Page 55 of The Ashpaw: Part One

Oswyn had an older sister, already wed with three children of their own. They would have picked the flowers for her bouquet.

And then, once the night was over, he’d have brought her back to his house and laid her in their bed for a few minutes of what would probably be disappointing sex. But even if he’d rolled off her immediately, falling into a deep sleep uninterrupted by his own snoring, he seemed like the type to hold her afterwards.

She would have liked that.

Fern was so deep in thought, she did not notice her finger had started bleeding, and she panicked, looking into the box to see if she’d accidentally gotten any blood on the beads when voices echoed through the hallway, getting closer.

One very high and lyrical.

The other low, deep, and almost growling.

She ducked, her heart racing as they stopped in front of the door, the lock opening.

Then two figures burst through, and Fern ducked further down, hand clamped over her mouth as she shut her eyes.

But not before she saw Kyntha with her arms around Darion’s neck as he pushed her further inside, his lips firmly pressed against hers.

The scent of her, clean and herbal, mixed with his pheromones and the smell of ale, made Fern’s stomach twist into a knot so tight she thought she might throw up, while fear and some other feeling she could not name cramped her every muscle.

“Kyntha,” Darion said in reverence, like her name was the purest sound to have ever crossed his lips. “I’ve thought of nothing but burying myself inside you all evening.”

“Your knot,” she sighed in between wet kisses on skin that clashed with the rhythm of the drums that still played outside. “I want your knot.”

“I could hurt you…”

“I need it, Alpha.”

Her wolf whined from somewhere deep inside her, a deep longing and need for something she felt had been taken from her, a claim she had no right to make.

Darion chuckled deeply. “How can I deny you anything when you beg so sweetly, my love?”

Hands tore at fabric, and more beads flew…

And even Fern couldn’t fight the whimper as she watched her work multiply.

A dark, heavy pause stilled the air of the room.

“What was that?” Darion asked.

“Ignore her.”

Footsteps. Closer. Heavy breathing.

“Ashpaw?” he asked, although it sounded more like an accusation.

Fern shielded herself, choking back a sob. “L-lady Kyntha asked me to—”

“Ignore her, Alpha,” Kyntha repeated, rubbing his arm. “She can work while you deliver me your promise.”

Her stomach heaved, and Fern managed to clench it down. Kyntha really meant to lie with Darion right in front of her.

And the thought of hearing that, smelling that, possibly looking at that… to see Darion give himself to her…

It was more than she could bear.

And she still didn’t even know why. This was more than just the simple discomfort of watching.

It was… wrong.