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"Iknowyour general plans," I answered, and he laughed.
"This afternoon we are going outside to play," he said, the words far too innocent.
Play was a very unspecific word, but every meaning of it was so unrelated to my recent experiences that I realized I didn't care. I hurried to the stairs, and Conall met me at the bottom. I'd put on a robe after all because the interior of the castle remained cool, and I held it shut with my arms around my waist, but Conall simply threw his own arm over my shoulder, a comforting weight and heat.
"What will we play?" I asked as he led us to the large, heavy doors.
"We need to get your blood pumping again,mo chroí," Conall said, voice light. "I've a mind to make you chase me."
"Chaseyou? Not the other way around?"
Conall scoffed, but he tensed slightly at my side. "Too easy."
"What if I'm a good runner?" I asked.
"I'm better," Conall said, the taunt clear. "And you have a very…distinct scent," he added, clearing his throat.
Conall released me, shouldering hard at the doors, groaning with their protestations. I winced against the sunlight and raised my hand to shield my eyes. He was right—it was warm out, surprisingly so for this late in the season.
"What do I smell like?" I asked, stumbling out into the light.
I'd found a good pair of slippers with leather soles, and they shielded my feet from the gravel of the drive, but it was only a few steps to reach the grass.
I was busy adjusting to the light, blinking at the wild gardens and short fields that circled the castle, marveling at the sight of a butterfly floating over the wall to feast on wildflowers. Suddenly, Conall was at my back, claws pricking the heavy robe that draped over my hips. My hair was braided back, and his nose stroked against my throat, breath hot and quick.
"Overripe fruit," Conall rasped into my skin, tugging me back to feel the press of his tall form, the way his hips fit to mine, his chest curving into my back. "Young wine." His words took on a growl as I shivered in his grip, and his hands flattened and slid forward, shamelessly covering my sex, curving his grip to the shape of me. My mouth opened on a silent moan, and he continued. "Melting sugar." He stroked me through the nightdress, one hand scooping down between my thighs to press cotton into the lips of my sex, then sliding away to let the other do the same. "Wet pussy."
I gasped, my breath heaving. My body swooned forward as Conall released me, my back cold even under the glare of the sun. My cheeks were burning and my legs trembled. Conall waspotent, alarmingly so. I'd forgotten fear as he'd snarled into my ear, nightmares flitting away, and I recalled a dozen hungers I'd lost in the years of Birsha's grip—the quaking need of a lover's teeth in my flesh, not bracing for the stretch of a cock but gaping in anticipation, thirsting for sweat and cum on my tongue.
I jolted as starched cotton struck the ground, spun and found Conall wrestling out of his shirt. He had bright, fire-red hair glinting on his chest, down to circle around his dark belly button, the color deepening as it reached the waistband of his pants. His hair swung forward as he bent, unbuttoning his trousers and dropping them unceremoniously.
I stepped back, partly shocked and partly in need of a better view. Conall was broad and tightly packed with muscle, chest carved and thighs thick. He was elegant and wild at the same time, hair dense and almost furred down his thighs. His cock was half-hard, the tip a little sharper than a man's, the base slightly swollen. I'd fucked werewolves in the past, been fucked by them in captivity. I knew the pleasure of a knot—the dense muscle that swelled at the base of a werewolf's cock during arousal—and also the trap it became as it locked a cock inside of me. I tore my stare away and then paused at the swooshing beat of a bright red tail kicking behind Conall's back.
"I told you I move better undressed," Conall said, words light, cock already calming.
I swallowed hard, wondering if he was waiting for me to undress too, or if he would pounce and tear my robe and nightdress from my body.
He did neither, flashing me a quick, easy smile, and then turning and darting toward a shadowy orchard grove. "Chase me or not. Up to you!"
His tail swished as he ran, and I laughed at the sight of him, pert ass clenched, hair floating and bouncing.
"And when I catch you?" I called.
Conall vanished behind a tree. "That's up to you too."
He reappeared, darting behind another tree. Soon he'd reach the far corner of the castle and be out of view entirely. And I would not be able to follow my nose, as he could.
I huffed and shrugged the robe off, leaving it in the pile of clothing, and then fisted the wide skirt of my nightdress to lift it up.
In truth, I was not a good runner. After a couple centuries trapped, I wasn't sure what I was in any regard, but athleticism had certainly been abandoned. My legs burned as I moved them, and all of Hywel's borrowed strength could not transform my neglected body completely. I was weak, and my breath sawed in my lungs, and Conall paused and watched me, grinning as I struggled to gain ground. But I didn't stop. I tripped over dropped apples and tree roots and caught my skirt on low branches, and my hair slipped loose of its tie. The sun scratched over my milk-pale arms and chest, until a blotchy, bright red flush of exertion took its place.
I lost Conall around the corner of the castle and found myself in a wheat crop, the bright gold stunning, the bristles tickling my calves and my palms as I trailed them over their tops. I left my slippers in the dirt, and my smile stretched as my toes dug into the earth. My heart was pounding, too fast and too hard, but it wasn't from fear. I lifted my face up and stared into the sun until tears streaked down my aching cheeks.
From a distance, a howl called, beckoning me back to the chase.
I gasped, picked up my skirts again, and ran.
Conall's red hair peeked around another stone wall and then he raced ahead of me, laughing and leaping through the wheat field, tail whipping dust into the air. The ground was hard beneath my feet, but steady too, cool and giving. My arms cranked and my legs quaked with every pounding step, andnéktar—my own, entirely—coiled through me.
