To Rule the Alpha's Heart

19. Idoneah

CALLA VORONÍN

Calla stared blankly at the deerskin curtains that still swayed from Einarr's departure. She didn't know what to think– what to feel– about what had just occurred between them.

She'd seen the desire pooling in Einarr's gray eyes when he barged into the tent. She'd smelt the ale on his breath and heard the frustration in his words, and she still chose to provoke him. She chose to touch him, to trace her fingers over the phantom ink that had been painted across his chest and abdomen on the night of their first joining. She knew what she risked by mixing such tantalizing touches with her own poisonous anger.

Calla still felt angry, even standing alone in that tent. She hated Einarr for bringing her to Nortend and expecting her to shoulder the role of Luna to these people– these savages. But, even more, she hated that her body betrayed her by melting beneath Einarr's touch.

Even when Calla shoved against his chest, a small part of her rejoiced at the warmth of his skin against hers. And, gods, when he grabbed her wrist and pulled her back against him, every fiber in her body begged for more.

Calla was helpless against her body's strange connection to Einarr. Even now, she felt cold and empty as she stooped to recover her blanket on the ground. She wrapped the woven wool around her shoulders once more and padded to the bed, taking a seat on the edge and staring absently at the flickering candles.

She'd been hiding in Einarr's surprisingly luxurious tent since arriving that afternoon. The sheer number of shifters– in wolf and human form alike– that clammored around their longboat had overwhelmed her. And, when Einarr introduced her to the pack, she'd felt a tumultuous change in the shifters' demeanor. She didn't belong in Nortend. In that moment, Calla needed to escape.

So, she'd conjured a pitiful excuse and felt Einarr's eyes burning into her back as Cyril led her to the tent.

The elkskin structure possessed even more space than Calla's childhood bedroom in Eatrela. There was enough room for an expansive bed, a large carved iron fire pit, several tables covered by incense and candles, and an exquisitely crafted chest. Deep brown fur rugs covered the floor, and a jug of breathtakingly clear water rested on a bedside table. It also smelt of Einarr.

The scent of him surrounded her, and, if she closed her eyes, she could imagine that he was standing behind her again. His nose nestled into the sensitive portion of her neck. His palm surrounding her breast...

"Luna?" A foreign woman's voice interrupted Calla's imaginings, and her eyes snapped toward the tent's entrance once more.

The elkskin had been pulled back, and a tall woman peered inside the tent. The light from the brazier illuminated the woman's slicked-back chestnut hair and sharp features.

"Come in," Calla called. She'd forgotten that Einarr promised to send a female from his pack into the tent to bring her clothing and food.

Indeed, when the newcomer entered the tent, she carried a roll of fabric under one arm and a tray of steaming meat in her hands. "My name Idoneah, Luna."

Idoneah's words were heavily accented, but Calla supposed she should have been grateful that Einarr had sent a woman with knowledge of the Eatrelan tongue. The brown-haired woman continued, "Alpha Einarr says I teach you the role of Luna."

Calla frowned, drawing her knees into her chest and eyeing Idoneah carefully. The woman only wore a scrap of tight leather around her breasts, leaving her muscular midriff exposed. A beautiful woven skirt hung low on her full hips. Calla inwardly prayed that Einarr had ordered something more substantial for her to wear.