Chapter Thirty-Four

A labor of love always pays off.

—Scott Belsky

 

PENN WOKE IN the same position they’d fallen asleep in, with Iver holding him close. He was happy and could have stayed there like that all day, but he patted Iver awake.

“I have to go,” Penn said, and Iver groaned, reluctantly releasing him. Penn got up and dressed. He left Iver sleeping as he got ready for another full day in the carving shop.

Penn made his morning trek to the packhouse and to the woodshop. He greeted Conor and the others who were already working. It didn’t take long for Penn to become lost in his work. Using the chisel, wood rolled off in ribbons and chips. Penn wasn’t very good at it, and more than once when he gripped the thinning wood, he got his fingers too close to the sharp blade.

“You may need to shift and heal,” Conor said as he handed Penn another bandage.

“I’m terrible at this,” Penn admitted as he peeled open the adhesive and wrapped another of his sliced fingertips.

Britt and Sven appeared, and Conor bowed low. Penn bowed, and Britt pointed at his fingers. “At this rate, we’ve decided you’ll lose one of those before this is done.” She gave him a judgmental look. “And my brother is wearing away the forest, pacing for your return.” She sighed and looked at Sven as if she expected him to do something about it.

“You can’t help,” Penn argued and then recoiled. “Can I tell you that?”

“You can,” Sven replied, ignoring his demanding sister.

“Sven,” she said, frowning.

Sven motioned for Penn to continue his work. “How can we help?”

“Ceremony planning,” Penn said to Britt, beaming. “I don’t have a mating robe, a place, or…”

But she was already clapping her hands together and tugging on her brother’s sleeve. Penn was relieved that made her happy, and Sven nodded at the bow beginning to take shape on the table.

“You’re doing well; just mind the fingers,” Sven said with approval. “Let’s go rescue Iver and plan a ceremony. Penn needs more time, Sister. This is how we can help.”

And they were gone.

Conor, too, stared at where they had just been.

“I know. It takes some getting used to,” Penn said and turned back to the worktable. “Okay, now what?”

Conor handed him a sanding block with a look of amusement. “Start sanding.”

At the end of the day, Penn showered at his mother’s to rid himself of the fine sawdust that clung to every pore and then changed into standard pack clothing before returning home. His mother placed a covered container in his hands.

“Thanks, Mom.” He kissed her forehead. “And yes, it’s going well. He says he already accepts my gift, and I haven’t even finished it yet.”

“It’s a labor of love,” she said and inspected his fingers as she put fresh bandages on them. “I’m glad he has accepted. I am so proud for you. Now go. Go, he’ll be worried.”

“And you know that how?”

She pressed her lips together. “Go home, Penn.”

He headed that way. Walking anxiously, his excitement grew as he approached the hill where Iver waited for him. Penn let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding as he took in the sight he hoped to see. Iver stood, appearing relieved, and approached him.

“My mother made us something,” Penn said and hugged Iver back.

Iver pulled away and frowned at him. “Why do I smell your blood?”

“It’s nothing. I told you I’m not very good at doing what I’m trying to do.” Penn wiggled his fingers with three bandages on the tips.

“Shift and heal,” Iver demanded.

Penn handed him the container. “I had to wait until I could get this home.”

“Go on then. I don’t like you injured.” Iver pulled up the lid and peeked inside as Penn pulled off his shirt. “Cookies,” he acknowledged and sat down in his chair as Penn shifted, and then Wolf lay next to him.

Iver chewed and glanced down at him. “I like you, Wolf.”

Penn’s Wolf rumbled with contentment and closed his eyes, feeling the same for their mate, who sat guard as they healed their minor injuries and sore muscles. When Wolf was healed, he sat up and rested his muzzle on Iver’s muscular thigh. Firm fingers stroked fur as Iver hummed his approval of this gesture.

“We will run together soon,” Iver promised. “My leg is almost healed.”

Wolf nudged at his hand, and Iver continued. They sat together like that until the sun set fire to the sky in streaks of orange and purple. Until Iver stood and indicated he was ready for Penn to return to him.

Penn felt much better as he pulled on his loose clothing and tied the drawstring at his waist.

Iver handed him the tub of cookies. “These are good.”

“She bakes with love,” Penn said and headed inside with Iver.

“So do I,” Iver said as he went to the oven. “Hanne is helping me learn to cook for two.” Iver took their dinner from the oven and placed it on the top. Penn recognized the scent of an old-world dish many elders in their pack preferred. It smelled good, a complex thing to make. Penn appreciated Iver’s effort. Judging by the dishes in the sink, he’d not used magic but done this with his own hands.

“Thank you,” Penn said as Iver served him. “Conor says I should finish tomorrow.”

Iver sat down with his own plate. “This is good news. I spent time today with Sven and Britt making arrangements for our ceremony.”

Penn nodded as he chewed, and Iver went on, telling him about the plans. They would have their ceremony on their land, in a grove not far from their cavernous home. This place would always be theirs and would hold more meaning than anywhere else. The siblings were busy handling other aspects: guests, seating, and attire for both of them. Penn ate as he listened to Iver tell him everything.

Penn realized just how happy he already was, and while the physical attraction was there for Iver, the deeper emotional desire was growing. Penn recalled how anxious he’d been to get home and see Iver as he came over the hill.

Iver stopped talking and looked at Penn with an astonished expression.

“I’m listening,” Penn said, “Ryan and Thomas will be able to come,” repeating what Iver had just said.

“Yes, but that wasn’t it. I felt it,” Iver said. “Your feelings just now.”

Penn nodded. “I’m happy to be home, here with you. Go on.”

Iver continued and relaxed as he talked about the closest guests and keeping it small. Penn agreed, only wanting their friends and family there for such an intimate ceremony.

Iver sobered. “After the Tribunal, Penn.”

Penn agreed. “I think that’s best too.”

After cleaning up Iver’s minor mess in the kitchen and stowing away the leftover food, they went through their separate nightly routines. They kissed each other until Iver again put the brakes on when things heated, reminding that he wanted to adhere to tradition as much as they could stand. They might be bending some rules, but nothing had been broken. They’d agreed on this together, no matter the temptation.

“Goodnight,” Iver said, and Penn returned the sentiment, falling asleep without Iver’s help this time.

 

IVER WAS GONE early before Penn the following day, and now Penn was at the shop putting the wood grain oils on the bow body and checking for any imperfections. Next to him, Conor nodded with approval. Penn had decided to forgo the carvings, saving his fingers and keeping it simple. It would be a strong bow for his powerful mate with enough love and effort already put into it, and Penn was no carving artist like Conor. The thought of someone else doing the work didn’t sit right with Penn, and he was happy with what he had created.

“You have done well,” Conor said and handed him the bowstring and other parts he would need to add.

Conor instructed, and Penn followed until it was done. Conor handed him an arrow, and they headed outside to test the bow. With a few adjustments, it shot true, and Penn was proud of himself and appreciative of Conor’s guidance. Penn hugged Conor and thanked him.

Conor accepted Penn’s gratitude and handed over a leather quiver of arrows. He shrugged. “Did you really think they wouldn’t help; he’s their brother.”

“So I said no, and they came back and hit you up.”

Conor looked a little sheepish. “As if I could tell them no.”

“You’re a good man; I owe you,” Penn said and headed home with his return-mate gift at last.

This was it, the thing he had to give to officially confirm their mating, even though Iver had already verbally accepted. Penn inspected the leather quiver with its minimal embellishments. He was relieved the siblings hadn’t outdone him. His heart beat faster as he approached the hill, anticipating seeing Iver and finally giving him this gift. Penn felt like he could finally breathe as he topped the hill to find Iver, only a step below and not in his chair, anxiously waiting with his hand outstretched.

Penn held out the bow to him. “Iver, Bow Warrior, Archer, please accept this return-mate gift. I made this for you with my hands to show you I accept your offer and agree to be your mate for all our days.”

Iver took the bow and inspected it, turning it and running his fingers over the wood grain. He nodded. “Thank you for this gift and your acceptance. I promise to be a true and loving mate to you, Penn.”

“I, too, make this promise,” Penn said.

Iver smiled wide. With all the required traditional words said, with this step over, Iver grabbed Penn’s hand and nearly dragged him to their home. They were both eager with the excitement of no longer chancing breaking any rules. Their later ceremony would be a formality for the record, important, but it had nothing to do with their actual mating.

Iver laid the bow down gently on the couch and pulled the quiver from Penn’s shoulder, then also laid it down. Iver waved a hand, explaining he was warding their cave for privacy. Penn ignored the blue streaming and crackling as he was scooped up, and swift, strong legs carried them to the room they both desperately wanted to be in together. Penn’s clothes left a trail behind them, strewn across the floor along with Iver’s, as they only broke away from each other to rip them off.

Penn’s back hit the bed, and his hands flew up, surrounding bare skin, moving and touching everywhere, wanting to just feel him. Iver was on fire, his body nearly ablaze over him, and Penn’s fingers trembled at Iver’s waist.

“Yes,” Iver said fiercely as his brutal naked heat pressed against Penn, and he moved back, bringing searing friction with the slide of their arousals against each other. “Touch me.”

Penn made an embarrassing sound but was cut short by a hot wet mouth again as the friction slid up and down against him. His hips rolled up, wanting more of it, a yearning like no other. Penn moved his hand down between them. He then moved his legs from beneath them, spreading them and showing his willingness to give his body to his mate. Penn slid his other hand up Iver’s back and into his hair as they kissed, exploring and stroking Iver for the first time.

Strong fingers dug into the outside of Penn’s hip, squeezing and releasing as Iver began a rocking motion above him, demanding more from Penn’s grip.

“Yes,” Penn panted his agreement and slid his knees higher as Iver groaned and buried his face into Penn’s neck, inhaling and sucking hard at the skin there. Penn turned his neck to the side, giving it freely as fangs scraped, scoring skin, and then left him. Penn’s hand was knocked away.

Iver’s weight was gone for only a moment and then back as a soothing slick sensation and slight pressure at Penn’s entrance, circling and exploring. It tickled and dipped in as if unsure. Penn pressed against it, wanting the breaching more than anything, this bonding between them.

Iver trembled above him, holding up his own weight and careful as his unmatchable strength was reduced to the tenderness of a nervous digit daring to press in farther.

“Yes,” Penn moaned. “Inside me. Don’t fear it.”

There was another growl as Iver braved deeper, and Penn relaxed. His eyes rolled back as Iver explored his body with his fingers.

“God,” Penn cried out at the overwhelming sensations he’d never experienced before.

“I am your god,” Iver snarled as two—now it was two—fingers stretched him.

Penn desperately pulled back and bore down, his body already wanting what Iver was doing and seeming to draw his fingers in deeper. Penn didn’t refute the claim as he tried to offer himself to the sheer breadth of his god. He zeroed in on the nodule forming on Iver’s neck, and Penn whined, wanting it. He looked into Iver’s eyes and nodded; he was ready. But Iver shook his head and pressed his mouth to Penn’s again, consuming him as more tremendous pressure prepared his body.

The feeling was foreign and frightening in the excitement it produced. Electric sensations, little shocks, shot up Penn’s spine as Iver rubbed past and over something inside him. He whimpered into Iver’s mouth at the stark pleasure of those sparking sensations.

“More,” Penn begged as his arousal leaked with need. He gazed down between their bodies as Iver lifted and shifted back to his knees. It felt as if Iver’s entire hand was buried inside him, and Penn watched as Iver’s other hand dipped into a ceramic jar and slathered the slickening upon that great shaft between his legs.

Penn couldn’t conceal his shock at the mass that was about to take him now and for all his days. It was like Iver, as he stroked the entire great hard length and around the wide girth with the substance on his hand.

Iver gripped himself and looked down at what he held and back to that eager opening. Penn closed his eyes, breathing and focusing his energy on making that place ready, willing, for his lover, soon, his mate.

“I give myself to you,” Penn panted as the thick fingers slid out of his body, and he opened his eyes as Iver rose on his knees and placed the crown of himself at that dark entrance, the inferno of Penn’s heat begging for its match.

Penn felt the helpless void Iver’s fingers had left behind, but the sensation was quickly replaced by the intense and steady pressing pressure of that great girth penetrating him. Penn squeezed his eyes shut and panted through it. Then the slow progress paused, and a slick hand encompassed Penn’s staff and stroked it with such relief his body instantly softened as Iver pushed to surpass the tightness. Iver didn’t pant. He breathed like a great dragon above Penn, heat flaring as he held himself back, and his hand moved in a gliding motion to ease his mate’s discomfort.

Up and down Penn’s slick shaft it glided, and Penn shook; his whole body shook as Iver worked him through what was undoubtedly the most challenging part.

“Shh,” Iver soothed, and he didn’t move, just continued that stroking, his hand gentle as the burning fire eased, and Penn opened his eyes once more. “There you are,” Iver nearly crooned as he nodded at Penn, and Penn nodded back.

Iver watched him closely, and Penn took in the sight of sweat glistening on Iver’s restraint as his hips pressed forward, driving his length in further as it touched that place of sweet relief inside Penn, and he shuddered. Penn could only pant as his body was freely given and eagerly taken with one last powerful slow push inside.

Penn let out a strangled noise as his god’s groin and curling dark hair met flush against his sensitive skin. Iver was buried deep inside Penn’s body, connected, and it was as if Iver himself was inside him with his great power and size.

“Mate.” Penn’s voice trembled with awe.

“Mate,” Iver agreed.

With a pull of his hips, Iver withdrew his mast. The hand left Penn, scooped into the jar again, and slicked again over Iver. And then with a great push, Iver was back inside in one long, thick glide, entirely back in. Penn went tingly and lax below, the substance causing an easing, and Iver seemed relieved as Penn’s body gave in completely, receiving him more easily.

“There now,” Iver praised, and Penn watched, as did Iver, as he pulled out and pushed inside again. “Good.” Iver sighed with what seemed like the same awe and fascination Penn had felt at the sensation of Iver disappearing and reappearing in a steady intimate slide, in and out of Penn.

The hand around Penn disappeared, and both of Iver’s hands touched Penn, massaging and rubbing stretched tight skin below, the sensitive skin above, and the two weights higher still. A hand in the jar again, and both hands rubbed together before cupping, rolling, and tugging his twins. Penn cried out and lifted his hips in reaction, meeting the drive and retreat with his own body.

“Yes,” Iver growled, obviously pleased at what he could make Penn’s body do. Iver’s hips slowed, nearly stilling, as he discovered a way to bring Penn’s body to him. Iver waited, and Penn could see this was something he wanted.

Penn lowered his palms to the bed and used them to push himself up, taking Iver within himself by his own movement.

“Yes, mate,” Iver panted. And Penn lifted and drove himself onto Iver once more, and then, again and again until Penn found a rhythm and fluidity in his actions.

“You take me,” Iver groaned. “Yes, you take me like this. Make me yours.”

Penn thrust faster until Iver matched him with his hips, driving to meet his heat as the muscles in his abdomen strained and the vein in Iver’s neck matched the thick vein that pulsed inside Penn’s channel. Fire shot from Penn’s toes and up to his back as he cried out and locked around Iver inside him. The orgasming jerk of Penn’s release streaked onto his stomach.

Iver lowered himself over Penn, who waited. Their mouths joined as Iver, unmoving, began swelling inside Penn. He felt it growing, stretching, filling. Iver’s mouth brushed over his skin to his neck. Again, Penn gave it. There would be love; how couldn’t there be? It was already building between them. Sharp canines sank through skin, and the essence of bonding scented heavily in the room.

Penn wrapped his arms around Iver, holding him as he throbbed inside him, the expansion significant as the heat grew and his hips thrust again. Once, twice, a third time, hard and deep thrusts filled him with fire and euphoria as Iver released his bonding fluid inside him. Penn cried out as his own shaft jerked into action once more, and the fangs withdrew. Iver’s warm tongue lapped, and the smell was god, man, and musk as the fluid seeped into the wounds. Penn trembled as sparks lit up inside his bloodstream, and his hips bucked up, desperately wanting more of it, more inside him as he cried out, begging, and Iver fulfilled his wish with his surging hips.

Penn yelled out again, and they were a blur of two bodies moving faster and faster as Penn panted. The fluid kept flowing into the punctures, setting him on fire and turning him into a near beast—other than his own Wolf, who howled out their triumph and pride over their virile mate.

Iver’s mouth found Penn’s, and he eagerly swallowed down the bonding essence that filled it. Penn kissed back and used his tongue to seek out the source of the life-altering ambrosia. It gave, and Penn took. As Penn accepted another mouthful, Iver leaned back and flexed, roaring and driving himself in deep once more with the final release of this immortal bonding, filling Penn.

Gods, Penn felt full and flooded with it all. Iver closed his eyes, now breathing like a bull, and threw his head back as he swelled completely, sealing any escape and holding there as Penn’s body contracted, absorbing and taking in the last of this and their transformation.

“Forever marked and claimed by you,” Penn breathed out, and Iver lowered his hand to Penn’s chest. A blue glow emitted, and the swirling ink moved within Penn’s skin.

“Mate eternal,” Iver professed, closing his eyes and resting as Penn’s body consumed it all. Until then, Penn’s body could not release him.

Penn woke to soft fingers touching him. He was sore, but something soothed gently over his tender flesh. Iver was careful and the room smelled like some sort of different salve as a cooling ease of something slathered over him again. He smiled at how Iver lingered a little longer than what was necessary to heal one’s mate in this fashion. But the smile grew as he was rolled to his back, and a hot and eager mouth was around him.

“Iver.” Penn breathed out his mate’s name as his length was sucked into Iver’s mouth. Iver pulled off of Penn before sucking him back down again. The tenderness below was forgotten as the rest of his life seemed to be sucked out of him in a burst that was over far too soon. Penn lay lax, reeling as Iver straddled his hulking weight over him and ripped at himself, jerking until hot streaks painted Penn’s chest and throat, which Iver smeared into Penn’s skin.

“Sleep,” Iver said as his release seeped into Penn, further marking him eternally with Iver’s scent. Now, he could always be found by Iver’s Wolf—a distinction that let any and every Wolf know he was Iver’s mate and death would come for those who dared to harm him.

Penn fell into a deep, magically induced recovering sleep.