Page 47 of Through Battle and Blades (The Wolf Queen 2)

He kept chanting my name over the sounds of my groans, the tone ratcheting up right as a pinch set in, then another much less pleasant ache. His hand slid down between us, his nimble fingers working my clit, helping to reinterpret what was going on as pleasure.

Until it really was.

I felt his knot pop inside me, my body snapping tight, gripping him with everything I had.

“Oh gods…” he rasped. “I knew this would be good but…”

His mouth slammed down on mine because he wasn’t content with just piercing me through. There was a greediness about Weyland that saw him gorging on me. But as his hands moved, his lips plundered, I was the winner, feeling the fire reach its peak, the flames licking at my skin.

“Weyland!”

My snarl was the only warning he got as my fangs were bared in one second and then sunk into his shoulder in the next.

“Yes! Yes! Yes!” he growled, before biting deep into the unmarked curve of my neck.

What came next was almost indescribable, a messy tangle of feeling and emotion. Gael had crept into my heart, but Weyland, he slammed in with little trouble or finesse. I felt him so very perfectly in that moment, the referred pleasure of his orgasm and it burst inside him, the flex of his hips pumping me full of his seed triggering my own. My scream froze in my throat, the muscles unable to work as everything focussed down on this. My body clamping down on his with frantic little clasps, each one wringing his seed from his cock, filling me with a strange kind of bliss.

That golden light, the same that filled me when I dreamed of my mother, as well as the more savage version that I’d felt on the battlefield. It rushed in now, filling me, us up until we couldn’t take anymore. And then as it exploded, leaving us to fall slowly, lazily back to earth, I found we were changed now. I opened my eyes to stare in Weyland’s eyes and he stared back, having watched me the whole time, smiling when he saw me.

“Well, now you’ve done it,” he said, his smirk completely at odds with his words. “I’m locked down inside you for some hours now, until my knot deflates.”

“Oh no,” I said, raising an eyebrow. “Whatever will we do?”

We chuckled as he threw us down on the bed, our limbs locked together as well as our bodies.

“I have an idea,” he informed me. “So many ideas.”

So he showed me.

24

We fell asleep at some point, but it was the hazy drowse of someone who’s just found a lover. Where you couldn’t sleep too long or too deeply, because that took you away from the other person. So when I felt fingers between my legs, my eyes cracked open and when I looked down the bed, I saw Weyland at work.

“What’re you doing?” I croaked.

“Pushing my seed back where it should be,” he said with a boyish grin. “It’s a losing battle, but it’s one I’m willing to fight.”

I shivered, feeling all too swollen and sensitive, but as I rolled over, baring my breasts to the cool air, I couldn’t find the energy to stop him. I hovered in this strange place of being overstimulated and not stimulated enough; the same fire, that seemed to always burn inside me when I was around my mates, flaring brighter.

“You might be with child.” Weyland said the words in a much gentler tone. “You could be carrying Gael’s child already, but if you’re not…” I gasped as his fingers pushed deeper inside me, curling up against a now tender spot that throbbed like a bruise. But I couldn’t seem to distinguish between pleasure or pain as my thighs spread wider, amusing Weyland inordinately, “I want my seed to have a chance to take.”

“A child?” I whispered.

I wasn’t an idiot; I knew that was a natural consequence of being mated to a man. But while I knew it to be true, academically, I hadn’t applied that logic to myself somehow.

“A child,” he said in a voice throbbing with satisfaction. “Any that you bear will be our daughter or our son. Each one of us will lavish our care and attention upon them, because they will come from us, but…” That lazy smile was back. “If he or she came out with a head of blond hair?”

His fingers formed a dam at my entrance, as if to block any more seed slipping free.

“My father always made sure a stallion covered his prize mares more than once, to ensure a mating was successful,” I told him. His head jerked up at that, his eyes finding mine.

“Something you need, lass?” he asked me, fingers forgotten as he crawled over me.

I locked my legs around his waist and then made clear the most effective way for me to be bred was through frequent and enthusiastic application.

“I will never, ever get used to this,” he groaned, right as he sank deeper inside me.

But when morning came, Weyland slept on, because he didn’t have strange instincts rousing him as sure as a shake to the shoulder. He reached for me when I went to pull free, trying to hold me where I was. I pressed my lips to his, waiting until his body softened, before scrambling away and leaving him to sleep.

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