“Is that even possible?” I stare at Warden.
“When you are receptive and when I am in my Brag form,” he says in a surprisingly knowing tone.
Meg snorts and puts the towels down in an arched alcove.
“There’ll be a meal for you when you are ready,” she says. “Take your time. After all, a mating Brag only brings good luck.” She chuckles as she leaves without a backwards glance.
“What does she mean?” I ask as we both stare after the witch.
Warden dips his head and pulls at one horn. It makes me heat a little from within, knowing what touching his horns does to him.
“It is said where a Brag mates, he brings great bounty to the land.” Warden purses his lips. “I do not believe such a story.”
“So, it means people want a mating Brag on their lands?” I query. “Even though you’re big and dangerous.”
“I am only dangerous if you force me to fight, as the Faerie found out,” Warden rasps. “Otherwise, when I am mortal, I bring much to the Yeavering.”
“Then maybe once we find my sister, perhaps we should get your mortality back?”
WARDEN
Hazel would help me? My heart has swollen so much I’m not sure how it fits in my chest. Mating with her was so different to how I thought it might be. It was something I intend repeating as often as possible. And should I fill her belly…then I want to mate her even more.
My beautiful lady wants to help me get my mortality back. Given how well she fought in the Underhill, I have no doubt we would make a formidable team, but one thing concerns me.
Hazel is human, not a witch, nor any other creature. How can she survive in the Yeavering without magic? How has she survived so far?
My lady is wrapped in the towels provided by Meg, and she looks very comfortable.
“I have something for you.” I grin at her, striding to the rear of our quarters and unhooking her dress from behind a doorway. “Meg had it laundered.” I hand it to her.
Hazel checks it over with an expert eye. “Not bad,” she says, and then gives me the wickedest grin which makes me want to strip her clean of towels and mate her all over again. “At least it means I don’t have to go to dinner in my shift.”
“Not a chance I’m letting any male see you in that garment,” I growl.
“Oh, really?” She raises an eyebrow.
“Really,” I huff. “I could see right down the front.”
“And at what point was this? When I was being flung through the air by the Shellycoat?”
I rub at the back of my neck and pull at one of my horns. “Before that,” I admit. “But I didn’t have much time to mention it.”
Hazel makes a funny shape with her mouth which makes my insides feel funny, although I’m not sure why.
“I will not wear the shift again,” she says in an odd, clipped tone.
“You can wear it, but I’d have to tear the head off any male who looked in your direction.”
She looks at the dress in her hand and taps her foot.
“I’d probably prefer it if there wasn’t murder on my account,” she says, pulling it over her head and the towels falling around her.
I am slightly disappointed not to see her gorgeous breasts again, two items which I am going to have to explore further in due course. Mares feed their foals with them, and I have some hope my mate might feed me.
The thought of feeding makes my trousers tight once more as my todger misbehaves. If anything, now it has had a taste of a female, it wants to be within her all the time. Since our original mating, I have yet to be in a position where it was not swollen with need.
I cannot turn my back on my mate, of course, so as the dress descends over her head, I attempt to adjust myself to a more comfortable position.
