A low, continuous whimper slipped free of his chest—and then cut off abruptly, like he’d caught himself.
I massaged gently beneath his ear.
His eyes snapped open.
Burnished bronze. Not bright—deep, like metal worn smooth by centuries of use. They caught the light and held it, glowing faintly, unnervingly—and that was when I saw it.
The wet shimmer along his lower lids.
Not weakness.
Recognition.
He is old… ancient, Bouda whispered.
He edged closer. I let my hand travel along his side, fingers sinking into the heavy fur. His snout brushed my belly—gentle, deliberate—before he lowered his head, forepaws folding into the grass.
Submission.
Not to me.
To what I carried.
I sat back on the grass and stroked him, slow and steady, until the truth settled in my chest.
He had already chosen.
???
The man never emerged, and we spent four days with the wolf. Every morning and night, he lay outside our door. Not once did he leave our side. We went on daily walks, and eventually, Bouda wanted to meet him.
The shifts were seamless now, and the moment Bouda appeared, the wolf was ecstatic. He raced around us before bolting off, stopping to look back—then racing toward us again, only to repeat the action.
He wants to run with you, I said to Bouda.
She laughed, and this time the sound carried on the wind. We raced after him. Bouda swatted his flank before changing course and running away.
He followed.
We played.
And with every interaction, I catalogued his joy.
As we trotted home, he stayed close enough to brush against our fur, and Bouda allowed him to do so.
He wasn’t the monster I’d thought he was—but he would be a protective father.
No harm would ever come to our child with the wolf by our side.
The same couldn’t be said for the man.
Chapter 35
Blaidd
The silence stretched as I watched, and this time, I was the one who became mute.
Fatherhood was now a reality—and it was Fenrir’s greatest desire. We could scent our child every minute of every day, close enough that soon, we heard the tiny rapid heartbeats.
