Thaddeus
Wulfric was beside himself, frantic and unmoored, while my focus narrowed to one singular need—keeping my knot buried as deep inside her as possible. I hated watching my seed leak from her, despised the thought of losing even a drop. I wanted every last trace of it kept inside her—claimed, held.
Her teeth sank deeper, and the pressure drew more from me, her body milking me instinctively.
Wulfric began to purr for her, the sound low and reverent, vibrating between our chests.
My eyes slid shut as the bond shifted—slow, deliberate. I felt her reach for it… then latch on.
It locked into place with a quiet, undeniable certainty.
Her wolf purred back.
Wulfric shuddered, the sound breaking into something like awe.
Euphemia loosened her grip on my hair, her hand drifting to pat my head before she finally released my neck. I didn’t have the heart—or the strength—to chastise her.
Instead, I let her linger, let her small, tentative licks trace over my mark.
She sighed against my neck, breathing my scent in.
“It feels like all the colours of the world are gathering in my chest,” she murmured, lips warm against my skin.
I smiled into her hair.
“It took you long enough,” I snorted.
“You know I can feel your smugness?” she grumbled.
Beyond her pique, I felt it—her happiness.
Their happiness.
“What is your wolf like?” I asked, kissing along her collarbone.
“Mischievous,” she said at once.
Wulfric chuffed happily.
“What is her name?” I asked, lifting my head to check her eyes.
They were still brown.
Hmm.
A shy wee wolf.
Euphemia frowned for a moment before answering.
“Wolf,” she said.
“Just… wolf?” I echoed, surprised.
Wulfric, unsurprisingly, did not care about names.
“Well, in Gaelic it’s pronounced Mah-dakh.”
Wulfric liked that version.
So did I.
“Madadh,” I repeated. “I love it—and so does Wulfric.”
Euphemia shot me a glare.
“We’d all still be speakin’ Gaelic if it wasnae fur your lot,” she said, lips pursed.
“You know I’m part Scottish,” I drawled.
She didn’t reply at first—then her laughter tinkled in my ears, her body shaking beneath me.
“Madadh says she kens which part o’ ye is the Scotsman.”
And just like that, I went from being her enemy to her mate again.
? ? ?
By the fifth day, her heat was waning, and I knew our time here was nearly over. The walk back to the tavern was short, and from there we could easily catch a coach home. Still, the thought of leaving this place—our small, sealed-off world—left an ache in my chest.
Wulfric and Madadh wanted to run, but I didn’t think it safe out here, and there was more than enough land around Eilidh Manor for that.
The truth was simpler and far less noble: I didn’t want her out of my sight.
The bond hummed between us, vibrant and alive, a constant presence.
Our nights had been full of passion, but it was the quiet hours—holding her through the dark—that had become a necessity.
I could, in theory, drag her to the kirk and marry her outright.
But Euphemia deserved better than that.
And so did her family.
“Why do ye look so dour?” she asked.
“I was wondering what your uncle would say if I asked for your hand in marriage.”
She winced slightly, nibbling at the corner of her lip.
“Uh… we might need tae break the news tae him gently.”
I grinned and pulled her closer.
“You said we,” I murmured against her hair.
“Even if I wanted tae leave ye,” she chuckled, “I couldnae let Wulfric suffer alone wi’ ye.”
“I think Madadh is a bad influence on you,” I grumbled.
Wulfric bristled at that.
I flopped back onto the bed with a dramatic sigh, flinging an arm over my face.
“Everyone is against me,” I lamented.
“Did ye used tae work in one o’ they theatre hooses in London?” she asked dryly.
Wulfric approved of her teasing—even when it came at my expense.
“You are all working against me.”
She turned to face me, lips twitching.
“Aww. C’mere, ya poor wee bairn,” she said, holding her arms out.
I moved to embrace her, because there was no lifetime in which I could ever refuse her naked breasts.
? ? ?
“Are ye goin’ tae keep sighing like that?” Euphemia said, tightening her fingers around mine.
“Aye,” I sighed, spotting the tavern at the corner of the road.
“Are ye like this ’cause ye dinnae huv any siblings?”
“Like what?” I asked, frowning.
“Never mind,” she tittered.
I was certain she’d insulted me—but I couldn’t prove it.
Wulfric suddenly stiffened, sniffing the air, and Euphemia halted mid-stride.
The tavern door flew open.
Callum stood there, his gaze sweeping the road in both directions before locking onto us. When his eyes dropped to our joined hands, Euphemia tried to pull hers free. I tightened my grip and kept walking.
He growled—and broke into a run.
I dragged Euphemia back, but her boot slipped on the ice. I caught her before she fell, spun, and moved in front of her, planting myself squarely in Callum’s path.
“I can explain!” I shouted, lifting my hands.
“Ye Sassunnach bastard!” he roared, fist rising as he charged.
Wulfric surged against my chest. I widened my stance, bracing for impact.
No one would ever come between me and my mate.
Blood relative or not.