregnant. She couldn’t leave her cubs, or the man she’d taken to mate.

It had fallen to Christoffer to give up his life and offer himself up as payment for continued protection.

He settled onto the forest floor, closing his eyes. Nothing would come close to him. Even as a human he smelled like a wolf, the highest predator in the woods.

His father and grandfather’s lectures on what a sacred duty this was had fallen on deaf ears. They didn’t need this Lord, or his protection, anymore. He’d come because it was an adventure, a chance to visit London on his father’s dime.

Very few things really needed to be taken seriously. Christoffer had lived his life believing this, and so far it had served him well. With a smile on his face he lay back, looking up through the trees. This was a nice enough place, even if it was quiet. He’d enjoy taking a run through the deer pen.

After an hours nap in the warm sun, he woke up and stretched. Deciding it was time for some fun he stripped off all his clothes, carefully removing everything he had on including a silver ring with his family’s crest—a snarling wolf head of course—and stored it in his bag.

Crouching on hands and knees he called forward his beast. He called forth the loam of the forest floor and the bite of cold wind on the nose, the hot scent of the chase and the burn of tired muscles.

A wolf with pale blond legs that darkened to a grey back and muzzle stretched, his front paws flexing, nails digging into the soft ground as his chest lowered and he raised his haunches.

The wolf lifted his nose, scenting the wind.

Mirela held her head steady as her Aunt affixed the crown to her head. Pins dug into her scalp. She winced.

“Are you scared?”

Mirela looked at the reflection of her cousin’s face in the mirror. “No, I’m not.”

Mirela saw her Aunt exchange glances with Mirela’s second cousin, who was packing Mirela’s small trunk.

They didn’t believe her. She was pitied by everyone in her family. To most of the Romani there could be no worse fate than leaving their people. They were outsiders by choice. Her family was more reclusive than most because their magic set them apart. Prejudice against them was high, even in these times people called modern. The Romani communities were scattered, insular, and always suspect.

The persecution of her people was a part of every culture in Europe, and many Romani families had been lost. Her family had been called witches, burned at the stake, sold as slaves, and nearly became extinct.

But many years ago, more than a lone man could count, they’d found a savior, an English Lord, who’d come to their defense. Her father’s mother’s version of the tale said the Lord came to their defense because a Romani woman saved his daughter from a wild boar by swooping from the sky and gouging out the boar’s eyes. Her mother’s mother said the Lord loved the Romani woman, because the English both love and fear those things they don’t understand and cannot name.

Even now the English didn’t have a name for what her family was. They would say impossible, and use their science as a shield between their minds and the truth.

Her family had paid a price for the Lord’s protection. Each Lord was given a Romani child of her family. There had been a time when a young child of no more than ten would have gone, but as laws changed they couldn’t do that without attracting the attention of authorities.

At the age of twenty-two Mirela was to be this generation’s gift. From the time she was small she’d known what her fate would be. While other girls tittered behind their hands and imagined what it would be like to marry Mirela had known she would never have that.

The gifting ceremony, which was now only a few hours away, would be the closest she would ever come to a wedding. Her parents had given her a dress, much like a wedding dress. The tight bodice showed off her breasts and tiny waist, while the giant skirt rustled with each step she took. A tiara of rhinestones sat atop her head, and her makeup was heavy and dark.

But unlike a normal wedding gown hers was the darkest black instead of brilliant white.

Her little sisters and cousins all wore brilliant pink dresses, made just for this ceremony. Her whole family had traveled from the south of Spain, where they’d spend the winter, to England.

They were staying in a small country inn. As far as the innkeepers knew they were preparing for a wedding.

“You are very beautiful,” Mirela’s mother said, resting her hands on Mirela’s bare shoulders.

“Thank you, Mama.” Mirela said, speaking the Romani dialect of her mother’s people. Her mother was Kalo, the traveler, or Romani, people of Wales. Her marriage to Mirela’s father had been arranged. Both Mirela’s mother’s and father’s families possessed the powerful magic that defined them. For many years Mirela’s father’s family had been paying the tribute to the Lord of Eahrington, though both families benefited.

Her father’s family grew tired of bearing the cost alone, and Mirela’s mother was sent to marry one of the men and give birth to a girl who would be the tribute payment to the Lord.

It was always a girl who went, after all, the female falcons were the larger and stronger of the species.

Mirela looked at her mother. The years had etched lines in her mother’s face. It was the way of their people that the woman left her family to join her husbands, but for most that was not a far trip because extended families stayed together. For her mother it had been different. Her mother’s pale cream skin and red hair had made her an outsider.

Mirela had her mother’s creamy skin, but her father’s black hair.

She laid her cheek carefully against her mother’s hand, reaching up to hold the tiara in place.

Mirela had not lied. She was not scared. She transferred her gaze to the blue sky she could see through the window. Her home was the sky, and as long as she had that she would be happy.

“You want to fly,” her mother said, stroking her cheek.

“Yes. The sky is calling.” As she watched the window, two birds flew past. They were high in the sky, but there was no mistaking the sharp tipped silhouette of those wings. The falcons rode a current of air, swooping and dipping with a speed and freedom creatures of the land would never understand.

“You will love the skies here,” her mother whispered. There was longing on her mother’s face. They were not far from the land of her mother’s people. She’d often spoken of mountains and deep green valleys, unlike the golden hills of the Mediterranean or the black forests of Eastern Europe Mirela knew.

“Do not worry for me,” Mirela said, looking at her mother in concern.

“I do not. You have always been more of the sky than the land.”

There was a rap on the door and Mirela’s father called out for them to come, the cars were there.

It took the assistance of three people to get Mirela and her huge skirt down the stairs. The innkeeper’s eyes widened when he saw the black dress but he didn’t say anything.

Mirela climbed into a carriage drawn by four horses and her Aunt stuffed her skirts in. The carriage started out and Mirela leaned sideways so she could see the sky through the window.

She was not afraid. She’d been raised to know her duty. She did not feel deprived because she would not know a man or bear children. She did not see anything desirable in the relationship between men and women.

All she needed was the sky.

Chapter 2

William stood on the gravel drive in front of the house. There was no sound save the twittering of birds and the occasional rustle of leaves. The servants had strict instructions to stay away from the house today. The groundskeeper wasn’t allowed to do any gardening. Standing there, wearing a sword older than the house, William could easily imagine he was in a different time.

He’d wondered, in his rare fanciful moments, if he hadn’t been born in the wrong era. He was ill suited for the niceties of this world. His silence was taken as rudeness, his desire for control as aggression, and his commanding presence as arrogance.

He was better suited for a time in which might made right, and strength of arm was valued.

Perhaps that is why he so anxiously awaited the arrival of the falcon and the wolf.

They were a reminder of a time long gone. They would know him, understand him, because they would have been told what his family was capable of, and by extension, what kind of man he was.

The Hunting Pair. That was the title his family had given to the falcon and wolf each Lord of Eahrling was given. In medieval times the possession of a falcon of uncommon intelligence and command of a fierce wolf had earned the Lord of Eahrling a reputation as a master hunter.

With the falcon and wolf at his side William would take up the hunt again.

The falcon would be a woman, as a male falcon was useless for hunting, but the wolf could be either man or woman. His father had possessed a female of each. Thinking about his father’s wolf brought a bad taste to his mouth, so he pushed the memory away.

The crunch of gravel broke the silence. William straightened, resting his left hand on the handle of the sword he wore strapped to his side. He wore jeans and a black button down shirt. There was a knight’s tunic in a trunk in the house. It had been carefully preserved, and at some point reinforced with new fabric, but William was too big for it. He had to make due with modern clothing, trusting the sword at his side would be enough to remind the gypsies what was at stake.

A carriage rounded the last bend in the drive. There were five carriages in all, and cars behind that. The carriages stopped in the drive and men, women and children piled out.

They were elaborately dressed, in outfits that would, at best, be described as trashy. He knew more than most about the Romani people, his family was, after all, a patron of the Romani people. At times when the prejudice against them was strongest the Eahrling lands had been a sanctuary.

They were a strange people, full of contradictions. The women were chaste, guarding their virginity with a vigor that was entirely missing from the modern world, yet he saw vast expanses of flesh bared by their skimpy outfits.

There was a moment of discomfort as he saw a man in a suit climb out of the most decorated of the carriages. The girl’s father. They treated this like a marriage, and the father would have spent thousands of pounds organizing the event.

A giant black meringue climbed from the carriage.

William blinked, and blinked again, astonished by the size of the girl’s dress. They lined up, processing stately up the drive to the house. Small girls in hot pink dresses scattered rose petals in the gravel, then moved off to the side.

William kept his eyes on the girl, who was covered by the large skirt and a concealing black veil.

She was so swathed in fabric that he couldn’t tell anything about her.

“My good and kind Lord Eahrling!” her father shouted, coming to a stop.

William bowed in acknowledgement, then said, “My good tinker, welcome to my lands, may you always find sanctuary here.”

“Thank you. You do my people a great service.”

William nodded slightly. The father opened his mouth, then closed it and looked away. Again, William felt a pang for this man. Among his people girls were given away in marriage, but they would never be far away. It was rare for a child to really leave them, as his daughter was about to.

“My, ahem, My Lord Eahrling. In acknowledgement of the service your family has done mine, and in hopes that we might continue to know your favor, I offer you a tribute.”

The man’s voice, already thick with an eastern European accent, grew harder to understand as emotion filled his words.

“I offer you flesh of my loins, blood of my vein. I offer you my daughter, a beautiful woman and a fearsome flier.”

He pulled back the blusher that covered her face and William caught his breath.

She was heart stoppingly beautiful.

Her face was a pale oval with almond eyes fringed in dark lashes. Her breasts swelled from above the bodice of the overly sequined dress and her waist was so tiny he was sure he could have wrapped his hands around it.

Her lids were lowered, hiding her eyes. The silence stretched as William struggled to find his voice.  She looked up, a question on her face, and he was caught by her stare. Her eyes were the blue of a deep lake, and as captivating as the glitter of a sapphire.

“I, I—” he stuttered. William shook himself and looked away from the girl. “I offer you my thanks for such a tribute. It is with pleasure I welcome one of the Romani into my house.”

He drew his sword. He held it with the tip pointed down. Slowly, she came forward, moving away from her father. The girl was supposed to kneel and kiss the crossbar of the sword. As she was about to kneel William caught her elbow. A shock, as sharp as if he’d licked a battery, zipped through him when his hand made contact with her bare skin.

He raised the sword, bringing it to her lips. She smiled, a dark thing of wonder that made her eyes glitter. She kissed the sword, then dipped her head and backed away.

The women in pink gathered around her, like a flock of radioactive flamingos, and escorted her back to the carriage. The men stayed in the clearing, waiting. The silence might have been awkward, had William noticed it.

He didn’t because he was still caught up in her beauty. He’d expected nothing like this. He had a few memories of his father’s falcon. She’d been a dark skinned, dark haired, woman who laughed too loud and ate too much—nothing like this beautiful girl.

One of the women ran up to the girl’s father and whispered in his ear. He nodded.

He approached William, who shook himself to return his attention to the present.

“My Lord Eahrling, enjoy your gift, and remember the Romani.” He handed William a thick leather glove. William slipped it on, feeling that the inside had been lined with sheepskin, and the leather was beautifully tooled with patterns of the cosmos.

William nodded.

The girl’s father stood there for a moment, poised as if he would say something more, but he didn’t.

Instead he motioned for one of the other men to bring forward a trunk, which was set at William’s feet.

The Romani were all looking to the sky. William tipped his head back, knowing what was to come, but excited non the less.

She appeared from among the tops of the trees. She was sleek and beautiful, darting through the sky effortlessly.

The falcon rose high into the air, until she was no more then a spec, then dove, wings drawn in slightly to increase her speed.

With his heart in his throat William held out his arm. He had eyes for nothing but the peregrine descending from the heavens. The falcon dipped so low he worried for a moment she would hit the gravel, but she pulled up, wings spread to break her progress, and landed with a heavy thump on William’s outstretched wrist.

The falcon turned wide, round eyes on him, regarding him with an intelligence that could be mistaken for nothing but human.

Tentatively he stroked her back, whistling softly. The falcon dipped its head.

He could hardly believe it. He’d imagined this moment for so long, yet his imaginings were nothing compared to the wonder he now felt.

When he looked away from the falcon the drive was empty, the Romani gone. The falcon too looked around. Her beak parted, wings lifting, but she did not fly away.

William opened his mouth to say something to her, but realized he didn’t know her name. He looked at the trunk at his feet and wondered what it carried. Carefully balancing her, he knelt and flipped it open. Jeans, shirts, makeup, a brush, underwear. Blushing, his quickly shut it and stood.

The falcon was watching him.

He could see the shadow of cool blue eyes in the falcon’s black stare.

Perhaps his grandfather had been wrong. Perhaps there was no need to treat his Hunting Pair like animals. William’s carefully laid plans for dealing with the falcon and wolf were fading under the enchantment woven by the beautiful falcon-woman.

Her head turned, cocked to the side. Her wings spread, one slapping against William’s face as she took flight. He fell back a step, hand on his cheek. The falcon pulled a tight circle around his head, then flew to the house. She landed awkwardly on a window ledge, looked back at him and then took flight. Again she circled him and flew back to the house.

William didn’t understand she was warning him until he heard the growl. By instinct he reached for the sword in the scabbard at his side, but he didn’t free it in time. The wolf was on him, teeth bared, fur on end.

The wolf’s leaping attack knocked him down, his sword arm trapped across his body. The wolf snarled, teeth inches from his face.

The snarl stopped, the wolf’s tongue lolled from its mouth. William’s heart was beating so loud he could hear it. The wolf licked his cheek.

“Ugh,” William said.

The wolf made and odd chuffing noise, then casually got off of William. Was the wolf laughing at him?

The wolf loped away, around the back of the house toward the forest. William stood and lifted his hand. The falcon, who’d been distressingly circling the drive, settled on his wrist, head bobbing.

“It appears my other tribute has arrived,” he told the falcon, “with much less ceremony than you received.”

She cocked her head, and William wondered if she could understand. Falcon hearing was different, more precise, then that of humans. His grandfather had told him that both the falcon and the wolf could not understand the words of humans when they were animals, but that they could read lips.

William considered saying it again, more slowly, but decided to wait.

A blond man, tall and lean, with arms roped in muscle and a quicksilver smile, appeared from the forest. He carried a duffle bag and a leather coat.

With a mocking smile he dropped the bag and bowed.

“From your, ah, furry friends,” he said in a deep Norwegian accent. “Don’t let the bad men shoot us, and in exchange you get me.”

The boy, who couldn’t be more than twenty five, grinned mockingly and swept his long hair back form his face. He was pale blonde with large round eyes and a blunt nose.

So this was his wolf.

The boy cocked his head and looked William up and down in a decidedly lustful manner.

Wonderful, William thought sourly.

The man leaned toward the falcon, taking a deep breath. His pupils dilated briefly, and he snapped at the bird, who jerked back, nearly falling from her perch on William’s arm. Her talons dug into his arm, painfully pinching his flesh through the glove. He reached for her with his other hand, and the falcon snapped at him, her sharp beak gouging a piece from his arm.

“Stop,” William barked, tone reverberating with command.

Perhaps his grandfather had been right. For all they could look human these two were animals. The soft feelings that blossomed when he’d seen the girl were ruthlessly uprooted.

These creatures, the wolf and the falcon, were his property—nothing more.