Page 134 of The SnowFang Storm

He captured me in his grip and smoothed his hands over me, clasped them at the small of my back, pushing into my skin just enough to merit my attention. “I want to ask you to think about something.”

“I’m listening,” I said, sensing a giant boulder rolling downhill.

“I know you want to enjoy this in your fur, but after we get back—” He paused, searching for words.

The pause stretched out into an awkward space we rarely went. There was only one thing he’d suggest with a but after mentioning my fur. “You… want me to stop shifting?”

A little pause, then, “Think about it.”

That was a big thing to think about. I hadn’t been exposed to very much silver, so that wasn’t much of a factor. Winter was well… here, and it was possible I could go into heat. Would my being pregnant be too much of a distraction for him? Or would it galvanize him and give him an added push, some kind of mental advantage over Alan?

Not that we’d even talked about pups beyond the assumption we both wanted them one day. Not even one day soon.

Did I even want to be pregnant, facing that level of stress? Would I even get pregnant? If I did, would I lose the baby? Could we absorb that heartbreak? Did I dare attend the Meeting pregnant? What if the shock of Sterling’s death made me lose the baby? Or harmed the baby? It couldn’t be good for a fetus to be constantly bathed in stress hormones.

I picked at an uneven bit on his shirt. My initial reaction was oh hell no, and I guess he smelled it, because his scent shifted to a sort of mildly wounded disappointment laced with… despair, perhaps? It was hard to describe. He rarely extended hope like that.

The last time had been when he had worked up the courage to tell me we needed to get married.

“I need to think about it,” I said.

“You can say no.”

“Me saying I need to think about it isn’t me saying no. It’s me saying I want to think about it.” Just because I hadn’t leapt with a squeal of excitement like I’d been pining for a baby and he’d presented the idea to me like a diamond necklace didn’t mean no. It was a pup, and the chances I’d have to raise the baby alone were very, very real. On the other hand, Sterling was the last of his line, and a bit of genetic diversity the species desperately needed.

“I know it’s a huge ask,” he said. “I know I don’t deserve to ask, I know the timing is terrible, I know all of that. And I still have to ask.”

He said it so very, very softly.

“What color were they?” he asked.

“They?”

“In your dream. The puppies.”

“I don’t know if they were ours,” I said, shuddering at the memory of the one the Mother-Wolf had killed.

“What color?”

“Two brown and one silver.”

He said quietly, “I want this, Winter. I know I shouldn’t, I know every single reason why I shouldn’t.”

I pulled myself up to kiss him lightly. “I’ll think about it. Now, let’s go downstairs or your parents will think we’re abusing the marshmallow nanny.”

It's Not Stupid If It Works

There was a tree in the living room. Decorated in the human tradition with ribbons, lights, and an array of the most beautiful glass ornaments, all in vivid and mis-matched colorful glory. While most of the house had been carefully, tastefully decorated, the living room (not to be confused with the sitting room) off the kitchen was home to a couple of overstuffed, abused leather couches, the aforementioned tree, a fire in the hearth, and a massive, faded, antique rug that felt like silk under my feet.

The casually abused sort of room for sloshing beer and spilling popcorn while pups chewed on the chair legs.

“That tree has candy canes on it,” I said without thinking. Mingled in with the mismatched assortment of gorgeous ornaments (no strategic decorating on that tree) were rainbow candy canes. In two palettes: pastel and bright, bold neon colors.

Garrett stood at the fire, holding his hands out to warm them. His cheeks were flushed with cold, and his hair matted down and damp from being outside. He smelled of horse and hay, although the look he gave me suggested I was the one who’d been born in a barn. “Obviously.”

“Obviously?” I echoed tentatively, embarrassed I’d blurted out something stupid.

“I’ve been feeding it sugar water,” he said, dead serious. “That’s how you make candy canes grow.”

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