I lifted my cutlery and began to eat—not for sustenance, but to give her no reason to question why I was staring at her like a starving thing.
Soon she wouldn’t wear that drab grey garb.
I’d see to that.
I would purchase her a wardrobe of gowns—silks, satins, fabric that honoured the softness I intended to worship. No harsh linen would touch her skin again.
Not when she was mine to care for.
The rest of the time she would remain bare, with nothing at all between us.
Wulfric grunted his approval—low, primal, hungry.
Patience, I whispered to him.She is ours.
? ? ?
That night, I prepared for the run.
Fresh clothing hung from a high branch—protected this time. A hard-won lesson, one Wulfric delighted in far too much.
We spent hours scouting the land, searching for the perfect abode for our mate’s nest. Somewhere away from noise, staff, and her meddlesome family. A place I could fill with food,firewood… and the best part—my worn clothing. She would need my scent to comfort her when the change came.
I disliked my first transformation. I hated how violently Wulfric seized control.
Euphemia would not fare gently in her own transitional period. She would panic. Fight. Possibly try to cave my skull in.
Wulfric tittered at the thought.
I smiled, because I would not have her any other way.
Her spirit.
Her flame-red hair.
Her singular scent—one no other creature on this earth would ever carry.
Our mate.
Bound by blood and fate.
We were preordained hundreds of years ago. Possibly a millennium according to KB Wulverton.
A sudden ache speared through my chest.
Why had it taken so long?
Wulfric whimpered.
A soft, wounded sound—one he had never made before.
And I understood, finally, why he’d been so fretful.
Why he paced beneath my skin.
Why every shift in her scent drove him mad.
My sleeping wolf had known the passage of time.
