I’m proud to have a leader such as Lord Grimkael. Many Lords are not as selfless as he is. He sacrifices a lot of wealth for the good of the village so the people are taken care of, just like a Lord should.
“Aye, I’m coming, Lord,” I reply to him, but he is no longer in the doorway. I lift Rian off my hip and hand him over to Lilith. “Can you take him? I must go.” I’ve been lacking in my responsibilities as his lead warrior. I wouldn’t be surprised if he came to demote me. Goddess, that would be humiliating.
“Of course.” Her eyes brighten as Rian stretches his arms out to her. “Come here, you.” She grunts and plops him on her hip. “Gosh, you’ve gained weight. You’re so big. You’re bigger than me.”
“Am not. You’re way bigger,” he giggles. Lilith lets out a playful gasp, feigning that her feelings are hurt.
“You aren’t supposed to say that to a lady, little man,” I chuckle and slide my arm around Lilith’s waist and then steal a quick grab of her arse. “I happen to think you’re fucking perfect,” I whisper low, so Rian can’t hear us. “I shall fuck you later.” I hold onto her arse a little bit longer than I should, but I can’t seem to let it go.
Mirth twinkles in her eyes as she takes a step away. The move causes my hand to fall. “I look forward to it.” She sits down in the chair next to Alaric’s bed, and Rian’s eyes droop again. She starts humming a tune I don’t know to help him fall asleep, and I stand there a minute to watch her with him.
I can imagine her with our babies, singing them to sleep, and holding them tight because they are her entire world. It makes me want to try that much harder to get her pregnant. She’s going to be such a great mother. I wouldn’t want anyone else for my children.
“Wulf! Get your arse over here, now.” Lord Grimkael’s voice could wake the dead, I swear it.
“Shite. I love you.” I bend down and give her a quick peck on the lips. A hint of buttermilk lingers on her lips. For some reason, I find that it tastes better off her than it does from the source.
I hurry away, my boots thudding against the floor. “Aye, someone’s in trouble,” Erik ‘coughs’ again, and Leiva comes walking from Alaric to Erik’s bed.
“You fraud. Shut up, or I’ll tell her.”
“You wouldn’t,” he hisses and covers it with a fake cough.
A conniving smile takes over my lips. “Try me.” Erik and I have always had a brother-like banter.
“Fucker,” he mumbles just in time as Leiva brings over a cup of hot tea for him.
“Baby,” I mutter with my back turned and leave the medical room behind.
Lord Grimkael, Trident, and Warlord Einarr’s voices are coming from the kitchen. They aren’t being quiet, either, which means something happened. Something bad. I bypass the tall wooden steps that go upstairs and a table that has a basket of different fruits on it for everyone to eat. Snatching a bright green apple from the top, I throw it in the air before catching it again and take a big bite out of its middle. So crunchy, and a bit sour. My favorite.
The smell of mead slaps me in the face as I cross the entryway to the kitchen. I lean against the wall and watch as the three large men argue. They slam their goblets down, causing mead to spill over the rim and onto the table.
If they don’t clean that up, Lady Sassa will be furious. I take another bite of my apple, and not even the loud crunch brings them out of their fight. Their voices are too mixed together for me to understand what they are arguing about.
Trident sighs with a shrug and places his hands on his hips in frustration. Warlord Einarr seems pissed, and that scar on his face makes whatever he is about to say deadly. Lord Grimkael starts to pace back and forth in the kitchen. I’ve never seen him like this before. This isn’t a man preparing for battle or asking for blood. This is a man who is worried, and dare I say, fearful.
“What’s going on?” I finally decide to make myself known to the men and step forward.
Everyone stops what they are doing when they see me enter. Lord Grimkael stops pacing and places his hand on the table. His knuckles turn white, and the wood creaks under his grip. “Lord Troy, Lady Thyra’s father, is missing.”
That grabs my attention. I close the distance between the men and copy Lord Grimkael’s stance. “What do you mean, missing? Doesn’t he disappear in the woods sometimes for hunting purposes? He is a bit of a loner.” Coming up with reasons for his absence is better than thinking of the alternative.
Warlord Einarr shakes his head. “Nay, Thyra is devastated. Usually he is back by now. If he went further north, he could have gotten caught in a winter storm. The bastard never tells us where he is going. He just up and leaves. It’s fucking annoying. He could at least tell his daughter.”
He smashes the goblet so hard on the counter that it shatters into pieces, sending mead everywhere. All that’s left is the handle in his hand. He stares at it and tosses it over his shoulder, clattering against the ground. “Sorry.”
“I’m assuming we are going on a manhunt?” I ask, taking another bite of my apple. I’m worried about Lord Troy. I don’t know the man well. He tends to keep to himself and is intense about everything. The only person he has a soft spot for is his daughter. And even then, he is overprotective. He almost didn’t let her marry the Warlord. It practically came to blows between him and Einarr.
“I don’t know. We must, but with that young man holding all the answers to the Jackals and where they are staying, I can’t afford to send warriors out for one man when I need all the strength I can get to prepare for battle. Fuck, the asshole really knows how to leave me in a bind.”
“I’ll go look for him. For the next few nights. I don’t think that boy is waking up soon. Plus, he must draw a map; we have to prepare and assemble. It will take preparation, and honestly, Trident and I are the most capable ones to go to war after going on a rescue mission.”
Warlord Einarr and Lord Grimkael narrow their eyes at me, and Trident looks back and forth between me and them, trying to catch on to what the problem is. I’d like to know, too. I think my plan is a good one, but they are staring at me like I’ve lost my marbles.
“What?” I ask, annoyance swimming in my voice.
“I’m surprised you’d offer is all, with the new changes in your life.”
“I appreciate that Lord Grimkael, but Lilith can watch Rian for a few days. It will be hard, but I’ll manage. I’m just glad I can come home to her now.”
Again, they just stare at me, judging me like I’m making a bad decision.
“What? Out with it.”
“Oh, goddess. You don’t know?” Lord Grimkael asks with wide eyes, and then he throws his head back and laughs. His beard is decorated with a bunch of war beads, signaling how many battles he has won. A part of me is jealous, but since I’m a warrior, I don’t have the privilege of growing my beard out that long or the opportunity to add beads to my beard. Being a warlord will never be in the cards for me.
“Know what? What aren’t you telling me?”
“Your lady is with child, Wulf. We thought you knew,” chuckles Warlord Einarr.
I freeze. The apple drops from my hand, and it rolls on the table, stopping in the puddle of mead. “What?”
“Well she told Lady Sassa—” Warlord Einarr starts.
“Who told Lady Thyra, naturally.”
“Who told me.” The Warlord points to himself with a big smile on his face.
Trident makes a noise in the back of his throat. “I’m supposing he didn’t know.”
Why the hell am I finding out like this and not from Lilith? I turn around and stomp back toward the medical corridor to show her just how I should have found out, to begin with.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Lilith
The look on Beowulf’s face can only be described as furious as he burst through the doors of the corridor.
“Leiva!” he bellows. The intensity of his voice makes Leiva stops what she is doing and come shuffling to his side. The way he said
her name wasn’t a request. It was an order.
“Yes, Sir Wulf?”
“Please watch Rian. Lilith and I must have a little talk.”
She hangs her head and peers over at me, swallowing so hard her throat bobs. She’s nervous for me.
Aye, me too.
My legs betray me as I stand. It’s hard not to do what Beowulf says. And since he seems to be mad at me, I won’t poke a bear and make things worse with my smart mouth. I lay Rian down on the bed next to Alaric and wipe my sweaty hands on the skirt of my dress. I’m nervous. Beowulf is a very intense man, and when the little black dots in his eyes are hardly to be seen and the crystal clear blue surrounding it is aimed toward me, or anyone, that look can stop you in your tracks, wondering if you’re on the receiving end of a death threat.
I know he would never hurt me, but I know he has hurt others, and that lets me know what he is capable of. He is an arms length away from me now. His long brown hair falls in his face as he motions his head down to look at me. He is looking for something in my eyes. I may have an idea of what it is.
“You are coming with me. What I need to talk to you about should be done in private.”
“Beowulf. What is going on? Is everything okay?” I stumble over my words as he drags me behind him by my wrist. I can hardly keep up with him; he is walking so fast. “Beowulf, slow down. I can’t keep up.”
He slows but doesn’t look back. Everyone is staring at us at this point, and when I catch Lord Grimkael’s gaze, he mouths the words ‘I’m sorry’ to me. Sorry for what, I have no idea. He and I don’t speak much.
The cold air hits me in the face as we leave the warmth of the castle. Light snowflakes are falling, and the grass is slowly disappearing under blankets of white. As we walk, we leave footprints behind, ruining the untouched landscape with our feet.
The journey back to his cabin is long since both of us are quiet. All that can be heard is the light mist of snow hitting against the leaves that are somehow still clinging to the branches. The sky is cloudy. Not a hint of sun is anywhere to be seen. Winter has fallen, and my skin is already aching to feel the heat.
When his cabin finally comes to view, I’m taken aback when I see how much work he has put into the place. It’s bigger.
“Beowulf,” I can only whisper. My words are lost. The cabin used to be tiny. Something that was perfect for him. But now, our family has grown. It isn’t just him anymore. It’s me, Rian, and the baby.
Five large rooms have expanded the log house. Five. He plans for more children. Maybe it’s just wishful thinking on my part. It could be a bigger bathing room or something of the sort, but I can hope that there is more meaning to it than that.
“It’s so beautiful,” I marvel, unable to take my eyes off the new rooms. I can’t wait to see what they look like on the inside.
I yelp when he tosses me over his shoulder and kicks the door open with his foot. The impact hits the side of the house so hard, the snow that was sticking to the course wood, falls down in a heap. “Beowulf, what is the meaning of this?”
He finally places me down on my feet and runs his fingers through his wet hair. It’s so dark when it is wet; it almost has a blue hue to it.
“Is it true?” His eyes crinkle at the sides with pain. Emotional pain, not physical. “I don’t want to hope. Don’t make me hope, Angel.” He lays his palm flat against my stomach. “Are you carrying my child? Please, say yes.”
He closes his eyes and breathes in through his nose before his blue eyes are on me again. “And please explain why I’m the last one to know.”
Oh. This all makes sense now. “Lady Sassa found out that I might be. I missed my monthly. My breasts are a bit tender, but I wasn’t sure. I wasn’t keeping it from you. I just wanted to know for sure before telling you. I’m sorry, my love. I didn’t want you to know last.”
He takes another step forward, standing as close as he can to me without making me fall over. Beowulf takes his other palm and mimicking the other one, cages my belly in his hands.
“You have no idea how bad I want this, Angel. I want it more than my next breath. I’ve only wanted this life with you more than I wanted to live. Do you understand how deep my love for you goes?”
His forehead falls against mine. The nearness of his lips is like a great force, pulling me to him, taking away my ability to think for myself. “Because I don’t think you know.”
“I know Beowulf, because I’ve wanted the same thing since we were just children trying to steal a moment with each other.”
I reach forward and take him in a kiss, putting every ounce of love and emotion I can into it. I break the kiss and stare up at him.
“My love for you is just as deep.”
Beowulf responds by pressing his own mouth to me. It isn’t the fast and rough kiss I was expecting. He takes his time, pouring his love into my mouth until I’m swallowing it into my body. One hand slides up the contour of my body, grabbing a hold of my neck and jaw. His touch is so gentle. Out of all the years I’ve known him, he has never been this soft with someone.
“I won’t break,” I take his bottom lip into my mouth to try and get the animalistic side of him out, but it doesn’t work.
“No way am I taking you roughly when you are carrying my baby. Nothing but sweet, soft touches from me.”
Oh, no. No way am I going to be stuck not getting the hot and heavy sex I love merely because I’m pregnant. I point a finger at him, shaking it with frustration. “I’m pregnant, and you shall give me the sex I need, or I’ll be very sexually frustrated. Do you want to keep your pregnant…”
I trail off. I can’t say wife because we aren’t married. I can’t say fiancée. I have no idea what to call us. “Do you want me pregnant and frustrated? Because right now, I’m definitely frustrated.”
Flames ignite his eyes, and his nostrils flare as if he can smell my desire. “Is that so? You don’t think I need to be gentle with my newly pregnant, soon-to-be wife?”
“Wh—huh? When?” I blink. My mind goes blank from his words.
“Oh, you think I’m going to go much longer without making you my wife?” He tugs my dress down and presses his fingers on my chest, and I fall onto the bed, still dazed. He fawns over my stomach, kissing, rubbing, and appreciating it.
“Beowulf, I don’t even know for sure if I’m pregnant.” I’m gasping for air at this point. He licks and strokes my sides. I arch my back, trying my best to get closer to him. His palms cup my breasts for a second before sliding back down my figure and cupping my ass. He lifts me up, pulls me to the side of the bed, and kneels.
“I know you are. And if you aren’t, you will be after tonight.”
I catch sight of the salacious tilt of his lips before he locks his mouth onto my clit. My hands rake through his hair and grip the strands tight as his tongue dips inside me. It sends a surge of lightning through me, but he pulls away right before he brings me to the edge, taking his time again. He is savoring this moment, taking his time, and all I want him to do is skip the build up and slide his thick cock inside me.
“Beowulf, stop teasing me.”
“You’re sweeter. Do you know that? I didn’t know it was possible, but you are. So. Damn. Sweet. I could eat this pussy for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. So fucking pink and pretty,” he muses, his palm rubbing against my love button, drawing a high-pitched broken squeal from my throat.
“Taste yourself.” He shoves two fingers in my hole, soaking his digits with my juices until his knuckles press against me. The sensation makes me gasp and beg for him even more. He withdraws and brings them up to my mouth, sliding the pads of his fingertips over my lips. “Taste yourself.”
I lose all control, wrapping my lips around his fingers and licking every taste I can. I truly am sweeter. And I wonder if it’s because of the pregnancy.
“You like that, don’t you? You’re fucking perfect.” He spreads my thighs wider, his fingers digging into the sensitive part of my inner thighs. I kn
ow I’ll have marks there, but I welcome them. Anything that Beowulf can do to my body, I want it. He feasts again, building my orgasm up once more until my thighs are rattling, and my moans are shaking the roof, but he backs off again, right when I’m at the edge.
I slam my fist against the bed, screaming in the frustration from earlier. “Beowulf!” Tears prick my eyes from the intensity, but it isn’t enough to take the ache away. I must have his cock inside of me. I crave it. I need it.
“Just think, when you do finally come, it shall be so good, Angel. And I’m going to feel that massive orgasm exploding against my cock. I can’t wait to get in here.” He pushes his finger inside me again, then another. And another.
“I’m going to fuck you like this,” he starts slow, moving his arm back and forth. “And then like this…” and starts to finger fuck me faster and faster until I’m screaming with delirium.
Wet sounds fill the air. All I can hear is his hand shoving into me. “Fuck, you’re so wet. My cock aches to be inside you, just like this, fucking you just like this, hard and fast, just like you like.” The quick stroke hits a special spot inside me. It’s so fast the pressure builds and builds. He hits my most sensitive spot over and over, each motion bringing heaven that much closer.
Until he pulls away again.
Closing my eyes, I count back from ten to keep myself from calling him every name I can think of. I open my mouth to tell him to hurry up, but he silences me by shoving his cock down my throat.
“Suck my cock, Angel. Show me what that mouth can do.” He pushes my hair out of my face to watch me pull his cock down my throat until my gag reflex kicks in.
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