Page 34 of His Human Believer

“Margaret, I want you as more than a pleasure mate. I’m hoping you can be patient and wait for all of this to end. And start to think ahead of what it might be, staying here with me. I’m hoping you can entertain thoughts of moving from Salo to Tarvos.”

“I have been thinking of this too.”

“You have? And you believe you can wait ten more months?”

She exhales. “It would be pure torture, but if you can wait that long then I can wait that long too.”

I stand three paces away with smoke coming out of both nostrils and my cock aching against my trousers and I have never been more grateful to any being for anything.

“I have to tell you something,” she says.

“Yes.”

“Avery told me tonight about how all the Hyrrokin can scent my arousal for you.”

“Ah…Margaret…”

“You knew how I felt about you from the very beginning.” Her voice is very steady now. “That means you knew in the preserve when I stood there and argued with you about it.”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you tell me then, or any time after?”

“Because you believed yourself private. In that room, and in the preserve, and every diurnal since. You had made no disclosure to me. You had made no disclosure to any being. I wanted to give you your privacy.”

The hallway is quiet for a long moment.

“Okay, that makes sense.”

“It does?”

“Yes. Pretty much everything you do makes sense to me and that’s why I like you so much. Well, that and your chest and that,” she grins, pointing at my crotch. “And I’m sure I’ll like it a lot more once I’ve been able to see it and touch it.”

“And have it sliding inside of you while I bring you to orgasm.”

“Dear gods…I need to leave before I do something we’ll both regret.” She puts the tips of her fingers against her lips and blows me a kiss. “Good night, Vidar. Love you. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I stand there, in shock as she turns and walks away.

Love you?

Chapter Eleven

Margaret

“Trick or treat?”

“Perfect.”

“Trick or treat?”

My lips twitch. “Baby, it’s still perfect.”

“But is it right?” Mitry Hellstone stands in the middle of the kitchen in an orange pumpkin costume. There’s a hole cut in the back for her tail and two holes cut in the top for her horns. She gazes up at me with the enormous solemnity of a four-year-old who has been preparing for this for eight diurnals. “Kari says you have to say it loud.”

“Kari’s not wrong.”

She raises her voice. “Trick or treat?”