Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Wolf
T here is a prickling sensation under my skin that I cannot fully identify the cause of. This is not the first time I have been called to an urgent matter; I doubt it will be the last. The sensation peaks as I share a look with Glen and Clay, who are in wolf form on the steps of the pack hall.
A golden-skinned giant has his back to me and is talking to Flint. I am six and a half feet tall in human form. He must be seven feet tall if he is an inch. His ears are pointed, peeping between his long, flowing golden locks. My first impression is that he is some kind of fae. But the scent is off. Also, he is naked, which implies he is a shifter of some sort.
He turns to pin me with a haughty glare. He is a handsome bastard, young, with a lean, impressively defined musculature.
All of which are now familiar, although it has been many years… and the fucker has filled out in that time.
“What the fuck do you want?” I demand.
“This is Seven,” Flint says. “The Master Stag.”
“I have come to collect my ward,” Seven, aka the golden giant, says, facing me fully and giving me an up-and-down critical assessment.
My mind skips back. “Ward?”
“He believes she is living among us,” Flint elaborates.
I am still none the wiser, but the way Seven is eyeballing me amplifies my aggression.
“My ward is young and unmated. Her mother wrote, but alas, the letter was delayed. I have come to take her home.”
“You are no wolf shifter. This is a wolf pack.”
Seven sighs heavily. His smile is more of a grimace. “Clearly not.”
I get the distinct impression he thinks I am an idiot of the highest order… some things never change.
“Deer,” Flint offers like I do not already know what Seven is. “His ward is a doe.”
“Stag—Master Stag and herd leader,” golden bastard corrects with a measure of bite. His attitude has not improved over the last decade, it would seem, and he was not the fucking leader of all back then. “Females of our kind are treated with the highest respect. She will be treated as a queen.”
My mind feels like it is moving slowly over this information, and it should be making greater sense.
“Fortuna,” the stag prick says slowly like he is dealing with a simpleton. He turns to glance back at Flint. “I believe she goes by her childhood nickname, Fawn.”
The malaise inside me reaches a fever pitch, and my mind turns alarmingly blank before rage slams into me. Queen, he called her. He is the king and is seeking to make Fawn his fucking queen. “Over my dead body,” I grit out.
Seven rolls out his shoulders and cracks his knuckles. “I did not come here planning a death match, but if you insist.”
The actual fuck? The bastard is borderline insane. He is in the midst of a wolf pack surrounded by… lots of fucking wolves, and he casually drops a challenge against the pack enforcer like it is a trifling matter standing between him and afternoon tea.
The fucker has balls, I’ll give him that.
But Gods, my mind is reeling. My body is in a riot.
Fawn… Fortuna… A doe shifter…
How did I not know?
Why does so much suddenly make sense?
She is not a human. She is a shifter. And I’d stake my life on her being an omega as well.
She is also mine.
I stab a finger in his direction. “She is already taken—fuck off.”
Then. Not waiting to see how my declaration is received, I spin around and take off for Fawn.
“Stop him,” I snarl at Glen and Clay.
“Have you fucking seen him?” Glen says.
“Slow him, then,” I growl.
Fawn
Wolf left me in a rush. Then I sat on the table, staring at the mess he had made for a long time, lost in thought.
He came on me—all over me. He pushed some of it inside me.
Goddess weep, that was so hot.
I hope he will do it again. Preferably very soon.
Is this him claiming me? I believe that it is. Only I am sticky and a little uncomfortable, and despite his determination that I stay in this condition, I believe it must have been a more heat- of-the-moment comment that he did not intend for me to take seriously.
I get down, clean up, then rummage in my chest of drawers for clean pants and a shirt. Being clean and dressed does not help; I am still aflutter inside.
“Bleeeeehhhh! Blehhh!”
Goodness, I had completely forgotten about Greta. I am amazed my damn goat has not wandered off.
I collect her leash from the peg by the door and return her to the paddock. The gate is unlocked—I have a sinking feeling that might be down to me. I put her back, firmly close the gate, and then check on the chickens.
In my mind, I am not feeding chickens. I’m constructing a new scenario where Wolf needs to strip me of my pants and spank my bottom again. Maybe I should remind him that Greta was out and explain how I might have left the gate open. Would that be considered only a little bit bad and result in the kind of spanking I would like?
I pause beside the barn to count the eggs in my basket. One, two, three, four, five—not a bad yield.
A sudden growl and the pound of approaching paws startle a squeal from my lips. The basket of eggs goes sailing through the air and lands against the cobbles with a loud crack . I spin around to find Wolf bearing down on me.
He shifts a pace away, carrying me with him and pinning me against the side of the barn with his hands braced to either side of me, trapping me there.
“Oh,” I say in a breathless rush. “That was very masterful.”
“Fawn, is there something you wish to tell me?”
There is a tick thumping in his jaw. I have seen Wolf cross on occasion—I have seen him very cross.
He looks absolutely furious today.
Maybe now is not the best time to confess I left Greta’s paddock gate open…
Also, I am not sure what I have done to make him so angry. My mind rushes over everything that has happened since he left. Maybe he was serious about the not cleaning up business. But really, if that is his issue, I am going to take exception.
“No,” I hedge. “I do not think there is.”
His eyes narrow further, and he growls. “No? Are you sure? No secrets that you have been hiding? That now would be a good time to confess?”
I have a terrible panicky feeling that he might know . Only, how can he? I have been very careful, told no one, and have not shifted in many days.
My eyes search his, trying to find the answers there.
I shake my head.
“Nothing at all?” His eyes lower to my lips. I think he’s going to kiss me.
He doesn’t. He leans his head right down and whispers close to my ear. “No reason why some bastard stag shifter should turn up demanding we hand over his fucking queen.”
I gulp. “Oops.”
That letter, the one my mother mentioned sending, but I thought she had not…
“Fawn?” he growls next to my ear. “I am still waiting. And oops is not a fucking answer.”
I don’t mean to shift. I haven’t shifted in front of anyone since my papa died. But it’s like all the panic accumulates inside me to such levels that my body simply cannot endure.
Stag shifters are assuredly predators, but females are unmistakably prey. My heightened sense of vulnerability pokes my flight mode with a big stick.
I spring under his arm, pausing to look over my shoulder. An involuntary shiver runs down my spine all the way to my tail—it shakes.
His nostrils flare, and his eyes home in on my tail—I might as well have painted a giant target on my ass.
If stag shifters are predators, then so are wolves.
Wolf
Gods. She is the most breathtaking creature I have ever seen. Her beautiful doe eyes, which I know so well and always seemed unnaturally large in her little heart-shaped human face, blink back at me.
I am not sure who is more surprised, her or me.
Don’t run. I warn under my breath. Do not fucking run.
Of course she does the one thing prey should not do in the presence of a predator battling his instincts—she spins away and takes off into the forest at a run.
My body shifts under compulsion.
Little fool. I take off after her. If any other fucker sees her, they might consider her fair game. There is still that bastard stag shifter in the village lording over his future fucking queen.
He can fuck off. I will snap his antlers off one by one and shove them up his regal ass.
I catch up with her. Then I let her run, following with enough distance not to crowd her but still keep her safe. My poor, sweet doe, how it must have been living here, never shifting, never letting her inner side out.
Only as we run do I realize the direction she follows will lead to the old, ruined castle. And Gods, it fucking terrifies me the thought of her shifting there without me to protect her.
She is sweet and nimble as she dashes through the forest. I follow with my eyes locked on her little tail, wagging enticingly at me.