Page 40 of Betrothed

She imagined it as he growled against her neck: playful, lively fighting. She had never fought before Zax. The first time might have been when she tried to stab him after he ate her husband. And then against the Circle when they held her back. The idea of a play fight—the same way that this was playing, all the excitement and none of the danger—made something light up inside of her. She thought she would never play again after she grew up, but here she was, playing make-believe and loving it.

“I would fight back,” she said, her mind full of imagined satisfaction at the idea of swinging at him with all her strength: blood pumping, breath hitching, feeling so bright and alive as he pinned her.

“But you would overpower me,” she continued. “Even if I clawed you. Even if I bit. You would still hold me down.”

“Always,” Zax said.

He gathered her wrists and held them above her head. Then he pushed her dress up, squeezing her thigh. Only her good leg, even though her ankle was almost healed now. Fawn loved how attentive he was.

She let herself enjoy the weight of him on top of her. Then she struggled against him, just to feel him press her down harder.

“Would you let me win?” she asked. “If I asked?”

Zax rubbed his cocks against her thigh. “I would do anything if you asked.”

“Say it again.”

“I would do anything,” Zax repeated obediently, his voice ragged as he lifted her good leg and positioned his lower cock against her hole. “Anything.”

With that, he pressed in. It ached, her hole stretching to take the width. But after several tentative presses, his pointed cockhead slipped inside.

“Fawn,” Zax groaned, rocking into her until he was as fully seated as he could get, his upper cock rubbing purposefully against her swollen clit. “My love. My fleeing doe. My sweet, rageful wife.”

He made her come like that, muffling her cry with his kisses. And he came shortly after, his grip trembling around her wrists. He panted against her hair, and Fawn felt a hazy excitement as she waited to take his second cock.

But as he was positioning his upper cock against her, he froze, his head snapping up. “Someone is near.”

After they hastily smoothed down their clothes, they crept toward the noise.

“It is just one,” Zax whispered. “The woman. She is humming.”

Fawn frowned. They really brought Chastity with them? Why? She wouldn’t have volunteered, and she doubted they would let her come. Then again, maybe the big, strong men needed someone to do their laundry and cook their food on their hunt.

Fawn kept walking until she could hear it: slow, familiar humming. It was a song from her childhood, one she herself had hummed while she did chores. For most of her life, she thought it was a tune that everyone hummed. Then she ventured into the world, and no one outside her town had ever heard of it.

Fawn crouched behind a wall of rocks with Zax looming behind her, his head ducked so he fit behind it. Then Fawn peeked out.

It was Chastity. She was washing a pair of breeches in the shallow mountain stream. Her severe face was pinched, stressed even as she hummed. There was a reason why Fawn had been so bewildered to see her smile when she tried to comfort her a few days ago.

Fawn turned back to Zax. Stay here, she mouthed.

Zax cocked his head, uncomprehending.

Fawn pointed at the ground. Pointed at him. Raised her brows.

Zax huffed. But he settled against the ground, his tail lashing and his eye keen. If anything came for her, he would protect her. Fawn knew it in her bones.

She stepped out from behind the rocks. “What are you doing here, Chastity?”

Chastity gasped and whirled, the damp breeches slapping into her skirts. She didn’t look down at them, annoyed, as Fawn expected. She only stared at Fawn, her thin lips sealing into the disapproving expression Fawn had gotten so much of since she married Chastity’s darling eldest son.

“I think the proper question,” Chastity hissed, “Is what are you doing here? Errol said you went voluntarily. Pah! I don’t believe it. Men and their bruised egos. There must be another reason. For you are a sensible woman, Fawn. A sweet woman.”

“I am still those things,” said Fawn, although she doubted it. A sensible woman wouldn’t beg a Skullstalker to chase her through the woods and pin her like prey. A sweet woman wouldn’t fantasize about growing claws so she could rip her dead husband’s face to shreds. But Fawn didn’t care much if she was those things anymore. What had being a sensible, sweet woman ever gotten her? A husband who berated her for raising her voice. She would take being mad and bitter any day.

“I just don’t want to be in a cage my whole life,” Fawn continued. “Surely you must understand.”

“Cage?” Chastity wrung out the breeches she had been washing, still doing chores even in the middle of an argument. “What are you talking about, Fawn? You ran off with a⁠—”