Chapter 52
Trewoofe
Trewoofe awoke to Avice napping beneath his chin.
She was delightfully rumpled, rosy, and satiated.
She was smeared with his drying saliva and smelt of a delectable combination of his scent and her own.
Her black hair was tousled over her bare breasts, and a small pool of drool had gathered near her open mouth.
His cock had thankfully tucked itself away as they dozed, and his scaled belly was sticky from his spend.
His gaze slid to the cave entrance. He saw that the light had dimmed to late afternoon; they must have napped for a while.
Trewoofe was reluctant to leave, but he knew he should escort Avice home and continue his hunt for the Prince Consort.
He had hoped to take her to his Kingdom that evening, but with everything that had happened, they would have to postpone their arrangement.
That was if the Morgowr was not still on his beach. If the foolish Sidhe King had chosen to linger after Trewoofe had given him the chance to flee… Well, as far as the Knucker was concerned, that would cost him his life.
That idiotic fisherman better have left too.
He shook the image of the pair from his head, and instead, focused on his lovely soul-bound.
He was glad he had told her, that he had revealed the depth of his feelings, and she had accepted them so easily.
Trewoofe knew he was truly the luckiest Knucker alive.
He was loathed to rouse her – she looked so peaceful and relaxed – but unfortunately, they could not stay in the cave forever.
“Little witch,” he purred. “It is time to wake up.”
Avice grumbled and rolled over. Trewoofe’s attention snapped to her glorious, bountiful rear. A wicked impulse overtook him, and he licked a stripe over a plump cheek.
She squealed and kicked up. “Trewoofe!”
He chuckled as she sat straight, fixing him a glare through her messy waves. “It is time to wake up. It is already getting late, and I want to escort you to your cottage.”
Her face fell. “My cottage? Not to the Underneath?”
Trewoofe nuzzled into her. “Not yet. I am sorry.” Shame squeezed his chest. “The Tall One that hurt you still lives. When I heard you call for help, I abandoned the hunt to find you.”
Avice trailed her hands over her pendant as she pressed her cheek into his snout. “Does it matter? I will be safe with you anyway.”
His Knucker instinct reared its head again. The thought of bringing her into his Kingdom before it was not fully back in his control made his stomach turn.
“It matters to me. I want you to walk wherever you wish, visit any tunnel, and see the younglings completely free of dread. Would you give me one more day? I can collect you at tomorrow’s twilight.”
Avice clenched her crystal. “I do not want to stay above.” Tears silvered in her eyes. “The days without you have been trying, and my experiences with the villagers have been difficult.”
Trewoofe lapped a tear away. “What happened?”
Avice told him of the magic that thrummed through the woods and gardens.
She described giant fruits and herbs, romping wildlife, and towering blooms. She explained how the Moot council thought their magic on Equinox was a curse or a temptation, and not a gift.
Finally, she told him that a Goodwife had warned her of the dangerous undercurrent of fear and suspicion flowing through the people.
“Oh, Avice,” he whimpered. “I am so sorry that the villagers do not see what is right in front of their faces.”
She pulled back from his nuzzling. “What do you mean?”
“That they do not appreciate you, after all you have done for them,” he replied. “Please know, I see you. I will remind you every day of what you are.”
Another tear escaped her rapidly blinking eyes. “And what is that?”
“A remarkable woman.”
She burst into tears and threw her arms around his snout, pressing him into her front. Trewoofe purred as her breasts and belly squashed into his scales, and he sniffed their combined scents. His cock stirred behind his seam, but he shoved his arousal down.
Not the time, Trewoofe!
Instead, he focused on rumbling words of encouragement to his soul-bound: how proud he was, how he saw how much she cared, how he admired her sharp mind, thoughtful voice, and wild beauty. As he purred his praise, her wracking sobs ebbed to sniffles, and she eventually pressed a kiss to his nose.
“I suppose I can wait one more day,” she sighed.
Trewoofe swished his tail. “Thank you for understanding. Please know, it is not what I want. What I want is to whisk you away into my nest and rut into you until you are soft and satiated beneath me.”
Avice giggled and shook her head at his shameless flirting. “Let me get dressed, then let us see what we can salvage of my belongings on the beach.” She pushed herself to stand on shaky legs, looked down at herself, and grimaced. “Can we stop at a river on the way home? I need to wash.”
“You wish to clean yourself of me?” Trewoofe could not disguise the hurt in his voice. “You do not like me on you?”
She stood firm. “I am sticky, Lord.”
“If you insist,” Trewoofe grumbled.
“Do not be grumpy,” Avice teased as she fetched her dress and chemise, shimmying them over her curves.
“I am not grumpy,” Trewoofe replied, eagerly watching the bounce of her breasts as she dressed.
He definitely was grumpy and Avice knew it. “You like covering me in your saliva, do you not? You like it when I am marked with you?” She gestured for him to bring his head closer.
“I do,” Trewoofe admitted.
“Then, a promise.” She swung her leg over him, found her seat behind his horns, and wiggled to get comfortable.
Trewoofe dug his talons in the ground, trying to ignore the curl of desire down his spine.
She patted him to indicate she was ready.
“Do not be grumpy that I will wash now, and I will let you cover me with everything when you take me to your nest. For as long as you like.”
His tail twitched at her wanton offer. He made his way out of the gloom of the cave, squinting until his eyes adjusted to the light at the opening. His mind whirled at all the possibilities her offer could entail.
“Can I keep my seed inside you?” he blurted.
Avice did not answer straight away, and he wished he could tunnel into the sands to escape his embarrassment. Had he gone too far? Spoken too boldly? After all their passion and exciting words, had she changed her mind?
“Yes,” she replied. “With the right herbs, that will be fine.”
Trewoofe flicked his tongue several times, scenting for any sign of the Morgowr and the fisherman. He could not detect them but decided to linger a little longer at the cave mouth, scanning the sands for any hint of him.
“I do not understand what herbs have to do with it,” he admitted.
He stepped onto the beach, ears pricked and eyes peeled for any sign of the invading Sidhe King.
“Well, to stop your seed from taking root,” Avice explained, her palms wrapped around his longest horns as she swayed along with his movements.
“I thought you wanted a Knuckerling?” Trewoofe asked, flattening his ears against his head. Avice giggled at his reaction, which only served to confuse him further. “I do not see what is so amusing.”
She dropped her hands from his horns and rubbed his crest soothingly.
“I am sorry. You are right, I should not laugh. Like I said before, I do want that, just not yet. I want to explore your Kingdom and meet your Faeries. Bramble and Ashling will want to see everything too. More than that, I want to learn more about each other and not just in an intimate way. If I were to get pregnant right away… Well, I would not regret it, but I want to have time with just us as well.”
Trewoofe rumbled his approval as he began to stride down the beach towards the crashing waves, the lake of silver blood on the sand drawing his focus.
“I agree, having time for us would make me the happiest Knucker that has ever lived.” He made a mental note to introduce Bramble and Ashling to the friendly Wulver as soon as possible.
Their welcoming nature would distract his little witch’s Faeries so he could whisk her away from prying eyes.
“I still do not understand what that has to do with herbs. If you do not want a Knuckerling yet, I will simply make it so my seed does not ‘take root’.”
Trewoofe paused near the deep gouges in the sand where he had nearly killed the Morgowr, the impression of their scales making a honeycomb pattern in the coarse grains.
He scented the air again, flicking his tongue in and out of his mouth several times, trying to catch any fresher scent of the Sidhe King over the smell of his dried blood and salty air.
His ears twitched in all directions, trying to catch any sounds other than the crash of ocean waves, the squawk of gulls, and the distracting rustle of Avice’s skirts.
He spied the mess of her belongings: basket, hat, boots, stockings, and shells, scattered all around.
“You can do that?”
Satisfied the Morgowr and fisherman were gone, Trewoofe lowered his head so she could slip off.
He had his tail behind her to support her, just in case she slipped.
He chuffed his approval as she landed neatly on her soles and adjusted her skirts.
She was getting much better at riding him; he banished the image of her riding him in a different way before he answered her.
“Knuckers also rut for pleasure, little witch” – he chuckled – “not just to make young. If the male and female do not want to procreate yet, then the male will make it so they will not.”
She blinked up at him, dumbstruck. “Human men cannot do that.”
Trewoofe was mystified. “No wonder there are so many of you.”
Avice laughed loudly at that, a delightful sound that echoed over the waves. “I think it is wonderful that you can do that, Lord. It means I do not have to concern myself with bringing the correct herbs to the Underneath with me.”