Page 54 of The Howling
Then I’d like to sink my jaws into her soft flesh.
“Did your mother tell you to bite me?” She narrows her eyes.
“No, absolutely not!” I exclaim.
She didn’t.. It was my uncle, who also seems to have a vested interest in me filling my mate with pups. Or he could be a loyal brother to my long dead father, who is not one of the spirits linked to this place.
His death was long before the curse.
“And how does biting help?”
“A Barghest bite has certain properties. To our enemies, it is death. To our mates, it is life. It can help with the mating process, and it is part of our mating rituals, has been for centuries.”
“Part of getting married?”
“That’s something which is relatively recent…it comes with the curse. My ancestors were fond of less subtle ways of showing the Yeavering what belonged to them.”
My Wynter makes another face, the one she always does when I say she is mine. I don’t think she believes me.
I don’t think she knows exactly what it means to be mated to a Barghest, despite my sprit mother’s meddling and my spirit siblings pushing me at her every moment of the day. The fact our mating seemed to give Wynter the ability to see them is yet another curse…or a blessing if you ask my mother.
And since I’ve spent so much time ignoring them all, they’ve clearly taken this opportunity to be back in my life.
A life presently free of the Reaper, although his presence hangs heavy over me.
“My bite is my claim, and you bite me too,” I go on, repressing the frisson of lust which spikes through me at being bitten.
“Then what?” Wynter stares up at me, her eyes twinkling in the light from all the candles lit by the Duegar to illuminate the dark hall. “What happens after you bite me?”
“I’m…not sure, only that it makes our bodies more, receptive,” I rasp.
The thought of her being more receptive to my seed has my prick so hard I could punch holes in metal. The gods damned thing is rarely soft these days, but here, explaining about the claiming bite to my delicious mate, I could sheath it in her and never stop coming, never stop knotting, never stop mating.
“I’ll think about it,” she says, her head dipping.
I put a single finger under her chin and lift her face to mine.
“I will, Reavely. I made my choice. I am here, with you. I’m going to marry you. After all, I think your family would haunt me forever if I didn’t.”
I hope it’s not the only reason, despite the fact my pack are crowding at the door at this very moment, as clearly someone with a keen spectral ear has overheard something.
I usher Wynter through them and into the great hall. Already there have been changes. The old banners have been taken down and new fresh ones installed.
My mother clearly has ways with the Duegar, despite not having any solid form to speak of.
And, of course, at the far end of the hall, the fire burning merrily behind her, she sits with my sister and uncle at a table laid for breakfast. One they will never eat.
“Oh, there they are!” my mother calls out.
Next to me, Wynter squares her shoulders and shakes her hair down her back. I slide my arm around her waist.
In life, my mother was formidable. In death, hardly less so, other than no physical presence. My mate is impressive in how she manages this entire sudden thrusting into a pack. Even a spirit one.
“Look who has come to see you,” she adds, pointing to one of the chairs.
The Hedley Kow sits there, looking like a feline in a dairy. Dratted creature, I thought we’d got rid of it.
“Lilburn!” Wynter cries, pulling away from my grip as she flies over the flags to greet her friend, and they embrace.
