Page 159 of The Ashpaw: Part One

No! she screamed to herself. No, you cannot!

And yet she watched in horror as she allowed his mouth on hers, his hand on her skin, his knee gently prodding her legs apart as he settled himself between them.

Stop it!

She felt him inside her, and oh, she could cry. From the pleasure, the pain, the unwanted intrusion she couldn’t tell her body to fight.

And Darion was ignorant of all her thoughts, grunting and groaning and pushing and her body just let him. She whimpered, she cried, her back arched as she orgasmed and then…

Then came the knot.

She opened for him despite every instinct in her mind recoiling. The pressure became a sharp burn, then an overwhelming rush of pleasure so intense it frightened her. For beneath the flood of instinct, she clung to him despite something inside her screaming to let go.

It was too much, and yet everything she’d needed. She recoiled, she drew him in.

He flipped over so she lay on his chest, and he purred, kissing the top of her head as his apologies and praise flowed like the sweetest honey.

“I’m so sorry…”

“You’re perfect…”

“My little omega, I’m here now…”

“You were made for me…”

“… My Fern.”

A tear fell down her cheek, and she watched as it landed on his skin.

Body and mind were one as she whispered, “I hate you.”

Chapter 38

Darion

Darion had been only seven years old when his father had taken him on his first hunt.

He’d been practicing with his bow and arrow all summer and autumn long, and finally, as winter approached, they went into the woods. Just the two of them.

Darion spotted the doe first.

He nocked his arrow, lined up the shot just as his Uncle Norden had taught him, and let it fly.

The deer went down instantly, a clean shot.

He’d stared in awe from where he’d been hiding, looking at his father in almost disbelief, while his father gave him a smile.

He hadn’t seen his father smile very much recently. Not since the passing of his mother.

They walked to the kill together, Darion taking out his knife to begin dressing it, when he heard a soft cry.

Then, from under a bush, came a spotted fawn. It was far too late in the season for a doe to have a fawn so young.

“Father, what do we do?”

“The fawn will not survive without its mother.”

Darion nodded, already preparing to take it home. He could make a space for it in the stalls. Feed it mare’s milk until it was strong.