Chapter Thirty-One

Awkward is my specialty.

—Charlie Brown

 

IVER AND PENN ate dinner and cleaned up afterwards. They spent the remainder of their evening putting the rest of Penn’s things away. These included some books and small tokens and two framed photographs, which Iver admired as he placed them on a shelf with the books Penn handed him.

“I don’t have much,” Penn admitted.

“Nor do I,” Iver said, and the awkwardness crept back in between them. “I should return to my other home and stay there while we get to know each other. I see they didn’t pack all of my things.”

Suddenly, Penn didn’t want Iver to go, even though he wanted to respect tradition. His Wolf spoke for them with a low growl, and Iver couldn’t hide his surprise at the reaction. Penn cleared his throat, ignoring his Wolf and the noise he’d just made as if it didn’t even happen.

“Or, you could stay,” Penn suggested.

Iver nodded slowly. “Or I could stay.”

Mate stays, Penn’s Wolf rumbled but with quite a bit of authority behind it.

“I’ll stay then,” Iver said, and it was obvious he’d heard Penn’s Wolf by the pleased expression he now wore.

Penn could have died, knowing Iver’s Wolf had heard his own Wolf’s demand. “My Wolf agrees.”

Though the room lacked windows, Penn felt it was already getting late. “How is your leg?”

“Better, still healing. It takes me longer to heal than an average Wolf,” Iver explained. “But it will heal completely in time. We should sleep.”

“Yeah, alright.” Penn’s nerves ratcheted up tenfold as he followed Iver through the kitchen to the large door to the bedroom. Their new bedroom.

“You are clean, but I’m not,” Iver said and went into the bathroom and closed the door.

Penn blew out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. He went to the dresser, pulled out sleeping pants, and quickly changed. Penn turned down the lights and then stared at the enormous bed built from what looked like entire tree trunks for posts. If he were realistic and not a nervous mess, he’d admit it was the right size for two grown men. Or, at least, one man and a god.

Penn went to the side of the bed closest to the wall and not the door, assuming Iver would want to sleep on the left side, and climbed in.

He rolled to his side, facing the wall, and wondered if sleeping in the same bed was considered traditional courtship. He didn’t think so, but they weren’t exactly normal. They’d already slept within close proximity of each other for several nights. He heard the shower turn off, shut his eyes, and told himself to breathe normally. It took effort, and he’d never thought so much about inhaling and exhaling before in his life as the door opened, and the scent of clean steam and hot scary god assaulted him.

“I can sleep in the front room,” Iver said, but it lacked any kind of enthusiasm over the idea.

“Would you rather…” Penn started as the bed dipped behind him.

“Yes, I would rather sleep in here with you,” Iver said before Penn could finish.

And they were quiet, both breathing and quiet, when Iver began to shake with laughter.

Penn smiled. “What?”

“This is so strange and fantastic. How uncomfortable, yet I find I crave more of it.” Iver chuckled as he spoke.

“You like feeling uncomfortable?”

“I like that my heart beats faster when you are close to me. I feel my blood, feel my Wolf’s hunger. I want things I’ve never wanted before,” Iver said more seriously after he’d controlled his amusement.

Penn smiled because he felt the same wild emotions and exhilaration coursing through him. He moved his foot back until it touched warm skin.

Iver sucked in a breath, and then Penn felt Iver’s hand move against his back and rest there, much like Penn’s foot had. Just a touch, a connection. And Penn forgot about his complex breathing count and nervous energy as a feeling of peace overcame him, and his eyelids grew heavy.

“Sleep, mate,” Iver whispered.

 

PENN WOKE UP with his left cheek feeling like it was baking, along with the underside of his right forearm. A great weight was across his left ankle as his right rested over the heat source. He blinked and focused on the black-inked rune and original language symbols that rose and fell on a broad breathing chest. With the realization, Penn closed his eyes and dared not move against the bicep at his back, forearm over his side, or the lax hand resting below his ribcage and over his stomach.

No, he wouldn’t move but, instead, enjoyed the feeling of being held. A first he’d never forget.

“Mate,” Iver whispered, and the hand tightened before relaxing again.

Penn’s heart beat so loudly he could feel it in his ears; a feeling he couldn’t yet describe took hold within him. Again, he grew tired and closed his eyes for just a few minutes longer.

When Penn woke the second time, he was hugging a pillow, the bed now empty and cold. He missed Iver’s encapsulating heat. He yawned and listened, but their cave was silent. Penn needed coffee, and he rolled out of bed, quickly swung through the bathroom, and made a beeline for the kitchen.

“Bless his sisters,” Penn said aloud as he loaded up the coffee maker and found a mug. At the sink, he stared at the stone wall and wished they had a window there instead.

“Sven can put the window in,” Britt said, then giggled from her perch on the counter as Penn jumped out of his skin at the scare she’d given him.

“Oh, my,” Penn panted. “You startled me.” He looked down at his bare chest and held up a finger. He was back in a minute with a shirt on and motioned to the coffee maker. “Would you like a cup?”

“Yes, please,” Britt said. “And thank Hanne; that was her idea.”

“I will, and thank you for this wonderful home,” Penn said and bowed.

“So sweet, and you’re welcome. Soo…” Britt stretched the word out as she swung her legs and tapped her fingers on the wooden island top.

“So what?” Penn asked as he poured the steaming liquid into a mug and handed it to her. He poured himself one and sat on a stool.

“My brother,” she said, then waited expectantly.

Penn shook his head. “Oh, no. Nope.” And he blew across the steam. “Wait, can I say no to you?”

“Yes, you can tell her ‘no,’” Iver said as he walked into the kitchen and sat a box down on the counter. “Britt.”

“Brother,” she said back. “Your mate wants a window over the kitchen sink.” She blew him a kiss and vanished.

“My siblings have a tendency to pop in whenever the whim hits them.”

Penn took a cautious sip and then formally greeted Iver. “Good morning.”

“Good morning to you,” Iver said back.

“Coffee?” Penn asked, but Iver was already picking up his sister’s abandoned mug.

Iver sat down with his cup and slid the wooden box across the island to Penn.

“What’s this?” Penn asked.

“A mate gift,” Iver said.

Penn recalled the custom of exchanging mate gifts. First, from the one who asked for the mating and then, a response gift from the one who answered. If it was a good match, the mating stages would progress. Not all matings worked out, and this was a way in which tradition allowed each party to know they were still on the positive side of things.

“Thank you,” Penn said and opened the box. He pulled out the first seed pouch and then another until he had them spread out on the countertop. Penn tried to hide his approval and stick to custom with the proper response.

“This is a perfect mating gift,” Penn said with appreciation. “It shows me a plan for the future and that you listened when I told you I was interested in farming.” He examined each bundle Iver had selected. They would farm and have fresh vegetables and a winter garden through hard work together and not just Iver’s magic. Penn couldn’t have asked for a more meaningful first gift, and he glanced at Iver, who appeared quite pleased with himself.

And what to get a god, Penn wondered.

“We’ll have some work to do before planting them,” Iver said, and Penn recalled how dense the forest was outside the cave.

He carefully stacked the bound pouches back into the box and carried it into their bedroom. He set it on the dresser where he could see it there and returned to finish his coffee.

“What do you do each day?” Penn asked as he sat back down.

“Settle disputes, deliver punishments, and heal those the Creator deems to be healed. Maintain pack peace and observe packs to ensure they abide by the law.”

“How did the Mitchum pack violate Wolf law, bringing the war?”

“Malcolm Mitchum violated pack law when he had a half-Wolf child, returned to his pack after his father’s unexpected death, and left his child behind. This set off a disastrous chain of events and suffering. Then, he turned that child to prevent his death. Healing without asking for the Creator’s consent. Worse than Malcolm’s violation, a council member ordered a Wolf to attack a human, and their council had already violated their own written decree and a treaty. Threats were made to kill the son of an Alpha, turned or not. Then there was an attempt on his life, along with his mate’s. Many violations were made by many Wolves, far too many for individual Tribunals. It was decided a battle would determine their fates. The Bellums were given this mission by the Creator.”

Penn listened somberly. He knew what Iver said to be accurate, but hearing it now made the violations more transparent, all of them valid violations of sacred Wolf law. Laws that had kept their race safe for centuries.

“What will happen to them?” Penn asked.

“I cannot know their fate until the Tribunal. The Creator will clarify their punishment at the right time. We also have to deal with the scientists. Be alert,” Iver warned and finished off his coffee.

“Would you like to meet my mother today?” Penn asked.

Iver smiled as he rinsed his cup. “Very much.”

“I’ll go change clothes,” Penn said, and Iver reached over and took his cup.

“What kind of window?” Iver called after him, and Penn smiled as he changed, visualizing the large window he wanted—to test his Pillar mind-reading theory.

Iver chuckled from the kitchen but said nothing.