Sometimes, briefly, Warden leaves me. He comes back with a bowl of warm water and cleans me up despite my protests. All I get are rumbled growls and strong hands which won’t take no.
Eventually the fog lifts and our desires ease.
“How long have we been here?” I roll onto my back and sigh.
I feel like I’ve won the best race of my life. Tired and satisfied.
“It has been four days,” Warden replies.
He is also on his back, one arm tucked behind his head, his hair wild, as presumably mine is…because we’ve been here…doing only one thing for four days.
“Four days,” I repeat.
“A Brag should rut for longer,” Warden says. “This is my first rut, and I fear it was not enough.”
“How much longer?”
“Five, six, seven days.” Warden sighs.
“Believe me, Warden. Four days was more than enough for me to experience your first rut,” I respond. “Humans don’t have ruts.”
“But you presented for me. You were perfect,” Warden rasps. “I should have rutted longer.”
I prop myself up on my elbow and study him. He stares at the ceiling until he feels my gaze and turns to look at me.
“I shouldn’t have?” he queries.
“Warden, I love whatever you do to me. Like I said, humans don’t rut. It doesn’t matter how long it was as far as I’m concerned.”
He rolls over swiftly, far swifter than a creature of his size and bulk should be able to do, his massive hand sliding over my stomach.
“I hope it was enough,” he says. “Because I want to have put you in foal.”
“Do you really mean that?” My own doubts, born of still not knowing why I’m here in the Yeavering, why I was the landlady of a tavern in the Night Lands with a missing memory and no desire to do anything other than my job, a feeling of disassociation, of things not being entirely right and real. “Do you really want to have a baby with me?”
“More than anything,” Warden replies. “You are my soul mate, my Hazel. I knew it the first moment I set eyes on you at the tavern, but I didn’t know what it was until we ended up in the Underhill. I cannot be without you. Not now, not ever. Knowing you are in my life lights it up like an aurora. You are my moon and my sun. You are what turns my night into day, my lady.” He takes my hand. “And my nights have been too long, until now.”
HAZEL
Facing John and Joan, the old Hazel might have had a face like a tomato. However, Warden is unconcerned by our longer than anticipated sojourn, and I take my lead from him. It’s easier than I thought it might be to channel my inner Brag.
It also helps our friendly witch and warlock couple are effusively thankful for our extended stay.
“Already my hot house plants are producing,” Joan says happily. “And the fields are looking green.”
“Is that not normal?”
“It is, but there is a renewed strength and vigour, for which we are very thankful,” John says.
“And a twinkle in your eye, for which I suspect your Brag will be responsible,” Joan murmurs next to me, placing her hand on my abdomen. “I hope his seed has taken root.”
Okay, so maybe I can’t channel all my inner Brag as I feel the heat rising within me.
“So”—I clap my hands—“it’s time to go. Thank you for all your hospitality and…um…the bed.”
“Ah yes,” John grins, “the bed. We trust it was to your satisfaction.”
“John’s speciality is earthen magic, so he can ask organic matter to do whatever he wants.” Joan smiles at her husband.
