Untethering Dark

Chapter Twenty-Two

An unfinished scarf—one she started weeks before, but was interestingly crimson like Gudarīks’s eyes, the color of blood—sat in Astrid’s lap.

Row after row formed, her hands moving swiftly and expertly, racing against the setting sun. It was a feverish pace, motivated by a desire to cast off before her visitor arrived and the desperate urge to mark him with something of hers. Something more permanent than confections.

Because she wanted Gudarīks to be hers and hers alone.

She never wanted this kind of exclusivity before. There was never a reason to tie herself down to any one being, and she wasn’t sure there was a good reason now. But the desire...no, the unshakable need , to claim him and then be marked by him in turn, rocked her to her very core.

Dreams were powerful. One couldn’t be a witch and not believe that, and hers had demanded the manifestation of every filthy thought she ever had about Altes Geweih. She wanted him with a frenzied hunger that almost scared her.

But she knew that if she fell, and fell hard, he would catch her.

He already had. Gray fur clutched in her fingers, his body warm against hers, and eyes so soft and kind when she came to from her dizzy spell.

And for that, any fear she might’ve harbored about the forest’s greatest monster dissipated like breath on a cold day.

The forest god held winter flowers in his hands, blue and silvery blooms potted in soil, not plucked for a bouquet. “For you, little witch,” he said, his voice a warm rumble.

Gudarīks brought her a gift?

Warm, fuzzy, hopeful feelings tightened in her chest. She knew he wanted her in some capacity, but fucking and feelings didn’t always go hand in hand. Was he really, truly courting her?

Excitement thrummed beneath her skin.

A plate of cookies in one hand, the red scarf in the other, Astrid leaned forward to take a delicate sniff. “They’re lovely.”

“You’ve been generous with your baking. I thought it only right to bring you something I’ve wrought from my own hands.”

“You’re a gardener?” Of course, he was a gardener. Mutter Perchta had said so days ago, and even if she hadn’t, how deftly and efficiently he helped Astrid with her own was evidence enough. Lust had as good as fried her brain.

He nodded. And since her hands were full, he set the flowers on the stump beside them.

Astrid blushed furiously, remembering last night’s dream.

Here he was being so sweet and kind, and all she could think about was being railed by him, deliciously raw and unhinged.

“Turns out these are great for digging and pruning,” he said, waggling his clawed fingertips.

She snapped to. “W-what?”

“Are you feeling all right? You’ve gone quite red.”

Subtlety was not in her body’s vocabulary right now.

“I made this for you,” she said quickly, holding out the scarf...to a creature that didn’t wear clothes.

Panic spiked. She hadn’t thought through this gesture very well. “I wanted to make you something more lasting than cookies. A keepsake. But you don’t seem to get cold or wear clothes, so I don’t know what you’d use a scarf for. It’s silly. I don’t know what I was thinking...”

Gently, and practiced, Gudarīks took the scarf from her, handling it as if it was precious cloth. Or delicate flowers. He wound it around his neck, careful not to get it snagged on his antlers or his claws.

Astrid sucked in a breath.

Crimson looked so striking against his dark fur, and in the way it brought out the red of his eyes. She touched her fingers to her lips, speechless and aching for kisses.

“It’s so soft,” he commented, rubbing the material between two fingers. “It’s a thoughtful gift, Astrid. Thank you.”

Her whole body burned for him, crying out for his touch.