24
Fern poses for photos.
“Canwetalkaboutthe fish situation?” Fern asked, gazing up into Elliott’s face as he hauled her through the yard. He carried her and she carried the clothes, as per the plan.
“Were you disgusted?”
“I thought it was hilarious. But I was yelling at my animal—my otter—to bite you the whole time. Little brat was hungry, though. She wanted the break.”
He laughed, reaching the back steps and pausing so she could open the door.
“Was your bear mad?” she checked.
They pushed through, and he set her down on the back porch, running his hands down her sides and gazing at her appreciatively. The thrum of anticipation in her chest could’ve been all hers—but she thought some of it was Elliott’s.
“That you stole my fish? Not at all. He caught it for you anyway. He wasn’t great at being chased, though. Sorry about that. Was that a problem?”
“No.” She tried to be coy, to keep her lips straight and neutral, but they were twitching uncontrollably as she said, “I prefer being the prey.”
His chest rumbled, and hers chirped in response. “Is that so?”
“It is.”
He nodded, face impassive as he opened the door to the kitchen, then stepped back to let her through first. She dropped their clothes on the daybed and got as far as the doorframe when he snatched her wrist, and she flew back into his chest. Her heart stuttered, and his beard scratched her neck as he leaned in from behind to growl, “Run.”
Ripping her arm free, Fern pushed off into the kitchen. Dashing right, she flew between the island and the counters, bounding toward the front of the house. It was all open, and he was so much bigger than her. There was nowhere to hide.
His feet shook the floor as she bounced around the dining table and leapt up onto the back of the couch before climbing down the front like big fluffy stairs. She looped the coffee table and headed back toward the kitchen. On her tail, but giving her freedom to keep moving, his fingers brushed her naked ass, and she squealed, the sensation heightening her adrenaline. She could go around the island again, but she wanted more of those fingers, so Fern flung open the door to the master bedroom and raced in. At the bathroom, his hands caught her around the waist, and she gasped as she was yanked back. Her fingers scrabbled for the doorframe as he pulled her away, lifted her, and threw her to the mattress.
Elliott was over Fern in an instant. His huge, muscled arms caged her, and his erection prodded her stomach. She thought he was leaning in to kiss her, but he nudged her jaw to the side and nuzzled her neck, inhaling before nipping her with human teeth.
“My mate,” he said roughly, and she melted.
Growing up, Fern always expected the word “wife” to be what flowed from her partner’s mouth, but mate felt better, it felt bigger. His lustful energy, tumbling around in her chest, engaged in a romp with her own desire, proving just how potent a mate bond could be.
“Mymate,” she returned, grabbing his head and pulling him in for a real kiss.
“We’re getting the bed filthy,” he grumbled.
“You threw me here.” She wrapped her legs around his hips, trying to wiggle herself enough to line him up for entry, but he rebelled, swinginghis body up to stand, and taking her with him.
“We’re going to shower,” he announced, carrying her through to the bathroom.
“I can feel your excitement.”
“Yeah, because I love washing you.” Setting her down on the floor, Elliott pressed a kiss to Fern’s forehead.
She grabbed towels while he set the temperature, then he pulled her into his arms, and they stepped into the heat. Elliott sudsed up a loofah while she ran a bar of soap over his chest, from his hip up to where she’d marked him in animal form.
There were four tiny dots, a miniature version of the bite on her leg, two spots where his neck met his shoulder, and two around front, above his collarbone. They’d have to make up some story about his scar when he inevitably met her mom, but they’d figure it out.
She couldn’t be happier. Her otter was sweet, friendly, and responsive to her requests—except the fish thing, but she had no say in that. Curled up at the moment, sated from her run with her bear, her creature still paid attention. Her tiny heart fluttered at the prospect of joining the pack, of meeting Liv’s bobcat, Noa’s fox, everyone, really.
Thinking aloud, while Elliott palmed her tits, soaping them excessively, Fern murmured, “Before we get dressed, I need you to take a picture of me for Liv.”
Startled, he knocked into the bodywash, and it bounced to the ground with athunk. “What?”
“In otter form!” she exclaimed, laughing at the look of shock on his face. An exhale of relief puffed his lips, making her laugh even harder.
