Eanid had been so caught up in Bran's struggle with his wolf she hadn't been able to move. The need to change and run and hide from him had overwhelmed her. She'd definitely wanted to runaway from him. But her wolf was more honest. Change, she'd urged. Make him chase us.
She had wanted that, too. All of it. To run, to hide . . . to get caught.
Chapter 3
Words, she had to find words to get Bran to come with her without agitating him anymore than he already was.
Standing next to him, leaning into his strength, Eanid said softly, "Let's go outside for a few minutes." His hand wrapped around her arm as he silently steered her into the cool night air.
"This way," he said, and they went around the side of the hotel to a large ornamental pond with benches scattered conveniently near the water's edge. He led her to the closest one and collapsed onto it, pulling her down with him and stared out at the water.
Free of his grasp, Eanid kicked off her sandals and settled herself a couple of inches away from him. Without lifting his gaze he immediately pulled her back. Then he sighed and let go.
They were both quiet for a few minutes. "Why don't you tell me what's going on, Eanid?" Bran broke the silence, he sounded weary but much more in control.
Eanid found herself reacting to his calm and relaxed into the curve of wood at her back. "Okay, what do you want to know first?" she asked.
"How about you tell me why the guy at the front desk thinks Mark Crowther is my brother."
"You two do look enough alike to be related . . ." Eanid started, but didn't know where to go from there and her voice trailed off.
"That's the truth but not all of it. Tell me the rest."
She felt the command in his voice and had no choice but to respond the best she could. "You remember how we lived in Gwent, don't you? How we . . . the time . . ., " she stopped and felt his hand tangle in her hair. The touch was comforting rather than commanding and steadied her nerves, she sighed and continued, "My mother was sick and my father was away and nobody else was paying any attention to us. Well, I know you remember."
"I do."
"Then you also remember that you left a couple of weeks later and I never heard from you again," she stated, nothing in her voice giving away how devastating that time had been for her.
"And?" he urged.
She turned on the bench to face his profile, wrapped her arms around her bent legs while she tucked her feet under his thigh. "And we had a daughter," she said, and watched him wondering what he was thinking. His face gave nothing away.
"Ah, a daughter," he pinched the bridge of his nose. "I didn't know. I never guessed."
"No, I didn't think you had."
"And these Crowther's are descendants of ours? Mark and Bran?"
"I don't count the 'greats' anymore, but yes they are our grandchildren."
His hand came up to rest on her knee. "I would have come back, but I was changed right after I left you. And then my mother . . .," he spoke in a low murmur.
"I know what she did. Bran," there probably weren't many werewolves left who remembered what the witch had done to him and his son. Or what Bran had become when he escaped her, but she did, "none of it was your fault," she didn't try to hide the outrage she felt at the abuse he endured.
"But is that why you never told me, never contacted me in all these years?"
"No, Bran, of course not. I had no idea you were Bran Cornick. We didn't really have last names back then, did we? You were Bran yr prydyddion. A bard from Dyfed, I thought you just took off. That we both were changed -- who in their right mind would think something like that could happen?" as she spoke she slipped a hand under his and held it in both of hers. She looked down and saw his long, elegant fingers entwined with her own smaller, darker ones.
"It does seem unlikely," he agreed, his hand squeezed hers lightly and then released his hold. "So you had our daughter. Then what?"
"I stayed with my parents, my da was hired by some minor lord that winter and not long after that I was attacked by a rogue. The other women with me all died of their injuries but I survived."
"How did you handle the transition?"
"There was a werewolf hunting the rogue, he found me and taught me what I needed to learn to survive. We stayed in Wales until Genna's children were grown. Eventually we went to his pack in France."
"Genna?"
"Oh, Bran, you would have loved her. She was beautiful and talented. Sweet and kind and very, very, bossy. She looked just like you. She had your smile and fair skin, but her hair was a darker brown than yours and thick like mine. And such a voice. It still turns up every couple of generations, the gift you gave our daughter."
"She looked like me and she was beautiful?" he asked, doubtfully.
"Yes she did and yes she was. And I can prove it," she said. Eanid pulled a cell phone out of the back pocket of her jeans, flipped it open and used her thumb to press a few buttons. Pride and love filled her as she looked at the picture before handing it to Bran, "See?"
He reached out almost hesitantly and his eyes filled with wonder as he looked at the portrait of the daughter he never knew. Wolves weren't ashamed of their emotions and he made no attempt to hide the sheen of tears Eanid saw in his eyes. "Mirain," he whispered, as he thumb traced over the small screen.
"I had her portrait painted right after she had her first child," she said softly, leaning over to see the picture, "It's kind of blurry, but I still have the original. Do you see what I mean about the smile? That is so you."
"It is, isn't it?" he said, sounding shocked but pleased.
Bran looked at her, his gaze intense and sincere. "There are no words to thank you enough for this," he said, gesturing to the phone. "For raising and loving my daughter," his head nodded in the direction of the hotel, "for watching over and loving family I didn't know I had."
"Genna was a gift I did nothing to deserve and without you I wouldn't have had her or a real purpose in my life. Thank you," she said, kissed him lightly on the cheek and sat back, looking out at the pond's surface.
"If you want I can email a copy of the portrait to you," she said. "The .png I have on my laptop is so much better. The pixel count on my phone sucks, I should buy a new one. But I've been waiting for Motorola to release their latest one." Eanid stopped abruptly and then said with an unapologetic shrug, "I'm kind of geek. Electronics, computers, Star Trek, comics, I know way too much about all of them."
"Original or Next Generation?" Bran inquired, as he stretched his legs out in front of him and crossed them at the ankle.
"Original but I have a deep and abiding love for Worf," Eanid answered after thinking it over.
"Marvel or DC?"
"How can anyone pick between Superman and Captain America?" she asked. "Can you?"
"Superman," he replied instantly. Then asked, "Apple or PC?"
Eanid just laughed.
"Yeah, stupid question."
They were both quiet again. After Eanid put her phone away, Bran reached out and put his arm around her tucking her in close. But this time there was no tension in the stillness between them and sounds of the night soothed them even more.
After a long while Bran asked, "You mated to the hunter who found you?"
"Yves, yes. He was a kind mate to me. We had many good years together," she said. There was no need to go into the particulars of her time with Yves. There had been true affection between them and she had grieved deeply and sincerely when he died. But maybe because of the way they met there had always been too much of the Protector and the Protected between them. She had sometimes wanted to ask him if he realized the wounds that had changed her had healed long ago.
"He died?"
"Right after the American Revolutionary War. Yves wanted to start his own pack in the frontier in western Ohio but there was fight for leadership and he lost," she said. It had been bloody and brutal, Yves neck had been broken and as his body laid there twisted and bleeding the new Alpha's mate had looked at her and Eanid had known she would not be welcomed into the pack. She understood. The wolf didn't like to have its authority challenged and as the mate of the wolf who'd fought the Alpha, Eanid would have been a constant irritant to her.
"What did you do then?"
"I was going to go back to France but when I got to western Pennsylvania I found a community of Welsh immigrants. It was a good place and I decided I didn't have to part be part of a pack if I had family around me. So I arranged to have money sent to Rhett Crowther in Wales and made sure there was a job waiting for him when he got there with his family," she said. "When he did, I got hired on as nursemaid/nanny and have been living with or near Crowther's ever since. They've never been a very fertile family so it hasn't been difficult to keep track of them."
Bran's cell phone rang, he pulled it out and turned it off without looking at it. "Will you come to Aspen Creek with me? There will be a full moon next week and it's been long time since you hunted with a pack."
"If I go there, will you let me leave?" Eanid asked, she wasn't stupid she knew Bran's wolf was howling for him to make her part of his pack.
"I'm the Marrok," he said. She guessed that was his way of saying No, I won't, but it's not my fault.
"That's not an answer," she replied. She understood and respected pack hierarchy but she'd lived on her own for too long to be constantly asserting her dominance over some and submitting to others. Okay let's be honest, it's not the asserting that bothers me it's the submitting to all the mated females.
"If you really want to leave and I can be sure of your safety. Yes, I'll let you go. No. I don't know," he said, and ran a frustrated hand through his hair, "Damn it, Eanid, you know what happens to unmated males when they sense you." He got up and started pacing in front of the bench. "As much as we might like to believe the human in us can control the wolf, it's not always true. Isn't that why you learned to hide the scent of your wolf? And you can't be sure your ability to hide your wolf will always work."
"It has for over two hundred years," she pointed out.
He didn't look impressed, "Not today," he countered.
"No, you're right, it didn't work today," she said. Not with you.
"Listen, Bran, you've impacted my life hugely. I like you, I'm unbelievably impressed with what you've accomplished at the Marrok, I'd be hurt if you cut me out of your life. But the truth is we only knew each other for a few months and that was centuries ago. I'm not going to let you make life-altering decisions for me." And then wondered at her inability to keep to mouth shut at that. "Right now," she said softly, "all I know for sure is that I'm attracted to you. Not if I can trust you."
He stopped in front of her and almost growled, "You tell me you're the mother of my only daughter, that you've spent centuries nurturing my descendants and then you want me to let you just walk away? No bonds, no way to know if you're safe or if you need me? Forget that I'm the Marrok, forget trust, how could you respect me if I did that?"
He held out his hand and pulled her up to stand in front of him, "Bran, I have no intention of taking off and never contacting you again. I haven't been hiding from you anymore than you abandoned me," Eanid said, and backed up a step to slip her sandals back on. "I didn't know you were alive."
She put a hand on his chest and looked straight into his eyes, "If you think we need to do more than exchange phone numbers for you to be comfortable," she said, and glared at his snort of derision, "I'll consider it." She continued, "You want me to honor the needs of you and your wolf, fine, I will. But you have to do the same for me." She held his gaze, determined not to drop her eyes until he agreed with her.
"And what needs do you have?" the words were a low rumble.
"I don't want to regret finding you, Bran. You have to promise me that just because you can force me to live wherever you want, you won't. Let me have a say in whether I join a pack and which one it is," Eanid said, needing him to hear conviction in her voice.
Bran didn't say anything but jerked his head in a nod.
She didn't know whether to accept that or not. It bothered her he hadn't spoken his agreement, without words it was hard to judge if he was telling the truth, but now wasn't the time to force the issue.
"Also, I don't want to spend two weeks with my tail tucked between my legs and lowering my eyes every time some mated female walks by. And I don't want unmated males cornering me and finding excuses to rub up against me," she said,
"There's nothing I can do about the female hierarchy," he said, and wrapped his arms around holding her close, "but you can be sure not a single male will even think of leaving his scent on you."
"You fall into the category of unmated males, Bran," her voice was muffled against the front of his shirt, "and there isn't a werewolf on this continent who wouldn't recognize your scent on me right now."
"Then I'll clarify what I said," his voice still unnaturally low, "not a single male, other than me, will think of touching you this way. They won't think of touching you at all." As he spoke, one hand gently lifted her hair and took possession of neck and the other slid down to the small of her back.
Oh, but it feels good to be held like this. How long has it been since I had anything like this? How long since I wanted this?
Unthinkingly, she moved in his embrace. The pleasurable friction it caused brought a soft moan to her lips. The scent of her desire filled the air. While she felt Bran's chest expand as though he wanted to take all of it inside him, his own desire rose up to meet hers. The scent of him, the stimulating but indefinable scent made her want to burrow inside him until she found its source. She stirred against him again and this time met his body, now hard and demanding with what she made him feel.
Bran bent his head and nipped at her ear before whispering, "When I let go of you turn around and walk slowly back to the hotel. Do. Not. Run. Go straight to your room. When I knock on the door let me in and get under your covers. Don't talk to me. Don't look at me."
He didn't wait for her agreement before his lips came down on hers. Brutally tender, his mouth and hands invaded and conquered everywhere they touched. She stood almost passive while his intimate touches and hot breath brought her body to aching awareness. She knew any move on her part would bring it all to an end. But when he licked her neck just below her ear and then grazed his teeth hard across the spot, she came alive in arms.
Gentle but demanding, she slipped one hand under his shirt to caress and relearn the feel of him, her fingers curled and her nails scored lightly down his back. With the other she pulled his collar out of the way and kissed the exposed skin of his shoulder wrenching a groan of pure need from him. Pleased with his response she gently licked him, the taste of salt and Bran sending a shiver through her right before she bit down; giving into the need to leave her mark on this man.
He yanked her hips to his and ground himself against her, and held her there. Neither of them moved, not even to breathe. Then he let his arms drop from her and stepped back.
"Go, now."
She didn't see his lips move but his words rang in her head. She nodded and in a sensual daze walked back to the hotel.
