KNUD, Her Big Bad Wolf: 50 Loving States, Kansas

by Theodora Taylor

  “Because that reaction is totally you,” he answers. “This is the girl I fell in love with.”

  Which is strange, because my reaction… I analyze it and find, yes, that was honestly how I felt. Which means the Layla this guy knew, the Layla he was most familiar with, was one that hadn’t hidden her feeling behind smiles and branding.

  We look at each other again, this time in an old and new light.

  It’s a truly touching moment, until I say, “Would you be opposed to having sex with me again?”

  37

  Would you be opposed to having sex with me again?

  Knud stares at her for a few tense beats before finally managing to choke out, “You serious?”

  He can smell her arousal. Had smelled it last night, and then once again as soon as she woke up that morning. But after their silent car ride yesterday and this morning’s bittersweet conversation, he hadn’t dared hope she was anywhere near ready to be with him like that again.

  “Yes, I believe I am,” she answers in that overly enunciated way of hers before walking away from the counter…and crawling back into his bed on her hands and knees.

  She doesn’t know any better. Can’t know any better. But…

  In the next moment, he’s across the room covering her back and pushing down her pants at the same time. So fucking desperate to get inside her. Inside his mate. Where he belongs.

  But something stays his wolf. He reminds himself this isn’t an anonymous score he brought home from the nightclub, or the human woman he tried to NSA. She’s the mother of his child. His mate. His entire reason for becoming Knud Nightwolf again.

  Restraining his wolf, he drops his head to her shoulder and tells her, “There are levels to our sex. But I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “How many levels?” she asks, voice panting in a way that makes his dick painfully hard.

  “Ten. One is missionary, five is—”

  “Level ten,” she calls out, cutting him off even faster than the first time they did this. “Level ten.”

  He doesn’t pull her hair—still too much of a doctor to mess with a brain injury, even after a summer long hiatus.

  But he does purposefully make his body heavier on top of hers, holding her down as he informs her, “We had rules for this, too. Only words you’re allowed to say at this level are ‘More. Yeah. Please. Fuck me harder.’”

  “Oh my gosh, I agreed to that?” she asks, her voice full of wonder. “I let you do that?”

  “You let me do nothing,” he growls back. “I took you. I claimed your pussy with my dick. And you loved every minute of it.”

  A burst of arousal hits the air in response to his words, fragrant and heady.

  But he doesn’t fall into the trap.

  Instead, he reminds her how good it used to be by playing with her pussy and whispering filthy words in her ear until his fingers are sticky with her juices and she’s moaning, “Please, please, please!”

  “There’s my nasty girl. Love it when you fucking beg,” he says, before rocking her back and impaling her on his cock. His eyes nearly cross at the feel of her after so long apart. And this time, there’s no wrapper between them, or heat scent making them crazy. He can feel the wet squeeze of her around his entire cock.

  And he keeps her right there, one hand covering her breasts, the other working her pussy as he growls, “Take this dick, L-heart. Take it right now. It’s all for you, baby. It’s all for you.”

  She circles her hips into his upward thrusts but the position soon becomes overwhelming. “Please! Please!” she mews, losing the rhythm.

  “I’ve got you,” he answers and like a reward, he places her in the most intense version of the wolf cage position. His chest heavy on her back, his arms bent on either side of her face so she can’t move her body, not even a millimeter, as he thrusts into her hard from behind.

  And he knows her wolf must be losing its mind because Layla goes straight from pretty pleases to a guttural chant of, “Fuck me! Fuck me! Oh God, fuck me!”

  Hearing the dirty curse words fall from her American princess lips incenses him. Forget fragile. His hips go sloppy with the need to release in her. To claim her all over again. To make the mother of his child his once more.

  “I’m going to fuck you until you come hard on my dick, baby. Then when you’re done making it all dirty, I’m going to keep you quiet by putting my dick in your mouth. Make you clean me up, before I put it in another hole. Because I’m claiming every inch of you tonight. Let me hear you say it: what’s going to happen?”

  “I’m going to come!” she gasped. “I’m going to come all over your dick, make it dirty.”

  “And then what’s going to happen?”

  “No talking. I’m going to clean you up, and then you’re going to—”

  The orgasm cuts her off, taking her voice along with her words.

  As she comes hard around his cock, Knud releases with one final push. Just like old times, but somehow it still feels new. And as he streams into her, he has the thought that this is how they’ll do it. They’ll rebuild their relationship. Brick by brick, memory by memory. Level ten and level five sex. And this time, not only will he make her come, he’ll communicate like a motherfucker, and bake her cookies when she’s had a bad day.

  On that thought they both collapse onto the mattress. Completely spent, even though they’d only woke up a little over an hour ago.

  But then Layla sighs and says dreamily, “Oh, Buddy, that was even better than the first time. Give me a moment and I’ll let you shut me up…”

  He freezes.

  And so does she. Because… “Buddy! That’s what I used to call you. You hated it.”

  “I did because…”

  “…you didn’t want me to think we were friends or anything. Yes, you said that to me so many times!”

  She sits up on one elbow, blinking as a trickle of previously hidden memories begin coming back to her. “The doctors said this might happen. They told me to do normal things, and my memories might return in a blink while I’m in the shower or sitting on the toilet—”

  She stops, her eyes going soft. “You were my new normal. That’s what I remember most. How normal you made—make—me feel. I didn’t know you were a Nightwolf the first time around. I remember I found out who you really are at your uncle’s cabin. Oh! And your mom—she said my mom was on her ‘free pass list.’”

  “Wow,” Knud said, “If there was one thing I was really hoping you’d permanently forget…”

  “But I haven’t forgotten that,’’ she says with a teasing smile, “…or the feeling of finally understanding it wasn’t just me. You have a lovely family and you were pushing them away, too. You were pushing us all away because you were afraid you’d hurt us. But you wouldn’t ever do that, Knud. I was planning to spend the rest of my life proving to you what a good man you are but…”

  Her eyes widen and then darken with horror. “I— I couldn’t do that because you turned into a wolf.” She stops for a moment to collect herself. Then shakes her head. “No, something’s wrong. This must have something to do with my injury…a hallucination or…something.”

  Layla trails off, clearly waiting for him to jump in and reassure her that what she thinks she remembers couldn’t have happened. Didn’t happen.

  But he can’t. And it’s been three months. “Layla, L-heart…for a number of reasons I wasn’t able to tell you everything before. But now that you’re carrying our child…things have changed and it’s time you knew. I’m…my people…we’re shifters, what humans refer to as werewolves.”

  Layla blinks at him and pulls herself all the way up into a ramrod straight seated position in the bed. “You are not a werewolf,” she says, a dazed expression on her face.

  “Yeah, actually I am,” he answers, wanting to follow Layla into a sitting up position. But he stays lying down, so as not to alarm her.

  She stares down at him in his still prone position. Waiting for him to crack a smil
e and admit he’s playing a trick on her. But when he doesn’t she says, “So you’re a real werewolf. Like in the movies.”

  Knud grimaces. “I mean, some movies get it right, but most don’t.”

  “But you’re a werewolf,” she insists. “And I’m pregnant with your werewolf baby?”

  Which brings them to yet another delicate topic. “About that… You’re not just pregnant with my baby. See, shifters can only impregnate other shifters. So the only way you can be carrying our baby is…”

  Her eyes widen. “Are you kidding me? I’m a werewolf, too?”

  “Yeah,” Knud confirms, waiting for her reaction.

  38

  As it turns out, Layla’s reaction involves a lot of talking. And shopping.

  “If I’m a werewolf now, why didn’t I change with the full moon?” she asks, keeping her voice low as they test out a dark grey couch at IKEA.

  “Because wolves can’t shift when they’re pregnant. In most cases, the male isn’t supposed to shift either. But matings between humans and shifters can be weird. They don’t always go according to plan. Which means I’m probably going to continue taking sick days once a month while you’re pregnant.”

  She shakes her head. “And my mother really knows all about this?” she asks.

  Knud begins to reply, only to be cut off by her next question: “And what about my father? Does he know?”

  “Officially, no. Your mom does, but as a former president of the United States, she was sworn to secrecy—”

  “Oh, okay. In that case, he knows. If those two had been able to keep a secret from each other, I never would have ended up in Kansas not talking to both of them.”

  “Wow. We have a lot more in common than I originally thought,” she says later as they send their IKEA bags off in a driverless car that will drop the packages off in front of Knud’s building. “So you’re a prince of Colorado. Does that make me a princess?”

  “No, it makes you the mate of a prince,” he answers. “Sorry. Our people only award titles if you’re married to a king, so you’ll just have to settle for being America’s princess,” he answers with a nod toward a bunch of people at the driverless stand, pointing at her and whispering behind their hands.

  “How about that voice inside of me I referenced earlier?” she asks as they walk toward the small grocery store closest to his apartment.

  “That’s what we call our ‘wolves,’” he answers. “It’s kind of like a sixth animal sense manifesting as a voice. Usually mine’s pretty Kumbaya . How about yours?”

  She thinks about it. “It’s cynical and growly and extremely determined,” she answers. “I’m a little afraid of it.”

  Knud laughs. “Sounds like a badass bitch, I can’t wait to meet her in 12 months.”

  Layla must have come here a few times, because a few of the cashiers call out to her by name as they walk into the store, like an old famous friend. “How you doing there, Layla! Good to see you again! Glad to see you’re feeling better after your accident!”

  “I’m great, Henry! It’s so lovely to see you again, too, Marta. I am feeling so much better, Jenny, thank you for your good wishes,” Layla answers, seeming to pull their names out of nowhere.

  “Layla! Layla!” an older black woman, standing in front of an end-cap mustard display, calls out, waving her hands in the air. “I love your mama!”

  “Thank you!” Layla calls back with a gracious wave.

  Despite the federal ban on not recording people who don’t also have bioware installed, a camera immediately lights up the woman’s right eye.

  “Hey…” Knud starts to say, moving to block Layla from her illegal image grab.

  “It’s okay,” Layla tells him, and she waves, so that the woman can snap her picture. By the time she lowers her hand, there are several other customers, looking straight at her with lit up camera eyes.

  “That your man?!” the original picture taker asks, still recording.

  “He is my man, yes, thank you for asking,” Layla answers. “In fact, we’re engaged.”

  “What?” Marta, the cashier says from behind her register. “I was going to try to get your number for my youngest son. He’s an accountant.”

  Layla shoots Knud an “I told you so!” look, before she answers, “Sorry, Martha, I’m off the market.”

  “But hold on…I don’t see a ring on your finger!” Marta points out, a hopeful note creeping into her voice.

  “That’s because she didn’t give me one when she asked me to marry her,” Knud calls back.

  All the cashiers gape at them.

  “Wow, you are really good at shutting people up,” Layla whispers behind her hand. “And by the way, thank you. No matter what happens now, thank you.”

  He stares down at her, almost used to being confused by her now. “What do you think is going to happ—”

  This time she’s the one to shut him up, pulling him to her for a heartfelt kiss.

  By the time they return to his apartment, the story of their engagement is all over social media. And two brand new security bots have taken up residence on either side of his door.

  “Guess you didn’t have to buy those biometric locks at the hardware store,” Layla says, before entering the apartment and calling out, “Hello, Papa! Hello, Mama!”

  “I see you two have made it back from your errands without falling into any rivers,” her father says, standing up from a glass table to pull Layla into a hug, before nodding at Knud. “Adequate job, today, Nightwolf.”

  Knud’s too busy double taking to answer. Because as it turns out, he and Layla also didn’t need to buy furniture.

  “Jesus!” Knud says as he looks around his place, which is now filled with colorful furniture, including a red couch, a huge geometric floor rug, and a four-person glass table currently occupied by her parents and one of their guards.

  Her mom purses her lips together and shakes her head. “Did that young man seriously just take the Lord’s name in vain? Delia’s going to have to work with him on that.”

  “Can we please not involve Delia and her team in this?” Layla asks. Then she starts calmly putting the groceries away, as if finding the apartment already completely kitted out and her parents sitting at the new glass four top was neither surprising nor unexpected.

  “Is this a coffeemaker?” Knud asks, going over to a shiny red spout and circle drain embedded in the top of his counter where his sturdy coffeemaker used to sit. The old granite counter has been replaced with a gorilla glass surface, and touchpad buttons for everything from coffee to stove setting options glow underneath. The cabinets above and below have also been replaced by sliding gorilla glass, and Knud can only imagine what kind of AI he’ll find when he touches the open icons on all the dark doors.

  “Yes, it is a coffeemaker, and if you’re making yourself a cup I’ll take a cappuccino, thanks,” Eva Rustanov answers Knud, before turning her warm gaze back to Layla. “And as for not bringing Delia into this, I’m sorry, but that boat sailed as soon as you kissed this little boy in public, darlin’.”

  As if on cue, the door opens and a very dark-skinned woman with very blond hair enters followed by a three-person team of minions. All three have their eyes in semi-permanent bio-status. Off to the side and raised, as if they only barely exist in the real world.

  Soon every new seat in his tiny apartment, which has never hosted more than two people is filled. And like a gracious hostess, Layla starts taking drink orders while her parents and Delia discuss wedding details, as if the two people who plan to get married aren’t even in the room.

  “Is it always like this?” Knud leans over and asks when Layla returns to the new embedded coffee machine with a phone screened filled with coffee orders.

  “Yes, always,” she answers with an apologetic smile.

  And that’s when he realizes…the kiss in the store. It hadn’t been an announcement, it had been a goodbye. To the secret love life they used to know before… all of this.
<
br />   “Do you still want to go on with me?” she asks as if sensing his conclusion. “Because if not, we should let the PR team know while they here.”

  She’s putting on a brave face but Knud can smell her fear. He looks around his apartment which is now filled with parents, PR, and protection.

  “Do I want to be with someone who’s going to turn my loner life into a circus?” he asks.

  That is when he finds out he can be a contrarian, too, because his answer to that question is, “Hell yeah.”

  He smooths back her perfect curls and kisses her hello, saying “come right in” to the new, sure-to-be-crazy life they’ll be sharing together.

  But a knock on the door cuts the tender moment short.

  “Uncatalogued visitor!” one of the guards call out, obviously in sync with the security bots outside the door. “No weapons.”

  No weapons means the unexpected visitor probably isn’t a threat, but uncatalogued means whoever it is, isn’t officially in the international database.

  Another wolf, Knud senses.

  And he’s right. But still his mouth drops open when he sees who the guards escort into the room.

  “Myrna,” he says, blinking, because Hot Valkyrie Babysitter is no longer a teenager, but a grown woman… wearing leggings and a swing top. Still hot, with a underlying fierceness that crackled in her eyes, but a good ten to fifteen years older than the girl Knud had known in the Viking age.

  “It is good to see you, Knud, second son of Rafe,” she says with a short head bow, her Viking era accent unchanged, even with the modern overlay.

  “Uh, you, too, Myrna, daughter of the Fenrir,” he answers, before asking. “What are you doing here?”

  “So you know this uncatalogued woman?” a guard asks, looking for a signal to stand down.