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He barks as though he doesn’t want me to leave.
“I’d love to stay and play with you all day, but I’m in a spot of trouble.” I run my fingers through his thick mane. “Be a good boy for me, and I’ll bring you back something from the apothecary that will make you feel good.”
The hound tries to lick my hand again, but his tongue misses my skin by inches.
If I didn't have so many threats hanging over my head like rusty blades, I would investigate why the hound is frightened of physical touch.
For now, I need to work out how to stop Aggie from ruining my life.
ChapterSixteen
HENRY
My belly has never felt so full. Neither has my heart. I have been alone for centuries and without the touch of a woman. It is hard to believe that all that affection came from my calculating wife.
Alienor’s generosity lifted my spirits and her soft caresses soothed my soul, but they could never make up for her treachery. Or for my eternity of suffering.
She seems to find comfort in my alternate form. Perhaps she is looking for a protector?
Foolish woman.
I will make her scream.
“Alright then.” She steps out of the door. “Bye.”
I follow her out of her dwelling and onto the path, once again feeling the shimmer of her wards. The magic protecting her new home snaps at my tail and shoves me out.
My assumptions about the way her wards work are correct. I may enter as long as one of the coven members brings me through the threshold, but leaving revokes the invitation.
“Are you coming with me?” she asks with a giggle.
“Of course,” I bark. “I will follow you until the day you die beneath my claws.”
Alienor threads her fingers into my fur, her touch making my skin ripple with molten rapture. Pleasure skitters along my spine, down to the tip of my tail. It almost feels like I was never cursed.
We walk together through the garden of tall flowers, through the small copse of trees that circle the boundaries, and out into the gravel carriageway that leads to the village.
At this time of the morning, people are too busy going about their business to notice a massive hound. Superstitions about my form have developed over the years to the point that only those either attuned to death or about to die may see my form.
The magic powering me is ancient, forbidden, and more aligned with death than that pathetic man who succumbed to my claws.
My chest inflates with pride. Not only did I fend off my wife’s suitor, but she cleaned up my mess. In the morning, she allowed me to take my pleasure while I gazed upon her beautiful body, and now, she has made me a breakfast fit for a king.
It’s only a matter of time before she casts aside the locket and invites me to her bed.
I want to gaze up at Alienor and admire her beauty, but no force in the realms could ever part me from her touch.
This time tomorrow, she will use those fingers to pleasure my two-legged form. If she is fortunate, I may even permit her to run that pink, little tongue over the four heads of my cock.
Alienor shares brief greetings with other witches as we pass a street of stores, each producing unique scents. Aromas of baked bread mingle with the scents of wax candles, burned sugar, and freshly butchered meat.
My mouth waters, even though I have satisfied my appetite for food. The only hunger that remains is the one I have for my wife.
Alienor slows outside a glass-fronted building with forest-green panels and light-green panes. The sign above the door says APOTHECARY STYX 1302.
It thrums with the same treacherous magic as the grandmother’s house—the combined power of my wife’s descendants.
Alienor crouches to meet my eyes and cups my face with her delicate hands.
