Page 22 of The Howling
My hackles rise at the use of the word again, not because she’s saying it but because I don’t like it at all.
She marches around the bed and past me, her scent invading my nostrils and nearly sending me to the floor as she pulls open the door, hangs onto the handle, and sways for a bit before she walks through. I follow.
“Are you going to tell me where the ba…pisser, is?” she demands.
“Down there.” I point down the passage, open on one side into the central atrium of the castle keep.
Wynter huffs at me and continues her somewhat erratic walk down to the door at the bottom. She opens it and steps inside.
I follow.
“Hey, what are you doing?” She turns back to me.
“I require the pisser too,” I say, moving past her to the long trough where water runs.
I look over my shoulder at her as I release the catch on my pants and pull out my prick. The thing has been misbehaving the entire time I’ve been watching over her, growling at the healer, even while he was doing his job, attempting to stop his handsfrom shaking. If my prick wasn’t as hard as iron, it was leaking profusely and had to be beaten into submission.
Now I require a piss and I’m pretty sure it’s going to be impossible.
Her jaw is slack. My prick goes instantly hard, and any chance of a piss disappears over the horizon.
“You…youbeast,” she says hoarsely.
“You wish to piss alone?” I query. It seems a strange request because Barghest, when there was a pack, did everything together. Grooming, pissing, eating. Some even mated in public when the rut was on them.
“Yes, I wish topiss alone,” Wynter says, her voice strange.
I do my level best to put my prick away, even if the unruly thing isn’t happy about it.
“Then you shall have your wish. I will be in the great hall,” I say, sweeping past her. “Should you want to find me.”
WYNTER
Ican’t…I just can’t…what the hell is wrong with Reavely?
“And I’ll be the one wearing a bloody sheet,” I grumble as he leaves the urinal/toilet/bathroom…whatever.
There’s a trough on one wall, where he was standing, long enough to take probably half a dozen or more Barghest. On the opposite wall is a long wooden platform with holes cut in it. Given my bladder is absolutely bursting, I know beggars can’t be choosers, and after I’ve swept up my sheet, I plonk myself down on the hole.
It is quite the relief.
Until I hear the scraping sound outside the door.
I don’t think Reavely has left at all. I think he’s still there, somehowspyingon me.
Part of me wants to shout at him to leave, but then a tiny voice points out he did get someone to treat me when I thought I was dying.
If he wanted anything else, I guess he would have taken it by now. Just like Lord Guyzance. The Faerie lord was only ever biding his time, I knew that well enough.
But Reavely…other than wanting to possess me, I don’t get the same vibes. In fact, other than fiddling with himself, but then complying with my recommendation he get the hell out of my personal space, he’s not done anything which suggests he’s a threat.
But if there’s one thing I’ve learnt in my brief time in the Yeavering, it’s not to trust even the evidence of my own eyes. This place is magic, and magic lies.
Having finished up and having to do a drip dry as toilet paper is not a thing in Reavely’s castle, I exit the urinal and find the source of the scratching sounds. Hung up next to the door on an iron spike is a long cream dress.
I touch the fabric. It’s a soft taffeta silk which feels ultra light under the pads of my fingers. So far, when it comes to clothing, all I’ve ever encountered in the Yeavering has been heavy cotton, which has not been much fun to live and work in.
This dress is something else. It has a glow to it which you can only get from pure silk. Reavely can’t have left this for me. It has to be for someone else.
