They stare at me, taken aback by the sharpness in my tone. Without another word, I shove away from the door and run. The night air whips against my fur as I push myself, the burn in my chest is a relief to the ache everywhere else. I need distance. Control. The forest blurs as I force myself faster, every step a fight against the raw instinct driving me back to my mate.
She is in the stream, bare and aroused.Mymateis aroused.
I won’t lose myself, not tonight. But her scent is on my fur, between my claws, and it only drives me to run harder, to find the calm I need. For her sake and for my own.
21
A BRAID OF THREE
“The body may hunger, the mind may wander, but only the soul can choose the path of becoming. She who braids all three shall awaken the world.”
—Láda Veléša, Goddess of Leadership and War
Noël
Oh goddesses, what is wrong with me?
Every time he’s close, my body betrays me. His touch was so gentle, so... caring, as though his paws could calm and ignite me all at once. I’ve never felt this way before, this pull toward someone, especially someone like him. So powerful and intense, so much more than human. It’s confusing, and yet, I find myself craving it. Cravinghim.
You can’t, Noël. What is going on with you? Since when do you even use such words? Craving?
When he touched me—running those claws through my hair, moving closer, breathing in my scent—it felt as if he were peeling back all my walls, seeing me in a way no one else ever has. His eyes were full of something so warm, something so protective.They held none of the harshness, none of the empty lust I’ve seen in the men back in Tárnov.
But he’s not human. That truth clouds everything else. He’s vólkin. He’s unlike anyone or anything I’ve been taught to want, and yet... that difference only draws me in more.
Back in Tárnov, I thought I knew what men were: harsh, self-serving, built more on ego than on character. I’ve seen so many of them, lined up in the barracks, in the army—muscles and raised voices, but no tenderness. No care. They were all so unappealing, so predictable, and whatever curiosity I might have had died under their gazes. I could never imagine myself with any of them.
But Theron? He’s the opposite of everything I’ve known. His strength is real, his power silent, and he’s twice the size of any man in Tárnov. His fur, so thick and warm, is unexpectedly soft, something I want to curl into??—
I’m losing it.
Also, there’s...that. His reaction every time we’re close, the way his body responds to me. I can see his arousal, see it in the way he moves, the way he fights to control himself. It’s thrilling. The effect I have on him is exciting, and it makes me feel powerful in a way I’ve never felt before. I may have felt powerful every time I stood in front of my soldiers, but this is a different kind of powerful.
I amnotsupposed to enjoy this.
Part of me is terrified by it, by the strength of his desire and my own, but another part—deep down, hidden far away—wants to be the cause of it. Wants to explore it. Wants him to lose control, just for a moment. But one moment leads to another. I can’t have that.
Can I?
I don’t understand why this feels soright, but maybe what he said is true. Maybe it’s the bond he speaks of, this connectionthat ties us together, binding us in ways I can’t understand. But if this bond is what draws me to him, why does it feel like I’m choosing it?
The goddesses are playing with my mind. But he also smells of blue roses... No one else does.
My fingers trace where his nose brushed against my neck, and I close my eyes. I can still feel his warm breath. His tail hit the floor with rhythmic thumps. Why is that so... precious?
My hand slides down to cup my breast. I imagine how his giant paw might feel on me. It’d probably cover my whole torso. A shiver runs through me as I sink into the water, letting my head fall back. My other hand moves lower, slipping between my legs, where the tension burns hottest. The sensation is good, but it’s never enough. The release I crave always feels just out of reach, teasing and retreating, leaving me more frustrated every time.
I tried exploring deeper once before, slipping a finger in, but the pain stopped me.
My mother never prepared me for this. We never spoke of it, only filled my days with other lessons, leaving me to figure this part out on my own. And here I am, at an age where other women in Tárnov are long married, all with children, while I’m left fumbling through this mystery, still uncertain.
What would Theron do to me?
The thought sends heat through me yet again, raises a flush of shame. His touch alone was incredible. In Tárnov, I never once felt this way. The men there... they’re all the same, so much like Arnold—cruel eyes, harsh hands, eager to dominate, eager to remind a woman she’s nothing more than property. I’d never seen a happy wife or a happy daughter, only women whose spirits were trapped and fading, told to obey, to accept their place.
Marriage was something to escape from, not a dream. My only path out was the military, where I could at least hold a weapon and stand on my own two feet. Love, intimacy, all of it felt like a trap, something that could destroy everything I’d worked to become.
But Theron . . .
