“For life!” Galen eyes rolled back and he appeared faint.
“Well, mostly, if you overlook a certain bitch named Marta,” Isibel interjected.
“But he can’t be my mate!” Erik groaned, vigorously rubbing both hands against his temples.
“Nay! I am not his mate!” Galen added his voice, which held the same menace in human form that it did in wolf’s. It seemed he’d recovered from his near swoon.
Despite Erik’s protests, the creature dwelling inside him snapped. He’s mine! The alpha whined with the need to claim his mate again, showing one and all to whom the blond belonged. Edging away from the now panicking Galen, in case his alter ego planned something ill advised, Erik trusted his aunt to sort out the mess he’d made. She’d done such a good job of it the past. He needed time to think, and argue with his alternate form.
Leaving the boisterous great hall, Erik damped down the need to see to his distraught mate. “He’s not my mate,” Erik proclaimed under his breath.
Oh, yes he is, his wolf maintained, and with a great deal of superiority.
“Is not!”
Is too!
“Is not!”
Could be worse.
“How?”
Marta.
Erik’s wolf did make a good point. Erik questioned the heavens, “Why does it have to be this man? What about the prophecy that says peace and prosperity will only come to our people if I join with the one foretold?”
“Why not him? He’s handsome, not a lackwit, and not related. That’s a big plus in our world.” Jarl stepped through the door, breaching Erik’s privacy, if having an argument with oneself counted as seclusion.
The old man’s hand against his back effectively herded Erik away from the raised voice and piteous pleading that tugged on his heartstrings. His wolf rebelled, digging in its—and incidentally, Erik’s—heels, nearly toppling all three of them. Mate doesn’t understand. Mate needs me, it argued. Must go!
Old Jarl reached out a weathered hand, scratching Erik behind the ears, possibly forgetting that Erik currently wore human form. The gesture calmed both Erik and his beast.
Leading Erik farther away from the door, Jarl asked, “Now, tell me. Why do you object to our visitor becoming your mate?”
Visitor, my eye! He’s staying forever. Surprisingly, Erik found his opinion seconded his wolf’s. Huh? We both want him to stay? Yes, we do, they chorused in their silent communication. “How can he be my mate?” Erik asked aloud. “The prophecy states:
Human hands will deliver him,
The mate foreseen of old,
A comely lad, fair of face,
That bard’s tales have foretold,
He’ll enter the forest a babe in the woods,
A stranger to our ways,
With him he’ll bring human ideals,
And remain throughout his days.
He’ll learn to hunt and sing in the night,
And run through thicket and glen,
In return he’ll teach all we need to know
To exist in the world of men.
When newly a man, he’ll mate with the lord,
His world and ours to combine,
And the child they’ll raise will bring lasting peace,
Ensuring survival of our kind.’”
He didn’t dare repeat the alternate version he’d created in his youth:
“He’ll enter the forest naked and hung,
Ready and willing for bed,
With him he’ll bring a rounded firm arse,
And soft lips for giving…”
Eydis and Jarl always smacked him before he completed the verse.
“So you see, Galen (oh how heavenly the name felt rolling from his tongue!) can’t possibly be my mate. He’s too old.”
Old Jarl shook his head. “Has it ever occurred to you that ‘human hands’ might refer to his banishment at the hands of villagers and that ‘babe in the woods’ might be a poetic turn of phrase, not intended to mean a literal baby?”
Well, no. As a matter of fact, it hadn’t.
Slinging a comradely arm about Erik’s shoulders, the pack’s eldest member continued, guiding with both words and footsteps. “I ask you: if your mate came here an infant, how then would he know the ways of men?”
Erik scratched his head while his inner wolf reared back on his haunches, scratching a flea-bitten ear with one hind foot. “And the child we’ll raise?”
“It’s long been a tradition that if the dominant pack leaders are unable to bear young of their own, they foster the cubs of close kin. From a reckless cousin, perhaps, who’s sired a half-blood?”
Hmmm… With such a large extended family living under one roof, cousins were in plentiful supply.
“A child your mate is already familiar with, possibly,” Jarl goaded. Did Erik detect a note of impatience in his tone?
Oh yeah! That child! Ragnar knew absolutely nothing about babies. If he had, he probably wouldn’t have made one. High time