Page 66

ALICE

W hen Fenrother kisses me, it’s like he’s never been gone.

I know I am in the one place I should be, with him, in the Yeavering.

In his arms, with his lips, he chases away all the Faerie, all their hills and palaces, and it becomes us, only us, against the worlds.

Fenrother will keep me, he will protect me, and he will tell me the truth.

My heart beats hard within my chest, a chest swollen with love for my monster, who, as it turns out, is the least monstrous thing in the Yeavering after all.

As Fenrother releases me, there is the sound of beating hooves.

I stare up at him, and he shrugs sheepishly.

“I needed some help getting into the Faerie hills,” he says.

Warden stands grim faced, arms folded, his chestnut flanks streaked with what looks like bodily fluids and his chest covered in soot.

Next to him is a towering, red-eyed creature with what looks like a long mottled cloak hanging all the way to the ground, and a glowering werewolf, all shaggy fur and terrifying jaws, dripping with blood.

“They helped you?” I say, my voice suddenly very small in the presence of all these monsters.

“Warden, you know.” Fenrother rubs the back of his neck.

“The Bluecap is Linton, and the Barghest is Reavely.”

“Plenty of death here,” Reavely growls.

“Barghest?” I press myself against Fenrother.

“The black dog…”

“Wherever I go, there is death, little human.” Reavely gives me a deep bow.

“Here too. Many Faerie have met their end as it was their time.”

“I thought the Faerie were virtually indestructible.” I turn my gaze back to Fenrother.

“Not where a Barghest is concerned,” he says.

“Which is why Lord Guyzance had him chained up.”

Reavely shrugs.

“And probably will again, if I don’t make myself scarce. I’d like to say it’s been good, Fenrother, but”—he gazes at the flaming palace—“I’ve never liked fire much.”

He melts away into the shadows.

And I notice Linton is gone too.

Warden gives us both a searching look.

“Your mate is unharmed?” he asks.

“She will be well,” Fenrother responds.

“And she is with me, so no further harm will come to her or my young.”

“Treasure her,” Warden says.

“Because mates should always be treasured.”

His head swings to one side, as if he’s heard something.

But with the flames roaring, and with one ear pressed hard against Fenrother’s chest so I can hear his heart, any other noises are lost to me.

However, I do give Fenrother’s hand a squeeze.

“Thank you, Warden,” I say.

“For all your help.”

Fenrother’s eyebrows knit.

I squeeze a little harder.

The eyebrows unknot slightly.

“Thank…you,” he says.

But Warden has already gone.

I catch a flash of his hooves as he trots away.

“Time to leave,” Fenrother says, lifting me into his arms. He doesn’t bother to change his form, wings beating down easily as he rises up over the flaming buildings until we burst through the clouds into the sunshine.

It’s as if I’ve been living in darkness and Fenrother is the light.

I snuggle against him and close my eyes as the warmth of both his body and the sunshine warm my bones.

If I thought sleep was impossible after everything, I was wrong.

I wake in our bed. Fenrother is sprawled on his back next to me, still clothed, and he snores quietly.

I suspect he’s been watching over me and will insist he’s been awake all this time when he finally snorts himself into consciousness.

I brush a kiss over his cheek because he is the absolute cutest when he sleeps, and one side of his mouth quirks into a soft smile.

But he doesn’t wake.

I slip off the bed and remove my dress, pulling on a comfortable, warm nightgown instead and wrapping myself in a large fur.

The castle’s Duegar have left a pot of hot coffee and some fresh baked goods on a tray in the window.

I hadn’t realised how much I’d missed this place as I sit and sip my drink.

Not just Fenrother, but the castle too.

A place I can call home.

As long as it’s what he wants.

My stomach rumbles and I rub at it.

There is most definitely a bump, which admittedly I wasn’t expecting so early, but as I got little to eat in Queen Mab’s less than tender care, despite the best attentions of the Duegar, it can only be due to one thing.

I am pregnant.

I’m going to have Fenrother’s child.

I’m going to have our child.

“Mate,” Fenrother rumbles, sliding in to the window seat next to me, his hair mussed and eyes half lidded with sleep.

“What are you doing out of bed?” His voice is like sin spread like hot butter, decedent and warm.

“Breakfast,” I say, holding up the cup of coffee.

He smells amazing, like cereal and spice, whereas I have to smell like Warden’s withers.

He takes the cup from my hands and downs it in one.

“In my bed, under me, is the only place I expect you to be for the next one hundred years,” he growls, wiping the back of his hand over his mouth as he puts the mug down.

“A hundred years?” I raise my eyebrows, struggling to contain my smile.

“Why only a hundred?”

“Forever then.”

“And when are we going to eat?” I tease.

“I will feed you,” Fenrother growls.

“And when are we going to bathe?”

“I will bathe you.” His eyes flare with all their holographic beauty.

“I will fill you with my pizzle, and then I will clean you out. Thoroughly.”

“Thoroughly?” I squeak, heat rushing to my core.

“Thoroughly,” Fenrother says emphatically.

With a single claw, he reaches out and slits my nightshirt from the collar to the hem.

“Hey, I liked that!” I grumble.

“The wardrobe will make you more,” he rasps.

“I want to see you.”

He peels back the destroyed nightgown, and his eyes rake over my body, landing on my rounded stomach.

The strangled noise he makes in the back of his throat is only made better by his cock bursting from his pants.

Fenrother groans, fisting himself, eyes remaining steadfastly locked on my stomach.

“Ripe,” he forces past his fangs.

“Ripe with my young.”