To Rule the Alpha's Heart

25. The Moon Goddess and the Sun King

CALLA VORONÍN

The Onyx Craven Pack traveled well into the evening. At first, Calla had no difficulty staying atop Einarr's wolfen back. However, as morning bled into afternoon, her muscles began to ache, her skin began to chafe, and her resilience wavered. By the time the party pulled to a stop by a hot-spring, Calla scarcely found the energy to lift her body from her mate's broad shoulders.

Einarr lowered his beast's body until the fur along his stomach dragged in the dirt, creating the shortest distance for Calla's dismount.

A raspy moan escaped Calla's dry lips as she pushed herself up and forced her legs over to one side of his body. Without a care for grace, she dropped to the dirt.

"Luna!" Cyril's familiar voice called from some distance away as Calla's knees gave out beneath her.

Plagued by utter exhaustion, her thighs and back could no longer hold her upright, and Calla scarcely felt the pain of her palms colliding with the hard ground.

The impact knocked the breath from her lungs. "Oof!"

Something cold and wet pushed into the crevice of her neck, and Calla gasped as Einarr's wolf nudged its snout into her. A soft whimper floated from his beast's chest.

"I-I'm alright," she gasped, even as the muscles in her inner-thighs spasmed. Another whimper had Calla reaching to stroke the dark gray fur that covered Einarr's neck, his muzzle. "Shh, I'm okay."

Cyril finally reached her side, his blonde brows knit together in evident concern. Einarr's wolf stood to its full height at Cyril's arrival, blowing a soft huff at the translator. The men– well, man and wolf– seemed to communicate in unspoken glances. Still on the ground, Calla watched as her Alpha slowly padded away.

"Calla?"

Cyril's voice pulled her gaze away from Einarr. She blinked and brushed a layer of dirt from her palms.

"I'm fine," she muttered through grinding teeth.

She knew that he wouldn't believe her. She scarcely believed herself.

"Don't be stubborn, Calla," Cyril chided, placing his hands beneath her arms to help hoist her to her feet again. Even when Calla's feet found the ground once more, he didn't move away from her. "Even the most skilled horse rider would struggle to stay atop a werewolf's bare back for as long as you just did. You should rest."

Calla shook her head.

"I'll rest after helping the elders unload the wagons," she insisted, taking a small step forward to prove her resilience. "It will only take a few—"

A large hand clamped down on Calla's shoulder, silencing any further argument she planned to make. The whites of her eyes expanded as a familiar warmth spread through her body, stemming from the point where rough, battle-hardened fingers grazed her neck.

She turned to face Einarr, now returned to his human form, standing before her. He'd already adorned a pair of trousers.

Calla had a hard time believing that this man was the same being as the monstrous wolf that had padded away moments ago. And yet, Einarr and the wolf shared the same beautiful, slate gray eyes...

"You will rest, marana," Einarr chided, his thumb tracing Calla's cheekbone.

She unwittingly leaned her flushed cheek into his palm. She didn't have the strength to argue, not when every muscle in her body screamed for relief, so Calla simply nodded.

"Come," Einarr instructed, gruff.

He placed a hand on the small of Calla's back, guiding her away from Cyril and the rest of the pack. Many of the pack members had already shifted back into their human forms and started setting up camp for the night. She trusted that Cyril would find Lucia and Iva to help them unpack, as well.