Out with Rhen at first light. Same trees. Same path. Same silence. My shoulders have been tight since yesterday. Since she was on my back for hours. Every shift of her weight. Her hips when the terrain changed. She stopped fighting the movement halfway through. Just settled. Trusted. Her fingers loosening in my fur. Her weight moving with mine. Don't. Rhen's talking about the upper edge. Tracks. Human. Old enough to ignore but recent enough to note. "Could be hunters." Rhen looks at the tracks. "Passing through." "When?" "Two days. Maybe three. Heading away from us." Probably isn't hunters. "Note it. Add it to Brennan's r eport." "Already did." Good. We ke ep walking. The morning is cold. Sharp. Good. Exc ept now there's room for the press of her forehead against my neck, her breath warm through my fur— Movement at the tree line. Two figures. Moving fast. Pack. Coming from the direction of the outer runners. "Keer." Rhen's seen it too. I'm already moving, closing distance, meeting them halfway. Tovar and one of the younger wolves—Liara—both breathing hard. Liara's face is tight. Tovar won't meet my eye. "What." "The human's cottage." Tovar's voice is flat. "It's gone. Burned. Nothing left." A growl ripping out, low and rough. "Fuck." Rhen goes still. Tovar doesn't move. "When?" "Recent. Day, maybe two." He pauses. Swallows. "A runner found it this morning on the outer swe ep. The whole thing, Keer. Foundation's still standing but everything above it—ash." "Just the cottage?" "Garden too. The pen. All of it." Liara's voice is thin. "They brought accelerant. Oily residue everywhere." "How many?" "Hard to tell. Boot prints overlapping. At least five, maybe more." "Tracks leading out?" "Toward Blomstradal." "The settlements." Rhen. Low.
"Has to be." Tovar looks toward the clearing. Toward her. "Sending a message." "Or cutting off her option to leave." Rhen's eyes on the tree line. Both. Burning her out. Making sure there's nowhere to go back to. I look across the clearing. She's there. Her hair white in the sun, that pink threading through it. Nugget at her feet, the hens pecking around her in the dust, that fucking rooster screaming at a goat who wandered too close to the feed pile. She's waving her arms at Keer Jr. Her voice carrying across the clearing in fragments I can't catch. Something about boundaries. Something about personal space. She doesn't know yet. Years she lived there. Built the place alone. The garden, the goat pen, the shelf where her jars sat. All of it, by herself. "Keer?" Rhen watching my face. "Stay on patrol. Tovar, r eport to Axan—tell him I want those tracks followed before they fade. Liara, find Kestria." "You're telling the human yourself?" Tovar's eyes narrow. "I said r eport to Axan." He holds my gaze for a second. Nods. Goes. I'm already walking. Toward her. Pack members notice. Eyes tracking me, conversations dropping. The clearing has changed. A goat grazes near the fire pit. The wolf passing it doesn't alter course—st eps around without looking. Bram is crouched by the pen, checking a post, hands steady. A pup sits cross-legged beside the spotted female, scratching behind her ears while the animal leans into the touch. Days ago none of this existed here. She did this. Brought livestock into a wolf territory and the pack just absorbed it. No vote. No discussion. She looks up when I'm close. Mid-sentence, hand still in the air, mouth curved. Smile fades. "What happened?" Her voice catches. Already. Her hand drops. The chickens ke ep pecking around her feet. "Your cottage. They burned it. Human accelerant. Nothing left." She blinks. But she doesn't— Goes back to feeding the chickens. "Melori." "These ones need extra feed." Her hands ke ep scattering grain. Manic. Tight. "They're still adjusting to the new environment and stress affects their digestion, you know, so I have to make sure they're getting enough nutrients because otherwise—" "Melori."
"—they won't lay properly and we need the eggs, we really need the eggs because protein sources are limited here and I've been thinking about setting up a rotation system where the older hens get supplemental grain in the morning and the younger ones get theirs at evening because their metabolisms are different and if we don't account for that the yield drops and—" Her hands are shaking. Both of them. Wrapped around the empty feed bucket. She's still talking but the words are coming wrong. Somewhere underneath the chickens and the grain rotation and the metabolism schedule, she knows. The rest of her hasn't caught up yet, but her voice has. Her hands have. Don't move toward her. Not yet. Kestria appears. St eps in and takes the feed from Melori's hands. Gentle. Firm. Melori doesn't resist, just lets it go, fingers loose at her sides. "I'm fine." Voice cracking. "I'm completely fine. It's just a building. Buildings burn all the time. People rebuild. That's what people do. They rebuild." Everyone can see it. Pack members have stopped what they're doing. The hens peck at scattered grain around her boots. Her hands won't stop moving. "Come on." Kestria's arm slides around her shoulders. "Let's go sit down." "I don't need to sit down. I need to feed the chickens." "I'll feed them." "But the rotation—" "Mel." Silence. Swallowing hard. Her hands clenching, unclenching. Then, small—so fucking small— "I want to see it." "No." The word lands heavy. She looks at me. Eyes wet. Jaw set. Stubborn. "Please." That word. Shouldn't. Not safe. Not smart. I look at her, really look. Bright blue, wet at the corners, fixed on mine and not letting go. The whole impossible woman in one stubborn upward stare. I exhale. Long. Drag my palm down my beard. The trail's already mapping itself in my head. Who covers the council. How fast we can ride there and back. I'm not even fighting it. That's the part that should worry me. She says please and the answer's already yes. "Just us. I'll take you."
Kestria's watching me. "Go get your baskets. We'll gather what survived." She nods. Turns. Walks away. Too steady. Spine straight, shoulders locked. "Brother." "Don't." "I wasn't going to say anything." "Your face is saying plenty." She lets out a breath. Close to a laugh. Not there. "Be careful." I don't answer. Careful. Not the word for this. Tree line. She's standing there with baskets strapped to her back. Same ones from yesterday—same worn leather straps, purple moonbright stain still on the weave. I start stripping. Shirt first. She can tie it to a basket. Boots next. She's trying not to look. Failing. Yesterday she wouldn't take her eyes off the ground. Talked about soil decomposition. That was heat. Today her eyes are blank. She doesn't turn around. Belt. Pants. Her eyes on me. I shift. Bones cracking, muscles reshaping, world going sharp and bright. Colors flatten. Smells explode—pine and earth and morning damp and her. Moonbright and sweat and salt. I lower myself so she can climb on. She grabs my fur. Yesterday her hands knew where to go. She settles. Weight distributed. Baskets balanced. Her hands are shaking. I start moving. Her face presses against my neck. Eyes closed. I run faster. Her thighs press in when I jump a fallen log, tightening around me. But her grip is tighter than yesterday. She's just holding on. Pressed hard against my back. I smell it before we get there. Ash. Char. Old smoke. And underneath—oily, sharp. Accelerant soaked into burned wood. I slow down. Every muscle in her body goes rigid against my back.
Fingers digging in. The clearing opens up. Foundation stones. Blackened earth. Charred beams collapsed inward. A doorframe still standing—arch intact, wood scorched but upright. Open air behind it. I stop and lower myself. She slides off. Not moving. Not breathing. I shift back. Cold hits my bare skin. Ignore it. She walks forward. The clothes come out of her basket without her looking. One hand finding the bundle, holding it out to her side, arm extended, eyes fixed on her burnt home. She isn't waiting for me to take them. She's already walking. I take them. She doesn't notice. Turns at the threshold. Angles through a door that isn't there anymore—the motion automatic. Walks the footprint of the cottage. The workbench where she mixed paste—charred stump of a leg, everything else gone. The shelf where her jars sat. I follow. Ke eping distance. She crouches in the rubble, fingers sifting through ash and char, and pulls something out. Pottery shard. Blue glaze, bright against the black. Part of a bowl— the curve of the rim. Handmade. Her hands shake holding it. "Ten years." Voice thin. Cracking. "I built all of this. By myself. T—ten years." Turns the shard over. Runs her thumb across the glaze. "The walls first. Took me months because I didn't know what I was doing and the first set fell down twice. Then the roof. Then the floor, which I ripped up and redid two times because it just didn’t feel right." "Two times?" "I'm stubborn." She holds the shard up. Blue glaze catching pale light. "This bowl. I fired it myself in a pit kiln I dug behind the garden. Cracked the first three times. This one held." She holds it in both hands. "And now it's a piece." She turns the shard over again. Thumb tracing the rim. Doesn't say anything for a while. Just holding it.
"You'll build again." "Where?" With me. "Somewhere." Useless word. "Somewhere." She lets out a breath. "Inspiring." "I'm not good at—" "Comfort? No." She stands. Turns. I'm closer than she expected— breath catches, eyes going wide. Close enough to see ash smudged across her jaw. "You're really not." Tears on her face now. Silent. Streaming. She's not wiping them away. "Why did you bring me here?" "You asked." "Why did you say yes?" Tight and raw. "Why do you care what I need?" "I don't know." Can't lie to her. "I don't know." Quieter this time. "But I do." She stares at me. Tears still falling. Pottery clutched in her hand. She makes a sound. Small. Wrong. Not a sound she makes. Then her knees buckle. I'm already there. Catching her. The pottery falls from her hand into the ash and I don't let her follow it down—one arm under her knees, the other behind her shoulders, lowering both of us together. We end up on the ground. Me sitting in what used to be her cottage. Her in my lap. The ash soaking through my pants and I don't care, my arms full of a small shaking woman and I don't care, her face pressed into my chest and the sounds coming out of her now are wet and broken and human and I don't care about any of it exc ept that she's the one making them. She cries. Her whole body shaking with it, her hands fisted in the fabric of my shirt, her face hidden against my collarbone, the world too bright to look at right now. I hold her. That's all. One hand at the back of her head, fingers in her hair. The other arm wrapped around her ribs. My chin on top of her head and my body curved around hers, making myself the wall between her and the wreckage. I don't tell her it's going to be okay. I don't know that it's going to be okay. I let her be.
Time stops mattering. Could be ten minutes. Could be an hour. The sun moves and I don't track it, the wind picks up and I shift slightly so my back blocks it. Her face stays pressed to my chest and she ke eps crying and I ke ep holding. The only thing I'm doing—the only thing I can do—is be the thing that doesn't move. Eventually the shaking slows. Her breath evens out. Still ragged. Still wet. But evening. She doesn't move. Doesn't lift her head. Just stays there, inside the circle of my arms, breathing. I don't move either. Eventually her fingers uncurl from my shirt. One at a time. Slow. She lifts her head. Doesn't look at me. Wipes her face on her sleeve. Pushes off my chest with both hands and stands. I help—one hand at her elbow until she's upright. Then her arm slips out of my grip and she's walking. We walks de eper into the ruins. Crouches again, sifts through rubble. Pulls out an iron pot, blackened but intact. "This survived." Sets it aside. Ke eps searching. "And this." A trowel, handle burned away, blade good. "And this." Iron hooks from the wall. A stone mortar, cracked but usable. I crouch beside her and start pulling debris away from the foundation edge. A hinge. Another pot. The remains of a kitchen knife, wooden handle gone. We work the rubble, shoulder to shoulder. Her arm brushes mine when she reaches for a piece of twisted metal. "The hearth was my favorite part." Her fingers trace the rubble. "I found the stones in the river. Carried them one at a time. It took weeks." "How old were you?" "Fourteen. Maybe fifteen. I lost track for a while." She pulls a stone from the rubble—smooth, river-worn. "This is one. See the flat edge? I picked them for that. So they'd stack evenly." "You carried these yourself?" "Who else was going to carry them?" She sets it down. Reaches for the next piece. "I didn't have a massive one-eyed wolf to do the heavy lifting." "I'm not a pack mule." "You pulled a cart full of chickens." "That was different." "How?" "That was your fault." Her mouth fights itself. She takes a de ep breath and stands, brushing off ash from her clothes. "Okay, that's enough." She looks around at the cottage. The doorframe. The arch standing alone against the sky. "Let's go."
I shift. She climbs on. Can't sle
Ep I'm pacing my dwelling. Four st eps, wall. Turn. Four st eps, wall. Turn. Her scent everywhere in my head. Moonbright and ash. Warmth still on my spine. She's alone in her dwelling. With that broken bowl piece. Her face in the ruins. Should let her grieve. Should stay here. Four st eps. Wall. Turn. Four st eps— "You'll break the floor before dawn at that pace." Orel. She's leaning against the door frame, arms folded, watching me. Unhurried. Gray hair loose around her shoulders. Pine resin on her clothes. "I'm fine." "I didn't ask." St eps inside without invitation. Sits on the bench against the wall. "It's late, Orel." "It is." "So why are you here?" "Because you're wearing a trench in your floor." She crosses her ankles. "And because her cottage burned today." "I know her cottage burned today." "I know you know." She lets the silence stretch. Waits. "We're handling it." "You're hiding." No heat. "We've been hiding for decades. Longer. And today they burned a woman's home to the ground because she dared to help us." "What's your point?" Pinching the bridge of my nose. "My point is that hiding is failing. The secret's already broken, Keer. The only question left is whether they see monsters or people when they come to finish it." She doesn't push, just stands. Slow. "Think about it." She moves toward the door. "Or don't. But it's coming whether you do or not." She leaves. Silence. Four st eps. Wall. Turn. Faster now. We're not there. Not yet. There are options. There are— Her dwelling across the clearing. Dark.
She's human. She's grieving. She needs space, not— Fuck it. Across the clearing. My bare feet on packed earth. Cold air on my arms. Blood loud in my head. At her door. Closed. I knock. Quiet—just knuckles on wood. Wait. Should leave. Should— "Come in." Her voice. Soft. I open the door. She's sitting on her pallet. That broken bowl piece in her hands. Blue glaze catching what little moonlight comes through the gaps in the walls. Looking up at me. She wasn't sle eping. Pallet unmade, but she's sitting on top of it, knees drawn up. Same clothes from today. Smudged. "I thought you might come." "Did you." "You're kind of predictable." "I am not." "You are." Sets the bowl piece on the floor beside the pallet. Both hands. Careful. Pats the space beside her. "Predictably stubborn. Predictably grumpy. Predictably showing up at my door in the middle of the night." "It's not the middle of the night." "It's late." "It's early." "Keer." That squeak. Just my name. Warm. "Sit down." I sit. Close. Not touching. Yet. She doesn't say anything for a long time. "Everything I built." Quiet. "Just gone." "You'll build again. Here." "You said that, but is this really home?" Small. Fierce. Ash tracked into the creases of her neck. "Do you want it to be?" Long pause. Her heartbeat picks up. Faster. Louder. "Yeah." Barely there. "I do."
My hand finds hers. Her fingers curl around mine. Ash in the creases. Her hand in mine. Neither of us talking. Her thumb moves across my knuckle. Back and forth. "Why are you here?" she asks. "Really." I shrug, grunt. "You know." Squeezes my hand. "You just won't say it." "Won't say what?" She turns to look at me. So close I can see the freckle near her jaw. "Just admit it." She's smiling. Small. Tired. "You kind of like me." My hands lock. "Melori." "I'm not stupid, Keer. I can feel it. Every time you look at me. Every time you get close and then pull away again. In the woods. In the moonbright field. At the cottage today." She doesn't look away. "I can feel it." The words are in my chest and I don't know how to open my mouth and let them— She's too close. Smells too good. Her hand in mine and her face tilted up and I should go, should leave— "You should tell me to leave." Voice scraping. "Tell me you don't want this." "I can't tell you that." "Why not?" "Because I'd be lying." Fuck. "This is a bad idea." "Probably." "You're human." "Yes." "You're half my age." "And?" "And—" "That bothers you more than it bothers me." "It should bother you." "It doesn't. Next objection." I lean in. Her breath catches. I kiss her. Slow, careful—not the woods, not desperate. My mouth against hers, gentle pressure, and I wait. She responds.
Her hands find my hair. Fingers curling in. Pulling me closer—not frantic, not grasping. Steady. Certain. She's reaching for me. Something tears out of my throat—growl, groan, raw. Couldn't stop it if I tried. Not the woods. Not a spike. Slower. My hands on her waist. Her back. She's so small—my hands almost span her entire ribcage—and she leans into me and her breath warm on my mouth. Want her marks on me. Want— Could take this further. My body screaming for it. Blood running hot, running loud— I pull back. Just an inch. Forehead to hers. Both of us breathing too hard. Her hands still in my hair. My hands on her waist. "Mel." "Don't." "Don't what?" "Don't say no." Her breath against my mouth. "Please. Not tonight." My hands tighten on her waist. "Mel—" "Stay. Please stay." Her thumb traces the corner of my mouth. "I know what you're about to say. I know what your jaw is doing right now. I can hear the speech. I don't want the speech." "It's not—" "It is." She's smiling. I don't have an answer. "Look at me." Her hand cups my face. "I want this. Tonight. Not because I'm grieving. Not because I'm scared. Because I want you. Because I've wanted you since the woods. Because I went to bed last night thinking about your hands and woke up this morning thinking about your hands and rode your back for hours and your back is now also a problem and I just—I want you. Tonight. I'm asking you to stay." My throat closes. "Mel." My voice has gone rough. "You've been crying for hours." "And now I'm done." "Are you sure—" "If you ask me if I'm sure one more time I will hit you." I laugh. Even here, even now, she has to get the last word. "That's better." She's still smiling. "I prefer you when you laugh." "Melori—" "Stay." "I—" "Keer. Life is short." Her voice has dropped, quiet and steady, the fight gone out of it. "I'm done waiting." The whole impossible woman, asking me to stop being careful with her. I'm done being careful. "Mel." "Yes?"
"One rule." My hand at her jaw, tilting her face up to mine. "If anything hurts, you tell me. Anything else, I'll know." Her breath catches. "Okay." "Say it." "If anything hurts, I tell you." "Good girl." I kiss her hard. Different from before. De eper. My hand at her throat, tilting her face up, the other arm wrapping all the way around her ribs. Her hands fist in my hair. Her body presses into mine and she makes a sound against my mouth. I lower her back to the pallet. Hand behind her shoulders, easing her down. Her arms locked around my neck. Her face going into my throat as I follow her down. Then I'm over her. Weight on one elbow, my other hand on her ribs, looking down at her. Her hair is fanned out on the pallet, her chest rising and falling fast. I kiss her again. Slower this time. Working into her mouth. Letting her open. My hand at her waist sliding under the hem of her shirt, palm flat against her bare skin, and she gasps and arches into the touch. "Off." She sits up. I pull her shirt over her head. The room is dim, her skin glowing pale gold. Scattered with freckles. The small scar on her left shoulder. Her chest rising and falling fast. I look. Long. Properly. "What?" She's flushed. "What is it?" "Looking at you." "You're—Keer, just—" "Let me look." Her hands drop from where they were halfway to covering herself. She holds still. I take my time. My mouth drops to her throat. Her collarbone. Her shoulder where the small scar is—I press my lips to it without thinking and she makes a sound that breaks in the middle. I lift my head. Her eyes are wet. "Nobody's ever—it's a stupid scar." "It's mine now." She closes her eyes.
I kiss it again. Then lower. Down her chest. Mouth finding her breast. Her hand fists in my hair when I take her nipple between my lips—careful, slow— and her back arches up off the pallet and the sound she makes goes straight through me. "Keer—" "I've got you." I work her like that. Mouth on one breast, hand on the other, learning what makes her gasp, what makes her thigh hook over mine, what makes her hips lift looking for more pressure. So responsive. Every place I touch she answers. Her hand in my hair tightening and loosening and tightening again. My own body's a problem I'm ignoring. Hard since she said stay. But not yet. Her first. I move down to her stomach. Her hip. The edge of her trousers. My hands on the waistband, working them down without asking, slow, watching her face. Past her hips, her thighs, her knees, her ankles. Drop them off the side of the pallet. She's watching me. Both hands fisted in the bedding. I look at her. All of her. "Keer—" "Wait." The soft curve of her stomach and the freckles on her thighs. She's smiling again. I move up her body, settle between her thighs, brace myself on my elbows over her. My weight off her but everywhere. Chest above hers. Hips between hers. Mouth at her ear. "I'm going to taste you." She makes a sound. "Spread your legs for me, Melori." She does. Slow. Watching me. "My girl." I move down. Then I'm there. Between her thighs. Her smell everywhere—wet and warm and Mel—and I press a kiss to the inside of her thigh first, soft, then the other thigh, and she's already shaking, already trembling— I lower my mouth to her. She makes a sound I'll think about for the rest of my life. High. Broken. Surprised. Her hand goes to my hair and pulls and I groan against her and the vibration makes her thighs lock around my head. "Sorry—sorry—" I push her thighs back open. Hold them open. Eye on her. "Don't be sorry. Strangle me with those gorgeous thighs all you want. Move how you want. I want to feel it."
I work her with my mouth. Slow. Tasting her. Learning her. Finding what makes her sound break. What makes her hips chase me. What makes her fingers go tight in my hair. Her thighs shaking around my ears. Her breath broken pieces of my name. She breaks. Sharp and sudden—her body curving up off the pallet, my name cracking out of her throat, her hands fisted in my hair pulling hard enough to sting, her thighs locked around my head and her hips rolling against my mouth as the wave goes through her. I work her through it. Slower as the shaking eases. Gentle. Until she's twitching and her hand is pushing weakly at my forehead and she's laughing—actually laughing, breathless and dazed. "Oh my—wow, that's—that was—" I pull back. Wipe my mouth on my forearm. Look up at her. "That's one." She's flushed all the way to her chest. Hair stuck to her temple. Eyes glazed. "What—" "You heard me." "Keer—" "Come here." I crawl up her body. She pulls me down and kisses me—doesn't flinch from her own taste, just opens her mouth for mine and pulls me closer. Her hands go under my shirt, working it up, and I sit back to pull it off. Then I'm bare from the waist up and her hands are everywhere—across my ribs, over the long scar, over the thick one at my collarbone, learning me. "You're warm." She's tracing the scar across my stomach. "You're so warm." "I run hot." "Wow. Bold of you. I mean—you're not wrong, look at you, I could rock climb off these abs—" "Mel." "—but bold." "Body temperature." "Oh. Ooooh. That's what you meant." "That's what I meant." "Useful." I laugh. Even now. Even underneath me, she talks. She finds the joke. She makes me laugh. Her hand drops to my waistband. I catch her wrist. Sit back on my heels and work my pants off while she watches. Her eyes go wide when I'm bare. She looks. Doesn't look away. "Oh." "Oh?" "You're—that's—okay. That's a thing. That's a—Mel, you're going to be FINE. People do this all the time. People have BEEN doing this.
Bodies are designed for—" "You're rambling." "I am rambling. I'm definitely rambling. LOOK at you, Keer. You're fucking huge—I'll stop." "Don't stop on my account." "Just—" She holds her hand out. "Come here. Come back. I want you back." "Where do you want me, Mel." "With me. On me. In me. Anywhere, just—come back." I come back. Settle over her. Bare against bare. Hard against her stomach. She makes a sound when she feels it and her hips lift up into me on instinct. "Easy." Against her ear. "I've got you." She breathes out. Hand finding the back of my neck. "Ke ep talking for me." My mouth at her temple. "I want to hear it." "You—you want me to ke ep TALKING?" "You always do." Her eyes go wet again. Different kind of wet. "Keer—" "Talk to me, Mel." "Okay." She nods. Once. "Okay. I'll talk." I reach between us. Find her. Wet—soaked, ready—and I groan against her throat at how ready she is for me. My finger slides into her easy. Then two. Slow. Working her open. Her hips rocking up to meet me. Her hand fisted in my hair. "Oh—oh that's—that's good, that's so good, you're—Keer, you have very nice hands, I've thought that for a while, I've been quietly noticing your hands—oh—okay nope can't talk about hands right now, can't think, can't—" I laugh into her throat. She breaks off into a gasp when I curl my fingers. "More—Keer, please—I'm ready, I want—" "I know what you want." I withdraw my fingers. Settle myself between her thighs. Hand at the base of myself. Lining up. Eye on her face. "Look at me." She looks at me. "You've been mine since the woods, Mel. You know that." "I know." "Say it." "I'm yours, Keer." I push in.
Slow. Just the tip—and she gasps and her hand grips my shoulder and I freeze. She breathes. "Ke ep going—oh—ke ep going, I'm okay, I'm—ke ep going—" I push in another inch. She arches. Her thigh hooks over my hip. Her breath catches. "Don't stop. Don't stop. I just need to—give me a second—oh you're really—yeah okay you're really in there, that's—wow—" "Breathe, Mel." I feel her body settle around me, acc epting me. "Move. Slow. Just move." I move. The first thrust pulls a sound out of her that almost finishes me. Tight and hot and slick around me. Her fingers digging into my shoulder. Her whole body taking me in inch by inch. I press my forehead to hers. Holding still. Holding. "Mel." Her name shaking out of me. "Mel—fuck—Mel." "I'm here." "I'm not going to last." "Then don't last." "Mel—" "It's fine. I just had—you took care of me. Now you. Just you. Take what you need." She kisses me. Breathless. I groan into her mouth. I take what I need. Slow at first. Long and de ep, trying to make it last, trying to memorize every part of being inside her—the warm clutch of her, the gasp she makes when I bottom out, her thigh tightening around my hip, her hand staying on the side of my face. Holding me there. It builds anyway. My pace changes. Faster. De eper. Can't help it. Her body opening more for me. Her sounds going higher. Her hands everywhere—in my hair, on my back, against my chest, fingernails finding the silver lines of old scars and digging in— "Keer—Keer I'm—oh—oh—" "Again." Against her mouth. "I want you to come again. Mel. Look at me—" She looks at me. I move my hand between us. Find her. Her body bucks into the touch and she makes a broken sound and her teeth catch my lower lip. "That's it." I kiss her hard. "Come on my cock, Melori. Mine." She breaks. Again. Harder this time—her whole body clenching around me, her cry cracking against my mouth, her nails digging into my back—and the feel of her coming around me is—I'm gone.
My hips snap forward and I follow her, groaning against her throat, her name coming out of me ragged and broken—Mel—Melori—Mel—fuck —Mel— I empty into her in long shuddering pulses—and bite down. Hard. Where her shoulder meets her neck. The small scar I kissed earlier. Teeth breaking skin. Blood—warm, copper, Mel—filling my mouth and the wolf in my chest goes still in a way it has never gone still in my life. Mine. Her cry against my throat. Half pleasure, half shock. Her hand fisting in my hair. Holding me there. Not pushing me off. Holding me there. The world narrows to the taste of her. I unlock my jaw. Slow. Tongue moving across the wound, sealing it, the way the wolf knows to. Blood on my mouth. Blood on her shoulder. My hips still pulsing into her— And then I feel it. The lock. De ep inside her. My body swelling at the base, sealing us together, the pulses still going through me into her. Oh. Oh shit. I freeze. Forehead pressed to hers. Both of us still shaking. Her body soft and pliant under mine, breath slowing, hand stroking the back of my neck, completely unaware that I have just— That my wolf has just— Fuck. "Mel." "Mm." Sle epy. Dazed. Smiling. "That was. Wow. That was." "Mel." "Hm?" "I need to tell you something." "Mm. Okay. Tell me." I lift my head. Look down at her. Her eyes are closed. Lashes wet. The mark on her shoulder—my mark, my mark—dark red, raw, already starting to clot. Spreading slow into the bedding under her. Her hair stuck to her temple. Mouth swollen. Looking like the most beautifully wrecked thing I've ever seen. I am about to ruin this for her. "Mel. Open your eyes." She opens them. Bright blue. Glazed. Soft. "What." "I bit you." "Mm. Yeah. I felt it. It was kind of nice actually—" "Melori." Something in my voice gets through. Her eyes focus.
"Keer?" "I bit you. While I was—" My throat works. "I didn't mean to. I didn't think. My wolf—" Her hand comes up. Touches her shoulder. Comes away red. She looks at her fingers. Then she looks at me. "Oh." "Mel—" "Is that—is that bad? Should I be worried? Is this a wolf thing? It's a wolf thing, isn't it. Of course it's a wolf thing. Everything is a wolf thing today—" "Mel." "—first I find out wolves run hot, now I find out wolves bite, what is next, what other wolf things are going to surprise me tonight, is there a wolf thing where—" "Mel. There's more." She stops talking. "More what." "I can't pull out yet." She blinks. "I'm—" I close my eye. Open it. "We're locked together. My body. It's—" "You're stuck." "Yes." "Inside me." "Yes." "Like. Stuck stuck." "Yes, Mel." She is quiet for a long moment. "For how long." "A few hours." "A few HOURS?" "Mel—" "A FEW HOURS, Keer? You're telling me your body has decided we are now a SET? For HOURS? Your body just—it just—decided that without consulting either of us?" "It's connected." "Oh I know it's connected, Keer, I can feel exactly how connected we are right now, that part is crystal clear, you don't have to sell me on the connection—" "Mel. Connected to the bite." "Oh." She goes very still. "Explain." I take a breath.
"Wolves don't do this anymore. It's old. Old as the species. When a wolf claims a mate—when the wolf, not the man—it bites. Breaks skin. Takes blood. The body locks. It's how the bond seals." "Bond." "Mate bond." "Mate." "Mate." She is staring at me. "Keer. Are you telling me your wolf just married me." "More than married." "MORE THAN—" "It's biological, Mel. Permanent. A wolf only bonds once. After tonight I can't—" My voice has gone rough. "There won't be anyone else. Ever. Can't father pups with anyone but you. The wolf chose. It's done." She is silent. I brace. This is where she pulls back. This is where the panic hits. This is where she realizes the size of the thing she just st epped into without being warned. I have to acc ept whatever she decides. I will acc ept it and I will hold still while she decides because I am still inside her and there is nowhere for either of us to go. "Keer." "Yeah." "Are you okay with this?" I freeze. "What?" "You ke ep saying the wolf chose. The wolf bit me. The wolf locked us. The wolf, the wolf, the wolf." Her hand finds my face. "What about you, Keer? What about the man? Did you choose this? Or did the wolf choose for you?" I—I don’t—. "Mel." "Because it sounds like you're saying the wolf did this and you're just along for the ride. And I need to know if that's true. Because if it is—" Her thumb traces my cheekbone. "If it is, we have a different conversation." I close my eye. The answer comes without thought. "The wolf chose first. By a breath. The wolf reached you before I did." A long pause. "But I would have. Melori. I would have. Maybe not tonight. Maybe not for months. But I would have. The wolf just—got there ahead
of me." Her smile grows. "Okay." "Okay?" "That's what I needed to know." A beat. Her hand still on my face. "Then tell me one more thing." "Anything." "If you could undo it. If the wolf hadn't gotten there first and you had a choice—would you?" My mark. Already setting into her skin permanently, the way the wolf wanted. "No." "No?" "No, Mel. I wouldn't undo it." She’s quiet. "Good." "Good?" ""Well, yeah. I would have been pretty annoyed if you'd done all that and then wanted to take it back." Her hand drifts to the bite, comes away red again. She studies her fingers a moment. "Alrighty, let me re cap to make sure I'm understanding this. What you're telling me is your wolf just made a very permanent decision. And this—" she gestures vaguely at our connected hips, "—is the cosmic receipt." "I wouldn't—" "That's what this is, isn't it. Wolf-married receipt." "I cannot believe that's the term you've chosen." "I can't either, but I'm sle