Euphemia
The early morning light began to peer through the window, brighter than usual with the snow. Since Thaddeus had left to fetch food, I allowed myself to look outside.
To my surprise, the snow had piled higher than before. My thoughts drifted to Uncle Callum—he would not be pleased to know I was snowbound away from home. I could already hear the lecture forming.
A new cramp stirred low in my belly. Subtle, but that was how they always began.
The cottage was finer than the tavern and even the croft we lived in. Simple, but clean. Whoever owned it had taken good care of the place.
The door opened and Thaddeus stepped inside, stopping short when he saw me.
“Why are you out of bed?” he asked, nostrils flaring.
I rolled my eyes at the accusatory tone—I wasn’t even a foot away from it.
He paused, sniffed the air, and a knowing, condescending smirk tugged at his mouth as he shut the door and carried the tray back to the bed.
He sat on the edge of the bed and poured me a cup of tea while I watched. I wore his shirt, the hem drowning me, brushing my knees. The scent of him wrapped around me, warm and comforting.
He added milk and sugar, stirring it in before lifting the cup to me.
“Thank ye,” I murmured.
He spread a thick layer of butter over a scone and handed it to me.
I took a bite and sighed at the soft, sweet dough, sipping my tea as though nothing extraordinary had happened—nothing like discovering I was part wolf, and so was the Sassunnach Laird sitting beside me.
“How long hud ye been plannin’ this?” I asked, waving my scone around the room.
Colour crept into his cheeks, and I nearly laughed outright.
He took a long sip of his tea, buying himself time—but it was hard to take him seriously while he sat bare-chested beside me, looking far too pleased with himself.
“A few days,” he said at last, clearing his throat.
I arched a brow. “And how were ye plannin’ tae get me here if no’ fur the snowstorm?” I asked, unable to resist making him squirm.
His eyes flicked up. I held my breath. They were as blue as a clear, sunny-day sky. A slow smile appeared.
“I was going to whisk you away over my shoulder, kicking and screaming, so I could have my wicked way with you,” he said like a shameless cad.
His eyes lingered on my bare legs as he raised his teacup to his lips, which only drew my attention to the flex of muscle in his arm—and that delicious trail of hair leading to his—
“I can scent your hunger, little wolf,” he drawled. “I can feel it in my bones.”
The bond.
“Is that right?” I said taking the last bite of my scone.
“Aye, it is.”
I took the final sip of my tea, bracing myself for the inevitable collapse of all rhyme and reason.
His gaze sharpened—predatory, knowing—and we both understood what came next.
“Are you done?” he asked, his voice low, roughened with promise.
I nodded and handed him the teacup.
He set it carefully on the tray, then lifted a napkin and dabbed at his mouth—never once taking his eyes off me. When he dropped the napkin aside and slid the tray away, the silence stretched, heavy with intent.
“I would like my shirt back,” he said evenly.
“That’s no very gentlemanly o’ ye,” I replied, twirling a loose strand of hair around my finger.
His expression shifted, something dark and pleased settling into his eyes.
“Who said I was a gentleman?” he murmured, resting his hand on my knee before inching it slowly beneath his shirt.
His fingers travelled upward, unfastening the buttons one by one. I sat still, watching as he worked higher, until the soft cotton slid down my arms and pooled at my hips.
It might have been Baltic outside, but inside I was burning—again.
And he knew it.
“In your nest,” he said, voice low and unyielding, “and present yourself on your hands and knees.”
Every instinct in me bristled at the command, but I knew—somehow—that obedience would serve me better than defiance.
He added insult to injury when his palm smacked my rear as I moved into position.
A growl tore free from my chest.
He only chuckled.
“That’s the spirit.”
I heard the rustle of his breeches coming off as I tried not to bury my face in the nest. His scent was still strong—thick and unmistakable—and I felt my slick trickle slowly down my thigh.
The wooden frame creaked as he joined me.
My fingers tightened around the clothing beneath me.
“Do you need my knot, darling?” he teased, running his nails lightly along my spine.
I was about to snap at him when a cramp seized me without warning. I froze, panting through it, every muscle locking until the pain eased enough for breath to return.
“Yes,” I hissed.
He leaned over me, licking the spot between my neck and shoulder—his mark, where he’d bitten me.
I shivered as the cramp slowly eased. His arm curled around my chest and his cock brushed against me, grazing the heavy length back and forth, deliberate and unhurried, until the sensation drove me to distraction.
I moaned and tried to push back against him.
His hand closed around my breast. The touch wasn’t gentle. I felt his fingers bite into me, and I gushed over his cock, trembling with anticipation. His tongue worked its way up to my ear.
“Good, little mate,” he murmured. “Bathe my cock with your slick.”
His fingers drifted toward my sensitive nipple just as his knot rubbed between my thighs, grazing my opening.
“Please, Thaddeus,” I cried.
“Shhh,” he murmured, drawing his knot back over me until a whimper tore from my throat. “We have to wait until you’re ready, my love. I don’t want to hurt you.”
His fingers worried my nipple—tugging, twisting—before pinching it hard enough to steal my breath.
“You won’t,” I panted in short, broken bursts. “I—I need… you.”
He stilled. Then he lifted his head away, his hand sliding to the back of my neck. His grip tightened just enough as he pressed my face down into the nest. I groaned, breathing him in, burying myself in his scent as my body answered for me—hips lifting, spine arching, offering without thought.
“Tell me exactly what you need,” he demanded.
My heart raced against the mattress, each beat loud in my ears.
My insides ached—hollow and needy, desperate to be filled.
I knew the words he wanted from me.
They were indecent. Improper.
And yet, between us, they felt inevitable.
Pressure built behind my ribs, tight and breathless.
The wolf inside me stirred—pushing, urging, demanding that I give voice to what my body already knew.