Page 41 of The Howling (Monsters of the Yeavering #2)

I thought I’d mated before. I thought I’d knotted before, but what I’ve done with Wynter in the past is nothing, nothing compared to what it’s like to fill her after my claiming bite.

I had no control, not over my prick, not over my body, my shift going wild as everything exploded, and it felt like I was being turned inside out.

We are locked together, and I can’t think of a better place to be than between her legs, buried in her with the knowledge this coupling will produce pups.

The thought of her growing ripe and round, her belly swelling as she gestates, her tits becoming heavy with milk, all the mating we can have whilst she is growing our young…it’s enough to force out a few more drops of my seed when I was sure I was empty.

In my arms, Wynter moans, her head dropped back on the moss, her neck exposed to me and the soft, pale scars of her healed bite calling to me. I can’t help myself but lick over her once again, even if it does make her clench my knot so hard I think it might burst.

How can a Barghest be so lucky as to have a mate like her?

“Exactly how long are we going to be like this?” she murmurs, her eyelids fluttering open.

“Until my body releases you,” I growl.

“When?”

“I hope never.”

Wynter releases a soft laugh. “Never?”

“Never.”

Her eyes close, a smile on her face which I have to hope I put there. My sweet mate always looks stunning, but right now, under me, knotted by me, two pink spots on her cheeks and a leaf in her hair from the trees which surround us…

“You are the most beautiful creature in the Yeavering. Why would I ever want to be parted from you?” I snuffle into her hair, luxuriating in her scent.

Wynter wriggles against my knot and I release an involuntary groan. “If you continue, bad little mate, I will have no option but to fill you up again,” I growl against her skin.

She doesn’t say anything, but the wickedest smile I’ve ever seen crosses her face.

My mate wants to be bad, and she’s picked the right Barghest for badness.

“Is that a promise?” she says.

“It is not,” I respond, watching with interest as confusion clouds her eyes. “It is my bond, with you, my deer. To always mate you and keep you filled.”

“And my heat?”

“It is your heat which makes you want to be filled over and over. Once it breaks, you will be in pup.”

She shifts against my knot again.

“How long?” she whispers, hands pulling at my body.

“For me, I hope forever. For you, five days.”

As I speak, somewhere a long way away, but not far enough, there is a long, low wail.

Wynter’s eyes are huge in her head. “What was that?”

I resist the urge to lift my lip, to snarl out loud, because I know what it is. I have a female in heat, half claimed and not in pup.

“Nothing, little deer, merely the wind.” I lap over her bite, and she moans.

The sound doesn’t come again. It doesn’t need to.

It is not a Barghest howl, not nearly strong enough. It is the Reivers, warning me of their presence, making me want to protect my little mate with everything I have.

No one will take her from me. Not now. Not ever.

With my knot softening, as much as I want to take her again on the forest floor, instead I withdraw, impressed at how much mess we have made, I make quick work of her with my tongue, Wynter moaning all the time before pulling her dress back on and returning to my hound form.

She grinds against me all the way back to the castle.

“What have you been doing to the girl?” my spirit mother fires out as I walk through the great hall with Wynter in my arms.

“My mate is in heat,” I growl at her. “And we are not to be disturbed until it breaks.”