Lielit
Every so often, a light breeze wafted his scent toward me.
I didn’t need to look back to know he was following us.
My plan to try and swim off the island in the summer was dead.
I couldn’t risk anything happening to the twins.
And I doubted he was worried we might actually swim away into the open ocean.
Maybe he needs the exercise? Bouda said, clearly amused that he was trailing behind us.
His presence didn’t bother me. The sun was shining, and my babies were healthy. Maybe Bouda could drag him into the water and drown him—but either way, I was soaking up the beautiful energy around me. It made Bouda itch to run.
It wasn’t until I reached the beach and watched the soft waves brush the sand—only to retreat again—that I lifted my gaze to the horizon.
The vast ocean of nothingness stretched endlessly before me.
My pretty prison.
The bastard cleared his throat behind me.
“Just get Fenrir here. I don’t want you near me,” I said—loud enough to carry over the rush of the waves, calm enough not to invite confrontation.
“I come in peace.”
The human side needs a muzzle, Bouda said.
I turned on my heels to face him. His hands were tucked into his pockets, posture loose, eyes sharp and unreadable. The wind tugged at his hair, but he didn’t seem to notice.
“You’re violating my peace,” I said as he stepped closer, sand shifting beneath his boots.
“Don’t you want to go home?” he drawled, halting at arm’s length.
Ooooooh, Bouda said, sitting upright. A power play.
“In exchange for?”
His lips twitched.
“You’ll live with me, and we’ll raise our children together as a family.”
“Family?” I whispered, the word slipping out in disbelief.
“A new territory for me. But you carry my—our children,” he said evenly, then corrected himself mid-thought. “And I want what’s best for them. If their physiology is anything like mine, they’ll be… different. It’s the one thing Fenrir and I agree on. We’ll do anything to protect them.”
Interesting, Bouda purred. We could use him.
At what cost? I snapped back at her.
The moment the thought formed, I realised how desperate I was—to hear my grandparents bicker, to talk to my mother about my babies, to feel my father’s bearlike hug again.
“What do you mean by different?” I asked, my voice flat.
He glanced past me toward the ocean, but his jaw tightened.
“My body was a little stronger. Faster. My eyesight sharper,” he said. “As a child, I didn’t know my own strength—and it never ended well. For them.”
My belly churned at the thought of my children being different. Prejudice wasn’t new to me—but not in this context.
How would I cope with my children being both a minority and powerful?
Would you rather our pups be weak? Bouda asked.
We don’t know what they’ll be. They’re wolf and hyena, I mused.
Exactly. Two powerful forces.
I realised he was waiting for me to speak.
“I’ll need time to think,” I said. “What are your terms? I don’t want you hitting me with your bullshit once I’ve made a decision.”
I glared at him.
“Marriage. And a normal relationship.”
I waited for the punchline.
It never came.
“Uh-huh,” I said. “And what exactly is normal to you?”
I folded my arms across my chest.
My question seemed to genuinely confuse him.
I turned and walked away.
“It seems we both have some thinking to do,” I called over my shoulder as I followed the curve of the coast.
Thankfully, he didn’t follow me.
I needed the space—to absorb the bombshell he’d just dropped.
?
?
?
The cons list was lengthier than the pros. It was complicated—there was Blaidd, Fenrir, me, and the babies. Different characteristics, concerns, and a multitude of competing factors.
I tapped my pencil against the pad.
At the top of my pros list sat a single word: family.
And that was where my eyes kept returning.
Once I gave birth, leaving the island would become nearly impossible. His offer tied me to him, and we all knew it for what it was—an underhanded tactic wrapped in provision and promises.
Why have you put his dick on the cons list? Bouda snickered.
No. I meant that he is a dick, I said, lying back against the pillow.
Would I even have a company left to go back to?
Why did you underline it three times? Bouda asked, playfully nudging me.
I rubbed my chest with a smirk.
Because he is a major dick.
Deny.
Deny.
Deny.
It was pointless lying to Bouda—she shared the same memories of the heat that I did.
We both knew I’d choose freedom.
The list had given me clarity. I was under no illusions about what Blaidd was. Fenrir, however, was bonded to us—biologically incapable of harming us. We were his only family.
You could work on reining Blaidd in, Bouda suggested.
I closed my eyes. The thought alone made my chest ache. I wasn’t capable of pretending. Or acting.
Think of it as a challenge. He is a mere male. They lack the mental capacity that we do, Bouda added with a sniff.
My grandmother and mother had run our household. Their opinions were respected. In truth, they made most of the decisions. If something affected everyone, it was discussed—openly, collectively.
Blaidd knew only one law.
His.
Aren’t dogs trained? Bouda snarked. If you bonded with him, you could manipulate any outcome.
The amusement drained from me. I frowned up at the ceiling.
Before you protest—it doesn’t have to be now. You can use the time to observe, assess the situation, and decide later.
Bouda grudgingly respected the wolf, but the human irritated her. There was no contradiction in that opinion.
Only time would tell what kind of fathers Blaidd and Fenrir would become.
The wolf had bound me through bond and heat.
The human was tightening the noose.
But ultimately, family dynamics had them both by the balls.
Or the knot.
Bouda cackled.
That’s my girl.