Claimed by the Guard (Coveted Prey #14)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Bea

Ithink about a man.

Not the father of my son, who is patient with our little lad. Nor the man who comes home in the evening with a warm smile upon his face, and who is kind, gentle, and loving.

No, I am thinking about a rough guard whose duty sometimes takes him to the battlements.

An alpha.

The man who bred me.

And Goddess help me, I am ready for him to do it all over again.

A restlessness has been growing inside me for a little while now. I’m getting broody. There’s something about the change of season, something in the air that calls to me, almost like a premonition.

There was a time when I used to be afraid of change, but not anymore.

It’s midday when a loud clatter comes, accompanied by small feet hitting the steps that lead to the open front door of our little cottage—one of many workers’ homes tucked within the curtain wall of the Wittner Estate.

I wipe my hands on my apron and turn.

My fifteen-month-old son, Aiden, rosy-cheeked, is lumbering up the steps with a metal bucket that is nearly as big as he is.

“Goodness me, lad,” I say, liberating him of the heavy thing before he can drop it on his toes. “Where did you get this from?”

“Grandpa,” he announces boldly. “Cat.”

My eyebrows pull together, although they do not stay that way for long. It is hard to keep a stern face when he exudes pride and is wearing a broad grin. So very pleased with himself.

“You must leave the poor cat be,” I say, fighting a smile.

I know not which cat he refers to, but there are several that hang around the stables where his grandpa works. They keep the mice and rats away and get no complaints from me.

My son is fascinated with animals of all kinds. Horses, cats, dogs. It doesn’t matter. His chubby little fingers are ever enthusiastic, and I do my best to encourage him to look but not touch.

“Be a good lad and wash your hands. I have some cookies ready. You can have one with a glass of milk.”

He issues a jubilant screech that is not far short of a battle cry.

He is growing fast. Always hungry, which is a blessing, for he is easily distracted from his quests to accost animals by food. In no time, he’s clambered up onto the seat at the table and is tucking into his cookie and milk like it is a veritable feast.

I smile.

I smile a lot since I had him.

My hand drifts to my belly, and the restlessness returns, more insistent than before.

A rough guard stands his watch on the west tower tonight.

Mayhap a certain lass will go creeping up those stairs to meet him.