Page 141 of The Ashpaw: Part One

That one started it, her wolf growled. She always starts it.

I’m sure she feels the same way about us showing up in the middle of her courtship.

Her wolf chuffed. Our alpha chose us long before that one came along.

And then promptly forgot about us, Fern reminded her.

Her wolf did not like that. She bared her teeth at Fern and then turned around, sitting and showing her her back.

“What was taken?” he asked.

Fern knew she probably shouldn’t mention the tunic.

“A pillow…”

Kyntha rolled her eyes. “A pillow? Really? Is that all?”

“Kyntha…” Darion warned.

She sighed deeply and went back to her work.

“And you’re sure?” he asked. “I’ve seen your nest. There are many pillows. It would be easy to make a mistake.”

“It’s… it’s like waking up and discovering you’re missing a finger,” she replied, her hands fidgeting in her lap. “Nine is not so far from ten, but you’d notice it all the same.”

He thought for a moment. “And this theft leaves you restless?”

“Aye, you see, my nest is for only me and—” she stopped, her cheeks turning red.

Darion adjusted her on his lap, a low purr building in his chest. “And?” he asked, knowing what she’d meant to say but wanting to hear it anyway.

“… You.”

The corner of his mouth lifted, and he closed his book, putting it down. Then his hand landed on her cheek, his dark blue eyes staring straight into hers.

Fern’s whole body was tingling.

“And to know someone else was there, it feels… unsafe,” she said. “Violating.”

“Hmm,” he replied. “And what would make you feel safe?”

She looked away. It still felt dangerous telling Darion anything about her needs. Her wants. Because he’d promise to fulfill them, only to forget or withhold them as punishment.

But she wouldn’t be able to sleep if she didn’t speak up. And, if he decided not to do anything, she could always let Reinn and Eidan know tomorrow.

They would help her. Or at least try.

“I don’t want to bother you.”

“Tell me,” he said softly.

Oh, could he be sweet when he wanted, breaking down all her defenses as though they’d been made from paper and not the bricks she’d intended.

Fern hid her face into his shoulder, breathing him in and letting his scent do what it did best.

“I need new bedding. Pillows. With… with your scent, if possible.”

And then she tensed, waiting for him to say it wasn’t the right time. That he’d see to it tomorrow—and then she’d wait all day and realize he hadn’t meant it. Or to chastise her for being so wasteful.