Page 6 of Wulver’s Flame (Knotty #2)

Vargr

She didn’t stir when I moved.

Quiet as death, I lit the oil lamp from the embers. Soft, warm light bathed the room. Her flame-red curls spilled over the pelt. Bare feet tucked beneath her. Her chest rose with shallow, shivering breaths.

Mine.

I crouched beside her and inhaled, low and slow, just above her collarbone.

Yes. All mine.

OURS. Skoll snapped, but he didn't growl or snarl because she was here. Naked. Ours.

I lifted her gently, careful of the chain, and laid her back in the bed. Her arms flopped over the furs, limp as a babe’s. A little whimper escaped her lips, but she did not wake.

I brushed a stray curl off her cheek and pressed my lips to her temple.

The low light from the hanging lamp tempted me. I carefully peeled the pelt away.

Her freckles were scattered across her neck and chest.

By Freyja.

Her pink-tipped breasts reminded me of summer berries. A small black spot was on the side of one breast—not a blemish, but a mark of beauty.

I gently traced my tongue around her sweet, rosy nipple. Her sweetness was too much, clawing at me. I suckled on her nipple. It hardened. I traced my tongue to her mark of beauty. My cock leaked in the pelt.

Then it hit me, her honeypot.

Slick.

I glanced at her face, but her slumber was deep. No doubt, my little mate had not slept well since she found out about the treaty and my trickery.

I tore the pelt away from her, and Skoll whined.

He never whined.

Ever.

He killed, maimed, and terrorised. And he loved it, but whine?

Never.

Our mate’s presence was changing him.

I glanced at the red fur above our mate’s gaping bloom.

Just one taste.

One flick of my tongue.

I gently pried my thumbs between her thighs until there was enough space.

The faint outline of her gaping bloom had my saliva dripping on her fur. I dipped my head, and by Odin’s sword, she was the best thing I’d ever tasted.

A nectar from the Gods.

I hungrily buried my face into her, cursing my beard as it impeded me. I wanted to tear her thighs apart and drink from her all night.

Skoll hummed in approval, giddy from pleasure.

I ignored him and licked her up and down until her little pearl caught my tongue. I tested it. Swirled my tongue around it, and the aroma of honey intensified.

She could be brought into heat. I could bond with her.

Perhaps if I put my seed-surge inside her, it would help.

With the scent of my mate on my lips and beard, I fisted my cock. I imagined it when I first pierced her cunt. When her heat allowed me to knot my mate. My husfreyja. Lady of the house.

My insides ached for air as I panted and stroked myself harder, faster. I gripped my aching knot and squeezed, imagining her around me, and my seed-surge poured forth with a long, low groan.

I caught every last drop.

When I eased a seed-covered finger inside her, it prompted another smaller surge, and I moved my cock over her red curls, watching my white seed coat her flame red hair.

Liùsaidh Flamehair, daughter of Donald.

I carefully took a large scoop and eased it into her. I froze when I felt her maiden’s barrier. This would need to be taken care of before her heat.

An idea formed as I continued to feed her my seed.

YES. YES. DO IT. Skoll rumbled with satisfaction. We need her heat.

Soon.

“úlfa mín,” I whispered in our tongue. “Sleep while you still can.” My

She-wolf.

I cleaned myself with a rag and blew out the lamp.

I pulled Liùsaidh into my embrace until I could smell my seed mixed with her honey.

Skoll purred, my chest rumbled, and Liùsaidh rubbed her sweet cheeks against me. Another new feat for my feral beast. This was not a sound he had made before.

She likes that. I told Skoll, and he purred louder.

I smiled against her wild curls, allowing the darkness to swallow us.

?

?

?

She moved against me, and I forced myself not to react, but I remembered last night, feeding her. My cock lengthened against her soft, hot flesh.

She froze.

A strangled sound escaped from her.

“You are still a maiden,” I whispered in her ear.

“This is a terrible dream? Wake up, Liù. Wake up, Liù,” she muttered to herself, her voice heavy with sleep.

When she realised it wasn't a dream, she tried to scramble across the bed. This time I didn't allow her.

“Mmm. Can't a man hold his newly handfasted bride?” I teased.

“Ye’r no ah man,” she screeched in her native tongue, squirming against me.

“The more you move, the larger it gets,” I said lazily.

She immediately stopped fighting me.

I chuckled and kissed the curve of her shoulder.

“I will get you some food. Don't forget anywhere,” I said, getting out of bed.

“Taranis, split the earth beneath this monster!” she cried into the pelt, striking the bed several times.

I turned, grinning at the way she hid her face in the pelt like a shamed bride.

“Monster?” I drawled. “Já. But it wasn’t the gods who collared you, elska. That was all me.”

“I’m not your darling,” she growled. “I’m not your anything.”

I ignored her and threw on some clothes.

My mate had tried to kill me on our wedding night. She didn’t yet understand that it wouldn’t have worked. She had a warrior’s spirit and an iron will—one I’d wear down, morning sun by morning sun, until she broke.

Until she was ready.

I’d coax her into heat.

Bite her while my knot swelled inside her.

I’d force her to feel every dark part of me through the bond.