I always gravitated back to her, even when I believed she was a threat to us.
The memory of her furious scream made me sigh.
What now?I asked him.
You do what anyone does before a queen. You kneel.
I pressed my lips together.
Never. Would you?I snapped back.
Without hesitation. Did you not smell her?
I covered my eyes, rubbing my temples.
There was the first scent—when I saw her for the first time.
Then the irresistible one during her heat.
This was different.
I could smell the child.
And her.
Pup, Fenrir corrected.
???
The following morning, I woke curled up against her door. I stared down at my paws, and just as I was about to lay into Fenrir, I caught the scent.
Ours.
And hers.
Together—inside her belly.
The door opened, and she yelped.
“Out of my way, you mutt,” she snapped.
Fenrir whined and shuffled back, staying low to the floor.
I caught a flicker of guilt in her eyes before she stepped past us.
Hmm.
This might work.
Fenrir raced after her, keeping just out of her reach, while I stood there and inhaled deeply.
The scent of our child was indescribable—sweet and spicy, without bitterness. It folded into her floral, musky notes until they were inseparable.
There was no point in being angry with Fenrir. He’d made the right call. I was just along for the ride—close to her and, for once, not being assaulted.
We followed her into the kitchen, but Fenrir remained in the doorway. He sat and watched her move around while she muttered about flowers and fractured skulls.
When she opened the fridge, I saw the bottles were all messed up. It made me restless. I could feel Fenrir’s agitation mirror mine.
