Page 111 of Tears of the Wolf
“Yes,” Brynn gasped. He wanted her fiercely, desperately, and she could feel it in every surge of his body. In this moment, she was the focus of his existence, and she had never felt more desired than she did with her wrists pinned in his grasp. “Yes.”
He might have been generous earlier, but he demanded it all back now. Cenric slammed in and out of her like he couldn’t get deep enough.
Brynn wanted to pull him closer, but he held her wrists down. Again, she felt the need to do something, but he was forcing her to surrender and just receive.
She had no control. She couldn’tdoanything. And it felt amazing.
Cenric climaxed with a guttural oath in Valdari. He thrust deep inside her and held there for a set of heartbeats as the tension released in his face. Cenric feathered kisses all over her forehead, her lips, her cheeks, her jaw, and her eyes before he finally let go of her wrists. He pulled out of her and collapsed onto the bed, sweat shining on his forehead.
He beckoned her to his side, and she curled against him, resting her head on his heaving chest. Cenric ran his hand up and down her naked back.
“Incredible,” Cenric sighed. “You were wrong about pleasing men.” He kissed the top of her head. “You please me and that’s all that matters.”
Brynn pressed closer against him. Her throat tightened for some reason. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you for everything.”
Cenric trailed his fingers along her back. He shifted, tucking her under his chin. “Beautiful, beautiful girl.”
In front of the fire, Guin had settled down between Snapper’s front paws and he was engrossed in giving her a tongue bath. Snapper was a natural nanny.
Brynn felt safer, happier, and more at peace than she could ever remember.
She was in love with Cenric, she realized. Maybe it was the effects of her climax still echoing through her body, but shedidn’t have another word for this feeling. It was like being engulfed in a cloud ofka,like having a warm hearth in her chest.
For the first time in her life, Brynn was happy and in love.
Brynn
Brynn woke up to Guin whining. Snapper woofed, scratching at the door.
Cenric still slept, sprawled across his side of the bed with one arm over Brynn. She knew he had no dreams, but perhaps the nightmares had been kept at bay for tonight. She extricated herself carefully, not wanting to disturb him. She remembered his warning not to go anywhere alone for a while, so she would stay close to the longhouse and well away from the water.
Brynn pulled on her shift and boots, but didn’t bother with her dress or veil. Guin whimpered as she picked her up, licking at Brynn’s face. The puppy had nearly doubled in size over the past weeks and soon she would be too large for Brynn to carry comfortably.
Snapper trotted along, sticking close at her feet.
Dawn had still not broken so the longhouse slept peacefully.
Brynn could hear the geese beginning to stir, but the land was caught in the grey haze of pre-dawn. As a child, Brynn hadloved these early moments. Aelfwynn used to wake her, and they would use the time to braid each other’s hair, dress, and prepare for the day before anyone took notice of them. In that stolen hour between first light and sunrise, they had been truly free.
Guin sniffed at the grass, doing her business and trotting in circles. Several of the other dogs including Thorn came leaping from the other side of the house.
They pounced on Guin, tails wagging and tongues lolling.
Guin growled up at Thorn. The bigger dog’s tail stiffened, ears laying back at the insubordination.
Brynn straightened, worried Thorn might bite Guin, but then Snapper knocked Guin over with a paw. Guin scrambled upright again, little teeth bared in indignation. Thorn’s lips curled in warning, but Snapper cocked his head and smacked Guin with a paw again, sending her sprawling.
Brynn didn’t interfere. It was best Guin learned now to get along with the other dogs. She might be as big as them one day, but they would all have to live together.
One of the other dogs trotted up, carrying a bone. For a moment, Brynn feared it might be the remains of that Valdari raider—the one who had been thrown in the river. Then she realized it was a sheep’s foreleg, bits of fur still clinging to one end. It had probably been fed to the dogs as scrap.
Brynn looked down at her hands. She’d killed a man yesterday, but he hadn’t been the first. She had lost count a long time ago.
Songs and poems were written about those who wielded swords. Aelfwynn had also been a great healer and had helped dozens if not hundreds of people, but she was remembered for those she had killed.
History sometimes seemed to be made of stone—the only way to make a mark on it was through violence.
The irony was killing was frightfully easy. Brynn could break bodies effortlessly, but putting them back together was the hard part.
