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As I draw level with him, my feet slow to a stop. The snow is falling faster than I realized, and it settles against his dark hair and winter cloak. An involuntary gasp escapes me as he takes the cake from me and drops it, none too gently, on the carriage seat. Then he takes the cloak from my arm, slips it over my shoulder, and, grasping the collar, tugs. I sway toward him before I can right myself, about to splutter my indignation at his handling, until I realize he is deftly closing the clasp on my cloak.
The feeling of his fingers against my throat sets my pulse pounding. As usual, I don’t know where to look, and as usual my eyes settle on his chest, the familiar broad expanse encased in a leather jerkin beneath his cloak. His big, capable hands are close to my chin. Goodness, why does his bold touch affect me like this?
His rich scent envelopes me, and a faint sound rumbles in his chest—his purr. I tell myself that it is the shock that renders me docile and has nothing to do with his purr—which I’ve heard betas find annoying—when he lifts the hood and places it carefully over my head, even going so far as to tuck my hair in.
Does his thumb brush against my cheek by accident or on purpose?
My eyes flash up to meet his, only to find the wicked alpha smiling.
“You smell nice,” he rumbles. “Very nice indeed.”
I gulp, certain that he’s teasing me, and lift my chin a little as I glare at him. “I have heard of alphas and their sense of smell.” I indicate the cloth-wrapped package in the carriage. “Perhaps it’s the honey cake?”
His lips tug up in a disarming smirk. “Not the cake, little one,” he says. “It is assuredly you.”
Little one.Lor is a big, gruff alpha who more often scowls than smiles, and I’m sure I should find something disagreeable about his liberal use of the term. It is like he weaponizes those two words for, every time he says them, they drive a wedge into the wall around my heart, finding the soft place I thought belonged only to Aston.
And he does use them—often.
Wrap up warm, little one.
Rain is coming, little one. You will need sturdy boots.
I will accompany you to the dressmaker, little one, lest some heathen trouble you in the street.
I thought I loved Aston to the exclusion of all others, but Lor’s stern attentiveness finds all my weak spots and exploits them with ease.
It’s only when he takes my elbow to help me into the carriage that I realize I’ve been staring at him like a fool. The carriage door clacks shut before he rounds to the front. With a click of his tongue and a shake of the reins, we take off into the snow.
A pang of nostalgia hits me hard and fast. I wave at Dara out the window, watching until the trees take the village from my sight for the very last time.
ChapterEight
Lor
She smells good enough to eat.
I want to eat her. I want to throw her down on the snowy ground, lift those pretty silk skirts and make her body contort in rapture as I eat her pussy out.
I want to do a lot of wicked things to the young mistress of the household where I work.
I focus on driving the carriage in the thickening snow along the path. Only, when I get to the fork where I should turn left for the city I instead turn right.
Did she notice? Then I grin. More likely, the lass is distracted by the thick slab of honey cake. She has a sweet tooth. I’m only sorry that her father’s death left her family nearly destitute after the king paid them a pittance for his many years of service.
I don’t have a lot from my time soldiering, but I have an accomplice, and together we will see that Freya is well provided for. What I do not bring in wealth, we bring in other ways.
The snow is coming down heavily now. Perhaps she didn’t notice that I turned right at the fork.
We knew this day was coming and made our plans carefully. By morning, the snow will be too deep for travel, and she will be trapped with us… trapped with two alphas.
Before she leaves the little cottage, which my friend has been busy preparing for her and her heat, she will be mated.
If the Goddess is willing, she will also be bred.
* * *
Freya
