Page 31 of The Howling (Monsters of the Yeavering #2)

S he ran, the scent of arousal causing my prick to spill a glob of seed onto the floor. Female Barghest always took their mates on a merry dance, and it seems my Wynter is no different to any female, despite her diminutive size.

This little female can certainly move, and she’s wearing a garment I have seen before. A garment which clings to her every curve as she streaks away. Something I am going to enjoy removing, hopefully with my teeth.

Providing I can catch her.

Of course I can catch her. But where’s the fun if I catch her straight away? Some Barghest males spend hours chasing their females. Those couples are usually not seen again for many days.

I want to be like them. I want to have my little deer until neither of us can move. Then I want her all over again.

My prick throbs as I stalk the passages of my castle, scenting the air for her arousal, the one which was oh-so-evident as she attempted to escape me.

She will not escape. Wynter will be mine.

I round the corner. There is a swish of fabric, although not from her dress, and my keen ear picks up the sound of her bare feet on the stone flags. My heart increases its thumping in my chest, my blood hot, my jaws filled with fangs.

I have only hunted souls for so long. Hunting this delicious creature is something else indeed.

I pad on in the direction of her footsteps, the occasional brief whiff of her reaching me. When I let out a long, low growl, the scent increases exponentially.

This little female wants to be caught and mated. My prick is achingly hard, needing to be inside her, sheathed and spilling my seed.

All of which will have to wait until I track her down.

A tinkle of metal on stone has me spinning on the spot. I thought I was close, but it seems somehow, despite not knowing my castle, she has given me the slip.

Not for long.

I shift into my black dog form and make use of all my senses, the way I can hear her heart beating, the tiny thing so fast I can’t believe it can sustain her. Her breathing is quick, needy, breathless. Her feet are swift on the flags.

Not swift enough.

The door ahead swings closed, and I have her cornered in the one place she should not be.

My bedroom.

I nose at the wood, scenting her touch as I slip within. The room is dark, as dark as my fur. I let my lips ripple with a deep growl. In a corner, concealed by a wall hanging, there is an intake of breath which no ordinary creature would hear.

But I do.

It takes some effort, but I shift back to my usual form as I stalk her, slowly, carefully. If she runs again, I will not be responsible for my…

Her small form darts from behind the hanging and, misjudging where I am in the room, my little deer runs straight into me.

By the gods, she is perfect.

“You…you caught me,” she says, her voice trembling, her entire body vibrating against mine.

“Do you know what happens to little females who run?” I intone.

I feel the shake of her head.

“They get mated.”

A shiver racks her, the scent of her arousal blooming around us. I feel like I might lose all of my seed in this instant.

“I have never mated before,” I rasp. “You will be my first.”