Blaidd
She was swift.
I tracked her movements through the binoculars, deliberately ignoring Fenrir’s restless excitement.
Every so often, the hair along her spine bristled, lifting her frame and making her appear larger—more dangerous—than her actual size.
Her coat was a complex blend of colour: pale ash threaded through deeper charcoal stripes, the pattern breaking and reforming as she moved. Nothing uniform. Nothing soft.
Her face was what caught me off guard.
She had a striking structure—strong cheekbones, a narrow, intelligent muzzle, the planes of her skull clean and defined.
The two-toned fur framing her face sharpened her features rather than hiding them, drawing the eye straight to her dark, watchful eyes.
There was nothing feral or sloppy about her. She looked… deliberate.
When I’d heard her growling earlier that morning, I’d braced myself for an attack. Instead, she’d sprinted around the house like a lunatic—circling, vanishing, reappearing—before disappearing entirely.
The attic gave me the clearest vantage point across most of the island. The two wooded sections remained blind spots.
She looks like a mangy dog, I muttered, tightening my jaw when Fenrir bristled.
His loyalty should be with me.
A bitch, I added—baiting him.
At least learn your species before you insult her, he snapped, before clamping down again.
I lifted the binoculars once more.
She still looked like a bitch to me.
A disrespectful one who’d forgotten her place.
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I tapped my fingers on the table. The more I read about hyenas and the folklore surrounding were-hyenas, the more I realised this wasn’t as simple as I’d thought.
First—she wasn’t canine. Not a wolf. Not a dog.
And second—female hyenas ruled their species. Males submitted.
“Good job picking someone like her to bond with,” I sneered at Fenrir.
Why would I want someone weak? he mused.
It was true—but her attitude toward me since her heat had been nothing short of contemptuous. I’d done things for her I’d never done with any female before.
My cheeks burned at the thought.
Fenrir chortled. You did me proud.
“Fuck off,” I snapped, slapping the laptop shut.
I was Blaidd Prothero, and I wasn't anyone's gigolo.
There had to be a way for her to submit to me. I reached for the pack of cigarettes, lighting one and blowing the smoke across my desk.
She’d messed up my clothes, removed my bulbs, and fucked with every bottle in my bathroom. I ordered fresh gloves because I couldn’t bring myself to retrieve them from the bin.
Everywhere I looked in the house, she was tilting and shifting things out of place.
I knew it was her who kept flipping every bottle in the fridge the wrong way—several times a day.
If this went on, I’d end up choking her and her hyena.
They were probably out there laughing at me right now.
I sucked harder on my cigarette.
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Later that night, when I went into the kitchen, I saw muddy paw prints smeared across the floor.
She really was a damn animal.
I shook my head and strode to the fridge, yanking it open.
Ignore it.
Leave it alone.
Don’t let her win.
I gripped the handle so hard it tore free from the door.
I stared at the broken handle in my hand for several seconds, then hurled it across the kitchen before I began rearranging the milk, juice, water, and sauce bottles.
I stood there afterward, staring into the fridge, trying to remember why I’d opened it in the first place.
My mind was blank.
This was unacceptable behaviour.
I slammed the fridge shut and turned away.
By the time I reached my bedroom, my head was throbbing.
I showered, groomed, and brushed my teeth. While I was flossing, I realised it was Friday. Then another thought crossed my mind.
Since you’ve bonded with her, does that mean I can’t have sex with anyone else? I asked Fenrir.
You can try, but I doubt you’ll manage it. Even if you achieve an erection, I would scare them off.
What’s the point in trying, then? I asked dryly.
Exactly my point.
I did not sleep well that night.
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She was in the kitchen when I went to make my coffee—wearing my clothes and eating my food. She didn’t look up. She didn’t speak.
It had been six days since her heat. Six days of silence and fucking with me.
I should stick her back in the cell.
Fenrir growled.
I will not allow you to harm her, he snarled.
“Aww, Bouda likes your growl,” she piped up suddenly.
I spun to face her. My mug slipped from the counter, shattering on the floor.
“I’m not talking to you,” she said, standing. “I’m talking to the wolf.”
With that, she left the kitchen.
I stared at the table.
Mug. Plate. Crumbs everywhere.
All while Fenrir preened.
Bouda, he whispered—the hyena’s name.
I ignored them all and went to get the milk.
With a heavy sigh, I began to turn all the bottles around.
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I muted my laptop and walked away from the meeting, stopping by the door. Laughter rang out again—hers. She was downstairs. I could hear the television murmuring in the background.
I’d stripped everything from her.
She wasn’t sad.
She wasn’t angry.
Her life carried on.
But she was indifferent to me, punishing me however she could.
And she was certainly not on her knees—not the way prey was supposed to be.
Fenrir was right about one thing.
She wasn’t weak.