Conall
She spoke to my hound.
My hands are curled into fists in my pockets, tight enough that my claws are digging into my palms, probably drawing blood. I know what that means. Of course I fucking know what that means.
We're walking down the road in the opposite direction from town.
Laz's house is in the woods off the main road on a dirt path too narrow even for the horses.
I glance sideways at Ivy. She's wearing a ruffled purple dress and walking shoes.
Her curly brown hair keeps blowing back in the wind and her freckles look darker than ever, likely from all the time walking in the sun.
Her eyes are downcast, not looking at me. I swallow hard.
It's easy to be angry in the moment. I've been waiting to be free of the Shipton bargain my entire life, and so had my father and his father before him. This arrangement with Ivy has become an extension of that. But Ivy isn't responsible for it. And if she's my mate...
Fuck. If she's my mate I'm blowing it.
"I'm sorry," I start, since it seems the best place to. She glances up through her lashes, her brown eyes meeting mine.
"I don't think there's anything to be sorry for," she replies, and goes back to looking at the woods.
I reach out, take her hand lightly, and pull her gently to a stop, turning her to face me.
She looks directly at my chest. My fingers find the little point of her chin and lift until she's looking at me.
My hound sees her. My hound knows her. My hound could speak to her. That can only happen with one creature.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" she asks softly.
"Like what?" I spread my fingers from her chin to the top of her throat, just holding. I can feel her pulse quickening under my fingertips.
"Like you want to eat me," she breathes, her body leaning a little closer, lips parted, breathing shallow. I lower my head fractionally, unable to hold the distance I've been maintaining with a white-knuckled grip.
"What if I do?" I say.
Her eyes darken, and I feel her throat work in a hard swallow under my fingers.
"Hey!" Laz's voice cuts through the trees in front of his house.
He's standing on the doorstep, staring at us.
I let go of her throat and take a deliberate step back.
Separating even a foot from her has my hound going feral, but I lock it down.
I have no right to her space unless she invites me.
She sways but finds her footing, eyes fluttering.
I offer her my hand, heart pounding, convinced she won't take it. She looks at it for a moment before tentatively slipping hers in. Her skin is soft and cool, and I hold her fingers gently, afraid she might pull away.
It feels important until she says, "This is for the council, right? To keep up appearances?"
My heart sinks. But I manage to look away and gruff out a short "Yeah" before we walk up the dirt path to Laz's log tower.