They had shared a pillow for nearly forty winters. She had born three of his pups and made nearly all of his meals. Yet, his breath still caught when he looked upon her dark beauty. Even after so many winters together, he found it difficult to believe that such a glorious she-wolf should belong to him, care for him, pass each night beneath his furs.
He woke her with a hungry kiss. And after a mew of surprise, she returned his passion. He rolled her onto her back, covering her body with his, then entered her and joined them as one.
They were both nearing sixty winters, but on morns like this, he was a young wolf again. She was his fated mate, and no matter how many winters had passed, he remained desperate as a young wolf to possess her.
“Oh, Fenris, I love you. I love you so much,” she gasped as he moved in and out of her.
In truth, he still did not fully comprehend the language she called English. But these words he recognized. He had come to know them well over their many winters together. Know and treasure.
“I love you, too,” he whispered back in her English, the words thick and clumsy on his tongue.
She no longer screamed out her pleasure as she used to when they were first mated. But he could tell she was close to her women’s peak by the way her hands tightened around his arms as if he were her only port in a storm. He came down to his forearms, sheltering her body with his as a great tide of pleasure overtook them both.
For many moments they floated upon that sea of pleasure. Clinging to each other. Murmuring words of love and gratitude over their mate bond.
These were the moments he wished could go on forever. But alas, they did not. He and his mate eventually washed back to the shore of their current life.
He began to worry that his body had become too heavy on top of hers. However, when he rolled away from her, his eyes found a ceiling made of thatch. Not the intricately carved roof of the bed closet they used to share in the North Wolves’ kingdom longhouse.
To think about how his Chloe used to complain about the scant privacy their accommodations provided them from the rest of their family. Now they lived in a remote cabin deep in the woods a half day’s walk from the kingdom village he once ruled over as fenrir, the alpha of all the North Wolves.
For a brief moment, he closed his eyes and allowed himself to remember the last morn they were all together in the longhouse.
Their oldest son, Fenrisson, who they’d called FJ and their daughter, Myrna had been squabbling about how she should be allowed to wear pants inside the longhouse, even if it was forbidden outside of it.
When Chloe and Fenris emerged from their bed closet to intervene, they found Myrna already dressed in a pair of trousers made from hide scraps. She’d glared at FJ, bristling with anger from the bottom of her leather boots to the top of her unruly red curls. Meanwhile their wolf-bound son, Olafr sat on all fours between them, his dark red head swinging back and forth as Myrna accused FJ of acting as if he were the fenrir already, not merely the fenrir next.
“Better than an ever maid who not only has failed to do her family marriage duty but would now seek to embarrass them by dressing as a male,” he scolded back. He was no less angry than Myrna, though his appearance was much neater. Unlike his sister, who hated having her hair washed and detangled, he kept his long red hair tied back in two neat braids.
As usual, Chloe and he took opposite sides.
“Your sister was correct. You are not yet the fenrir,” Fenris reminded FJ. “You have no authority over her in this house.”
“Thank you, papa—” Myrna had begun to say.
“That doesn’t mean we’re going to let you go out of the house looking like that,” Chloe informed Myrna before she could finish thanking her father. “What happened to your hair? Why didn’t you wear the sleep cap I made for you last night? And what kind of sew job is this?”
Chloe bent down to tug at the makeshift trousers. “Have you purposefully ignored everything I ever taught you about how to make a good stitch? These are too hideous to look at. Here take them off. I’ll bring them with me on the ship and turn them into a skirt with a split. I needed a project anyway.”
“But mom…” Myrna began to whine in her mother’s tongue.
“Father, surely you are not taking her side,” FJ began to argue in his father’s tongue.
And thus, they’d spent the entire morning arguing with the son and daughter they each thought should do a better job of representing their parents. Not knowing they would soon lose FJ forever.