Page 15 of The Wulver's Bond
The incident by the river had been… vexing.
Arran turned over in his bed, pressing his nose into the sheepskins so as to drown out Weed’s scent. The memory of his scent.
Arran had no clue what was running through Weed’s mind by the river, but from the musky traces of lust and the way his body vibrated with arousal, Weed’s sheer desperation was both obvious and captivating. With his nose assaulted by that hot-blooded aroma, Arran himself had been thrown off balance.
And for the tiniest, most miniscule of moments, he’d considered ending Weed’s misery by planting him on all fours and railing him like the bitch in heat he’d declared himself to be.
Arran pushed the thought away immediately, with instant, intense chagrin.
He hadn’t entertained thoughts like that incenturies.
But Weed had a knack for being irritating. He was already making a hobby of attempting to bait Arran with his acerbic comments, and his sheer vicious persistence poked the beast in Arran. He feared it may even have woken up.
The little brat could do with being taught a lesson.
Arran almost choked. He dug his snout deeper into the fleece, muffling an appalled growl. What was hethinking?
Weed was under his care. Arran had aduty—no matter how much he resented it being pushed upon him—to look afterWeed’s wellbeing, andmost of allto ensure he never exploited the power he held over him.
And, Arran told himself sternly, it wouldn’t change anything if Weedwasn’tcursed to do his bidding. Arran still wouldn’t contemplate the thought of bedding him. The carnal impulse had been fleeting; a brief loss of judgement, nothing more.
Not at all a symptom of his prolonged, lonely lifestyle.
Eventually, Arran fell into an unsettling dream.
It was a memory of the fae realm. A cold, glittering place where eyes and tongues were sharp, and all words and hearts were guarded. Arran walked alone under the crystalline boughs of its silver trees. He longed for warmth, for companionship. Forchange.
Eventually, he came to a pair of trees that formed a narrow arch, like a doorway. Through the arch, he saw a different landscape. A grey, stormy landscape. There were jagged cliffs and a black, crashing ocean. It looked volatile, even foul, when compared with the ageless beauty all around him.
Arran looked from the sparkling silver forest to the angry grey cliffs.
His path felt obvious.
Without a backward glance, Arran stepped through the arch, to the human world.
* * *
The next day Arran woke early and filled a large bowl with water. Weed slept just as soundly as he had every day before, and Arran felt safe in assuming he was unlikely to wake up soon.
He snuck past the pile of gently snoring sheepskins and stepped just outside the cave—but not too far. He daren’t risk accidentally yanking Weed from his bed.
Mostly immune to the cold air, Arran stripped off his clothes and hastily dunked a washcloth into his bowl of water. It was a quick and sloppy job of bathing, but it was a task he didn’t wish to put off any longer, and also one that he wished to avoid Weed’s presence for. He would normally bathe in the river, but the distance would necessitate bringing Weed with him and, by extension, Weed’s ogling eyeballs.
Arran shook the water from his fur and donned his jeans and hoodie once again. Back inside, he decided to give Weed the same opportunity, albeit with a greater measure of comfort. He heated a pot of fresh water, siphoning some off for tea, and the rest he poured into a large basin in front of the fire.
The sun had risen by now, so he hoped Weed wouldn’t mind being woken a little earlier today.
Weed groaned in his sleep as Arran gently shook his shoulder. Then without warning his eyes snapped open and he bolted upright, alert, and clearly propelled by adrenaline.
‘What time is it?’ Weed barked, glancing around like he was trying to get his bearings. Arran could hear his racing heartbeat—and the way it slowed as Weed apparently registered his surroundings.
‘It is a few hours past dawn,’ Arran replied, keeping his tone light and passive. ‘I have prepared water for you, if you would like to bathe this morning.’
Weed stared past him at the steaming basin. His voice was deadpan. ‘You want me to get naked for you?’
‘No!’ Arran jumped back, waving his hands. ‘Nothing of the sort. I shall wait outside. You’ll have total privacy.’
Weed sniggered, and Arran realised he’d been made to look a fool. ‘Calm your teats, wolfie. Didn’t realise you were such a prude.’
