Page 23 of Wulver’s Flame (Knotty #2)

Vargr

The bond thrummed between us. What was once frayed and dull now pulsed with strength—with her, but we were still misaligned. It was not complete. Her resistance was a formidable force, unlike any I’d known.

She won’t go anywhere if we keep her belly heavy with pups, Skoll growled, but there was no anger beneath his growl.

Her cunt clenched, milking more seed from my cock.

It would be no chore to keep her belly full.

Skoll snickered.

I lingered on top of her, my face buried in her hair, inhaling that scent I’d memorised.

Wildflowers, smoke, and honey. She smelled exactly as she should.

When I lifted my chest, she clamped down on me, unwilling to let go.

I pushed her hair aside and dragged my tongue along her salty neck and spine. She shivered. Sighed.

“Don’t worry, little Skaekja,” I murmured on her back. “I’m not leaving this cunt until the midday heat.”

“Brynhild will come looking for me.” Her voice muffled on the pillow. Too lethargic to move her head.

“She can watch.”

Her head snapped up so fast she hit my chin before twisting back to look at me.

“Do you have no shame?” Wide-eyed and wild hair.

“None. I would knot you regardless of who watched,” I mused, pulling her to her side to lie behind her.

I held her close to me, bound by the bond.

My chest fluttered, and I felt the peace settle.

The thought of her running away again made my heart pound. I reached for her neck, curling my thumb and fingers around it. She no longer wore her iron collar, but this is how she would sleep with me now.

Knot-stuffed cunt with my hand holding her in place.

Right where she belonged.

?

?

?

Brynhild had our meal prepared when I reached the kitchen.

I promised my mate that I would remain inside her until the midday heat, and I kept my word.

Unfortunately, her belly growled louder than Skoll’s most ferocious snarl, leading me to release her long enough to feed her.

Seed-surge wouldn't sustain her or our pup.

She slapped a small bowl of honeyed skyr on the hefty platter. It was loaded with a variety of food, more than the usual amount.

“About time,” she grumbled under her breath.

I knew the two were as thick as thieves, so I did not reprimand her.

As I was about to turn, I heard a frantic knock as another thrall went to open the door. Bjorn stumbled in, face red and sweat beaded on his forehead.

“We have a small party approaching. They wear the colours of Dunraith, Dróttinn,” he gasped. Lord.

Skoll became restless.

“How far?”

“Hakon spotted them by the village. They approach by foot.”

“Weapons?”

“They are not equipped for battle. They only brought one pony.”

Skoll relaxed.

“Keep the men close and send a message to Sigurd to return from trading. Take a drink from Brynhild before you go.”

He nodded and grinned at Brynhild, who grumbled before she left to get him a drink.

The timing was odd, and there was no message to inform me of their arrival. They weren't equipped with weapons, and my terms for Liùsaidh had been most generous. We were on fragile ground, and I would not tolerate anyone unsettling her or altering the terms of the treaty.

The bond tugged at me. My mate was not happy. She was agitated from hunger. I smiled and strode to the bedchamber. I would enjoy sharing a meal with her again. She ate with such vigour.

My smile faltered when I noticed her sweet breasts were tucked away beneath my tunic. It returned because she chose my scented clothing.

“You are trying to starve me,” she cried dramatically, but the moment she saw the platter in my hands, she sat upright like a pup called to the teat.

I set the food before her on the bed and sat across her, one leg curled, the other stretched. She didn’t wait for me to speak.

She tore into the smoked meat with a hunger that made my cock stir. Juice ran down her wrist as she bit into the tender cut, teeth tearing like she’d do to me if I let her. Skoll stilled in quiet awe. He had no words—only warmth.

With the meat devoured, her eyes lit up when she saw the skyr.

She didn't wait for a spoon and dipped her fingers in the bowl, scooping a thick portion onto her tongue with a soft, obscene moan.

Her thighs shifted under the tunic, and I glanced down at the hem—my tunic—riding high on her hips, threatening to reveal the sweetness between her slick, smeared thighs.

My cock pulsed.

She reached for a piece of cheese, popping it into her mouth and licking her fingers clean with the reverence of a woman worshipping the gods. I leaned in, plucked a fig from the tray, and pressed it to her lips.

Her gaze met mine.

Open.

Hungry.

Not just for food.

Her mouth parted, and I slid the fruit in slowly, brushing her lips with my fingers. I felt the bond tremble—then pulse—struck by the force of her satisfaction. Her moan curled through my chest like a smoke tendril from the hearth.

Skoll whimpered, dazed. She is feeding our pup. She is in good spirits.

Yes, but I was the one starving now.

Her mouth was smeared with creamy, sweet skyr. A memory from our heat burned in my eye. My seed-surge dripping from her lips and chin when it overflowed in her mouth. I leaned forward and licked the creamy goodness from her lips.

“Your lips look better wearing my seed,” I murmured, eyes on her mouth.

She licked the corner of her lips, slow and lazy. “Your lips and beard look better wearing my slick.”

My smile curved darkly as I reached for another fig. “Next time, I will eat my meal straight from your gaping bloom.”

She choked on her bite and laughed.

Gods help me, I was drowning in the scent of her arousal and my mate’s playfulness. I would feed her until she was sated.

And then I would feast on her in return.