by Denali Day
She drew in a breath then turned in his arms. His gaze was as steady as his hands upon her, though he didn’t move, didn’t speak. Only waited.
“What if I refused? Would you force me?”
“Colette, I don’t think a man could force anything of one such as you.”
A tentative smile quirked at the corner of his mouth, and Colette resisted the urge to return it. She needed answers. He owed her that.
“Would you find another? Someone to suit your purposes?”
His smile faded and hardened into a sober line. “Only one woman will suit me.”
He was telling the truth. She knew it. Satisfaction hummed beneath her skin, making her want to reach out, to cling to him. She settled for brushing a palm against his bearded face.
He leaned into the caress, his voice going husky. “What about you? Could you find happiness with a barbarian?”
She cocked her head as though in deep consideration. “Would I be expected to submit to him?”
“Only in bed.” His grip on her waist tightened, sending a thrill of pleasure down to her toes. “And perhaps on very special occasions.”
“Like if we’re stuck in the wilderness? Being hunted by monsters?”
“Strangely specific, but yes, that might be prudent.”
She pursed her lips. “That sounds like utter bondage. I don’t know if I can live with it.”
He brushed aside a lock of her shorn hair. “I swear to you, he’ll find a way to ease your suffering.”
“I suppose”—her breath hitched as he pressed his lips to her throat—“with that assurance…”
He drew away, dark eyes searching. “Truly, mu hamma?”
She’d since asked him what that term meant.
“There’s no word like it in trade-tongue. It roughly means, ‘my only’.”
A winged shadow glided over them, the call of Sven’s wyvern floating down from somewhere within the clouds.
“Yes, Sven. Truly.”
Epilogue
Two years later
The shrill cry of an infant echoed in the dome-like cave that Sven’s people called a ‘bok’. The aroma of woodsmoke, dried leather, and Sven filled Colette’s nostrils. Her fingers flexed across the soft hairs of his chest, and she smiled when she felt her husband groan into the furs of their bed.
“I cannot wait until that child is sleeping with the other clan boys.”
Colette scoffed. “Just seven or eight more years to go. Bring him to me in the meantime.”
With a sigh, Sven rose and edged around the still-glowing fire pit to their son’s cradle. She watched him with open amusement. He’d grumbled less to lure the brujit away. She brushed a palm over her sandy eyes. They were both weary and for the very best of reasons.
Outside the caves, she knew an autumn storm raged. Tomorrow, the snow would be waist deep, and she’d once again be amazed at the severe beauty of her mountain home which towered even above the clouds. For now, she drew up the edge of a blanket and rubbed her face against the fibers. How good it felt.
Sven returned with a wriggling bundle in his arms.
Colette collapsed back on the furs, extending her arms in eager anticipation. A wry grin formed at the corner of her savage’s lips as he neatly tucked their dark-haired child against her bosom.
The babe wailed, impatient to feed.
“Hush now. Hush, my little Hollen.” She’d named their son after her youngest brother, her most willing partner in crime. Colette had wanted to go back, to explain her fate to her family. Reason, however, had dictated otherwise. She couldn’t risk the chance that her brothers would come after her, putting their lives at risk. It had been a sacrifice, but one she didn’t dwell on. She could only hope her family had found as much contentment as she.
Sven helped her unthread the ties of her gown and guided their son’s downy head to her breast. In seconds, Hollen was latched on, tiny suckling noises replacing his cries.
Sven sat at the edge of the bed. He ran a hand over Hollen’s hair, the span of his hand draping over the child’s little skull. Colette watched him, reveling in the comfort of this moment. As the minutes passed, Sven’s fingers trailed over to Colette’s chest, tracing along the outline of her bonding mark, the one he’d put there.
Her stomach fluttered, recalling that day. For most women, the bonding rite was a terrifying ritual. For Colette, it had been anything but. A familiar heat began pooling in her belly, rising to her cheeks.
When Hollen finally relaxed, his little lips popping away from her breast, Sven scooped him up and took him back to bed. Colette didn’t bother to re-lace her shift. As he returned, Sven eyed his pillow like a starving man eyed bread. Colette pursed her lips in mock sympathy.
Too bad.
The second his back touched the blankets, she was upon him. Sven threw his head backward as she rained kisses across his broad chest.
“Ah, Regna, woman, are you never satisfied?”
Despite his protests, his body responded to hers with well-trained enthusiasm.
Colette paused her ministrations long enough to smirk up at him. “And here I thought you were supposed to be the wild one.”
“There’s wild and then there’s feral. You, my little hell-cat, are the latter.”
Just for that, she scratched a path down his well-formed shoulders. He shuddered, barely stifling a groan of pleasure.
“Very well then.” He sighed. “Sleep is for the weak.”
“Mmm. That’s my brave savage.”
An hour later, they lay side by side, chests heaving. Colette brushed a hand across her dampened brow and chuckled with sheer joy.
No regrets. Never.
Rolling, she swung a leg over her husband’s hips, tucking herself snugly against his side. He wrapped an arm around her and used the other to smooth out her hair. Sighing, she began her favorite game of counting his ever-growing collection of scars. It wasn’t long before she was keeping track with her lips instead of her fingers. When she hoisted herself over his waist, Sven shook his head, a helpless laugh rumbling in his throat.
“You’re going to be the death of me, woman.”
The End.
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About the Author
When Denali Day was trying to figure out “what to be when she grew up” she noticed all her written stories featured a scene where the beautiful heroine patched up the wounds of a gallant hero. So she decided to become a nurse. Twelve years and two degrees later, she realized all she ever really wanted was to be a writer.
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Now she lives in the midwest with her adoring husband, a real life gallant hero, and their two wicked goblins (children). When she isn’t writing she’s reading and when she’s not doing either of those things she’s probably plundering the fridge for something she can smother in whipped cream.
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Acknowledgments
While this wasn’t the first book I’ve ever written, it’s the first I’ve ever put out to the public. The year surrounding its publication has been the most trying and incredible time of my life as a writer. Of course I’ve had significant help from people who want nothing more from me than to see me succeed. Each of them is worth their weight in gold.
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AJ, my husband, I doubt there is a better model for that of the “supportive lover”. You’ve helped me in so many ways I could take up a chapter mentioning them. Paramount among them has been your steadfast commitment to seeing me achieve my goals if for no other reason than my own happiness. You’ve made countl
ess sacrifices on that altar and I’ll always be grateful.
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Hollee Mands, my critique partner, I’m convinced God put you in my path right from the beginning of this journey by design. I honestly don’t know if I would have made it this far apart from your constant encouragement and willingness to come alongside me every step of the way. Thank you for being a friend as much as a teacher.
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Kelley Luna, my unofficial editor in chief (and also cheerleader), your enthusiasm cannot be matched. Your joy is infectious and was occasionally the only thing that kept me from hating my work and everything about it. Thank you for puffing up my ego while still managing to teach me how quotation marks work.
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Janelle Chapman Brown, occasionally you’ve supplied me with some of the most creative solutions to story problems I’ve had and it blows my mind. Thank you for your “outside the box” thinking.
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Justena White, if there’s an award for fastest reader on the planet, I think you should apply. Thanks for always being an instant message away.
