Odin's Prize

A House

There is no gentleness or patience to Odin's gait as he leads me leads me to the front door of this home. Turning facing the crowd of wolves. "It's in my right to have two nights alone with my mate, and I intend to take it all. We will not be disturbed." The voice is traveling upwards, spreading outwards to all gathered here today. There is no rebuttal, only the backs of the crowd that is slowly leaving the spot where the mosaics of reds has frozen solidly on the ground. 

A thick wooden carved door sits between two medium size windows. Odin opens it grabbing something just on the inside. It's a dark grey silk robe that he's holding out for me.

"Shift Charlie," Odin's sound a stark contrast to what he just spoke out, more of a persuasion of honeyed quality that falls easily against the ears.

Shifting the robe going over my shoulders instantly. Odin waits for me to enter. First, he's just behind me, the heat of him already soaking in from the back of the thinnest material I've ever had on my body. 

Pausing in the entry way of the home, letting my fingers travel over the grain of the wood that's been carved so detailed that it shouldn't be exposed to all the elements to molest year after year in harsh conditions. 

It's a symbol that I don't understand the meaning too. 

Looking up at the exposed rafters the timber used in the beams are thick, heavy and mighty. There is a silver hoop embedded into the center of the structure just like the smaller cottage of the East whose beam I cracked. 

Odin hangs the furs up on hooks right beside the door. His own coat is coming up and off, leaving his chest visible to my eyes. Certain colors stand out against the black and grey, my lips against his neck, the small blue flower over his heart. I want to lay him down and just trace all the details his pictures have to tell. 

Ancient Forest Green's lock, holding my vision. His face impossible to read, he's giving nothing away at the moment. 

Sound is starving between our silence. 

The drapes pulled almost closed, blocking out the last of the setting suns rays, I have to adjust to the low-level light. 

"You built this?" From the peripheral of my vision watching him in curiosity, he's got working hands. Use to labor, use to the daily grind of life. 

"I did." His eyes on everything else but me. 

It's not grand, it's not like my pack house, but it's sturdy, with a characteristic of humbleness. The rooms split in two, kitchen and living room. The wood stove in the center of the room but pushed back towards the back wall. River rocks line worn smooth by centuries of running water washing over their surface line the wall all the way up to the ceiling reflecting the heat back into the open space. 

It's casting off a comfortable warmth; the fire lit for our arrival the smell of burning cedar logs filling up space. There is also an underlying scent of freshly milled wood, looking around, there is a table that's solid, rustic built with skilled hands. The top is one flat piece of a single tree that's been sanded and stained down. I don't think it's used to much, no nicks or stains present to tarnish the exterior. The table sits in front of a big bay window where the drapes have been drawn preventing me from seeing the view from outside. 

A bare ledge over the sink could hold a few living green plants. I can picture the bundles of drying roots or herbs hanging from the ceiling near the stove. I wonder how he would feel if his home started to smell like a healer's home? 

Odin hands me my satchel. Carefulness reaching inside. Tenderly setting my books out on the table. Running a finger over the leather binding, my life's work staining the paper with knowledge. He tries to reach for one. Trying my best to stay calm.

 "Don't touch my books." Challenging, he picks up the very first one my father gave to me all those years ago, opening the pages carelessly before putting it on the table. The hundreds of green pencils stay buried at the bottom, not wanting to pull any out but will need to eat one soon to defend against a heat I don't want. 

A barren wall comes into my line of sight when looking away in guilt with the secret I'm hiding. It's in stark contrast to the other walls where pictures hang on wooden frames. A small painted picture on the wall grabs my attention. It's my mother's wolf, looking down at me as a newly shifted juvenile while I'm biting into her front paw. Tracing the glass that protects the image, a quiver of my throat as a sad sound wants to rush up and out. 

"Did you draw these?" Saying it against the wall, the sound bouncing back into my face. Odin comes to stand behind me until his front is pressed against my back. He leans his head forwards as if examining the picture, his warm breath hitting my flesh. His cheek pressing into mine, he doesn't move, and neither do I. 

"Yes, I drew that. Everything in here I've drawn hoping that you can look at it and smile when you feel lonely for your mother." His voice is touching my ear, lips brush fractionally just behind my neckline.  My thighs start to weaken from the physicality of Odin. He's pressed up right behind me now. I don't dare look over my shoulder instead my focus is on the glass of the picture frame. Odin's image shadowed in the lowness of the light. I do see an extension of canine poking out of his gums. There is a hard tremor that courses its path downward from chest to belly, that Odin is unable to hide. 

"You did well, Charlie." Odin's voice behind is now further away moving around the room. Still, I don't turn around, not trusting myself within the moment. A hand on my side, gliding up the silk material of my robe. His mouth presses against my neck before pulling away quickly.

"How bad are you hurt?"

"I'll heal." Nothing too threatening already the injuries have closed themselves up.

"Can I see?" Odin's darkening voice is dropping, his fingers at the edge of the knot that's holding my robe secure around my body. His knee resting against my inner thigh, a small spread of my leg when he pushing himself flush against the thin material of the silk, I feel as if I am being physically struck, knees weakening with the quivering of flesh so blatant it can't be hidden from eyes that see everything. 

An audible gasp of air from my lungs, while his breathing is picking up its calm rhythm. 

Stepping away from the heat of him, "I'm all right, Odin, I would like to clean up." Looking around the room at the two doors, that are closed. 

"The shower is in there," he points towards one of the closed doors. 

"That's the bedroom; you'll find everything you need in there." Stepping towards the doors curious at whats on the other side. 

"Why didn't you kill him?" Odin's voice is moving closer than getting further away. 

"I just couldn't do it." Saying my words out truthfully, "the wolf could, but I just couldn't." 

"You're very gentle, Charlie to the point of fault. I blame your father for that." Odin's voice is getting once again closer and closer to me until he's standing behind me.

"My father is not to blame; I walk the line of Retribution if you wanted to go after my father you should have stood in line with the rest of them." Turning around facing Odin, challenging him to say something. A firmness set in my jaw, while the tension starts to rise up and outward. He takes two strides to breach the space between us when his mouth touches my lips it eases away all that tension. A rush of delicious vibrating movement surges the pathways of nerves, running along my spine, resting on either side of my hips. Fingers pulling his hair, bringing his body even closer to me. 

His hand on my back, gliding up my side. His tongue once again teases teeth before he pulls himself a few step away creating space, no longer looking at me he turns his back, so I see the giant bear claw that consumes most of the property there. 

 His breathing coming out hard, back muscles flexing, shifting into a riled up state. 

Thinking to myself, this has only been the first ten minutes with Odin and already he's starting to crack the restraints from within.