He is right, I realize. I notice how my younger sisters and Daisy all look to Priya with admiration shining in their eyes. It brings a tightness to my chest to see Priya chatting happily with other lasses and not a bit of spite or mischief.
Then they all laugh . . . well, maybe a bit of mischief for otherwise it would not be Priya. In truth, my sisters are not much better, and little Daisy has the same impish charm. Sasha will soon be ready to bond with a mate or mates. I can tell she would benefit from a firm hand.
As they talk, Priya’s hand strays to her tummy where the baby barely shows. I freely admit to being enamored with her changing shape.
“It is mine,” Raglan says, approaching from my left.
I frown. “It is not fucking yours.”
He appears taken aback by this. “I assure you, the whelp is mine. Do I not have a better sense of smell than every one of you?”
“It is not yours,” Caden sides with me. “It is Brook’s.”
Brook puffs up his chest and smirks. “I think it is mine, too.”
“I admit, I also think it might be Brook’s,” I say before offering a heavy, exaggerated sigh. “He will need to abstain from her next heat. Maybe the next three, until all of us have fathered children.”
Brook groans and rolls his eyes as though in great pain. “It is not mine,” he says. “Goddess, I might not survive waiting for years to rut her through her heat again.”
Raglan chuckles. “Well played, Hawthorn. Your sense of humor is on point when it rises from its long slumber.”
“You are joking?” Brook says, eyeing both Raglan and me like he is not sure.
“I am joking,” I say because the lad is white as a sheet.
Priya
We wave goodbye to Audrey and Daisy with a promise to see them again soon.
It has been a busy day, so I’m surprised when Hawthorn insists that we should take a walk.
More so when all four of my mates decide to come along. We take a well-trodden path. On one side is the paddock where Crescent plays with her new friends. On the other side, a row of stable blocks leads to the forest and the banks of the River Tyne. But before we reach the river, a gap opens.
“Oh!” I say. I’m already delighted with my new home, but now I am fully smitten. There, nestled between trees and the bank of the river, is a hauntingly beautiful castle ruin. “I can’t believe you have your own castle ruin!”
“We,” Hawthorn says. “It is yours now too. It is all of ours.”
It is strange to think in terms of ‘we’. For so long, I have been ‘I’.
While not as large as the ruin on the Wittner estate, I don’t think it’s boastful to decide it’s a far prettier site and setting. And an added bonus that it is a short walk from the manor.
I hug Hawthorn. There are happy tears in my eyes.
I hug Caden, and then Brook, and lastly, my noble shifter mate.
My hand strays to my tummy, but as it often does, my mind turns to mischief. I think back to that conversation with Belle when we ate honey cake in my mother’s day room. Belle said that she had goaded her mates into disciplining her to get her own way on many occasions. “I think I would like to come here often,” I say.
“As often as you desire, lass,” Hawthorn says in his stern, first Alpha voice. The one that makes butterflies in my tummy and incites me to mischief all at the same time.
“She is plotting mischief,” Brook says.
I bite my lips to stifle my giggle.
“She is always plotting,” Caden agrees.
Raglan’s smirk tells me he sees right through my games. “I think the wench needs reminding of her place,” he says, eyes narrowing in mock severity. “A swift rutting here by us all will soon settle her attitude. What say you, Hawthorn?”
Breath held, I peek at Hawthorn under my lashes for I desperately want to feel all of them inside me right here and right now. This place feels Goddess-blessed, as am I to have been gifted my four wonderful mates.
The mere thought of them rutting me has a predictable effect.
Hawthorn’s eyes darken, and his nostrils flare. He knows exactly what I want and need. “I think the lass has a capacity for fucking one must experience to believe.”
I squeal with joy as Raglan scoops me up. A few swift strides and takes me down to the ground . . . On to a waiting blanket.
“You always planned to rut me here!” I say with fake outrage.
But soon, I forget everything but my needs as they divest me of my clothing. They tease me to the point of wild hunger, then one by one, they show me how much they love and cherish me.
After, I nap between warm bodies, blissful in my contentment. I can feel them all: Hawthorn, Raglan, Caden, and Brook. We make a sleepy, sated tangle as we watch the setting sun.
My mind drifts as it is want to do at such a time. I draw their rich scents into my lungs as I sink into the dreamscape.
I see a forest, thick with a layer of snow. I see two travelers on horseback. The tiny woman is ancient and powerful, although she looks no older than me.
Her companion, a young, brawny Alpha, is scarred in ways the eyes do not see.
The woman is also scarred inside, and cold, like the winter snow upon the ground.
I have met neither of them. But something tells me they are about to have an amazing adventure.
The End
About the Author
I love a happy ever after, although sometimes the journey to get there can be rough on my poor characters.
An unashamed fan of the alpha, the antihero, and the throwback in all his guises and wherever he may lurk.
Where to find me
