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The hound puffs out his chest and nods.
Determination shines in his gaze, and for a moment, it feels like he’s been my companion for longer than a day. I can’t believe this hound has chosen me, of all witches, when he could have selected one with power and prestige.
I can’t believe I have my own familiar.
“Thank you.” I wrap my arms around his thick neck, the backs of my eyes stinging with tears.
It’s just like the fairy tales when the heroine helps an injured animal who turns out to rescue them much later in the story. Not that I fed the hound out of the expectation that he would protect me from the Boogie Man…
Perhaps, maybe I did.
As I loosen the hug, the hound sniffs at my belly.
I giggle. “Are you trying to catch the Boogie Man’s scent?”
He gives me an angry bark.
I peel off my bra and then ease off my knickers, which are not only soaked in his cum but my release.
As I place both items into the laundry basket, the hound growls a warning.
I whirl around. “What’s wrong, boy?”
He flicks his head to a point behind where I’m standing.
My gaze wanders out of the window, toward the trees, where I fully expect the Boogie Man to lurk, but there’s no trace of any movement.
A shadow travels across the cum-covered grounds. I tilt my head to the sky to find a figure riding a broomstick.
“Shit,” I whisper. “It’s Grandma. There’s no way she won’t notice all that semen. Hide behind the door!”
ChapterTwenty
HENRY
The long-dead king I used to be would say that my behavior was unbecoming of a nobleman. The monster I have become just wants to fuck.
Alienor’s breasts bounce as she flounders around the bathroom, her body still glistening with my seed.
It is a wondrous sight.
It’s as though I have claimed every inch of her body—every inch except those that make up the inside of her glorious cunt.
Alienor would not be receptive to my two-legged form at the moment, so I cannot take her against the wall. Even if I could convince her for a second round of pleasure, the grandmother is flying in on her broomstick.
My magic keeps me invisible to others, but no spell in this realm or the next can conceal over eight centuries of pent-up ejaculation.
“Shit!” Alienor clutches her hair.
“Calm down, my dear,” I bark.
“You don’t understand.” Her voice trembles. “Grandma’s going to see all this and freak.”
“Don’t let her into the cottage,” I bark.
Alienor rushes to the wall, slips on a white bathrobe, and strides to the bathroom door. I follow after her, but she turns around and points a finger between my eyes.
“Stay here, boy.”
