Hi!!! As a reply to your previous post about what we wanted to see in EOT... Do you think the werewolf would ever feel guilty about what he did to reader? If so, how would it pan out? I'm so glad you're back and excited to read your upcoming works!! <3
I don't think our dear werehusband feels guilty at all. As far as he's concerned, the protagonist belongs to him. Even when she's uncomfortable as things progress, he just takes pride in it. Sure, he wishes that she would be just as excited about it as he is, but he hopes that she'll change her mind once the pup is born.
He definitely sneaks into her house and forcibly cuddles up with her while teasing her about how well she's carrying his pup and such. If she's upset that everyone knows that she's pregnant, he basks in the knowledge that every man that so much as looks as her knows that she's spoken for. And if someone tries anything, they'll end up slaughtered, too.
What if the werewolf was Granny Waxwood? That'd be a twist for sure! But in all seriousness, do we even know if the werewolf shares their gender across human-wolf form? Are we allowed to get a hint on that? Is the werewolf a man in human form?
That would be quite the twist!
I will say that werewolves maintain their gender across both forms, so the protagonist is looking for a man, not a woman.
“Did you hear?” The barmaid, Nyssa, clutched her tray. “The werewolf came again last night. It killed five of Jonathan’s sheep.”
You looked up from the dough you were kneading and wiped the sweat from your brow. The tavern hadn’t closed for the night, and yet Nyssa was there with you in the kitchens. You didn’t want to think about the complaints about empty cups. Your hands moved to your hips, dusting the fabric of your dress with a starchy white. “It’s just a wolf. No one’s ever seen it properly.”
“Tomas saw it! He said that it was over a head taller than him!”
You sighed. You needed to nip this in the bud. “If it was a werewolf, wouldn’t it only transform on full moons?”
“No.” Nyssa shook her head. “Werewolves can transform whenever they please.” Her grip on the tray tightened until her knuckles turned white. She looked down and her stare become distant. “They’re at their strongest on the full moons, and they’re at their most ravenous, too.”
You scowled. “Who told you this?”
“Nikolas.”
You rolled your eyes. You should have known. Nikolas was a hunter. He had arrived in Fyerdin two years ago. Since he had travelled to so many places, many thought him to be an expert. You couldn’t help but scoff at his stories. He went on and on about creatures and monsters and other things that lurked in the dark as the other townsfolk would lean in, enraptured by his tales. You knew exactly what he was doing; if the townspeople were afraid, they would pay him more to keep them safe. He was the only hunter in the town. He was the only one that could use a sword, handle a bow, and track game through the forest.
Nyssa eyes began to water. “The full moon is soon, isn’t it? The first one of the spring? Right before-…oh.”
You turned away from her. You folded the dough over and flattened it with a rolling pin. Last year, your fiancé, Ilya, had disappeared one night. He had been hunting on his own rather than with Nikolas. You had warned him against hunting at night, but he hadn’t listened. Nikolas had gone out for days on end to search, but couldn’t find any sign of him. You and Nikolas hadn’t been on good terms to begin with, but Ilya’s apparent death had made things even worse. When Nikolas had told other townsfolk that he thought a monster was to blame, you realized that he was trying to profit from Ilya’s disappearance. As the only hunter, he was the town’s only protection now.
“N-Nikolas said that werewolves are the same as other animals. Springtime is their mating season. Do you…Do you think that-“
You waved her off. “If you’re worried about the werewolf, you can go home early. I’ll clean things up here.”
“Thank you! Oh, I should get back to work.” With that, she hurried out of the kitchen.
Your gaze shifted to the window. The sun was gone. Darkness had fallen. The moon wasn’t visible yet, but the brightness of it was beginning to discolor the sky.
You shook your head, rolling the dough into a ball. Nikolas needed to stop filling her head with stories.
You had almost forgotten about the werewolf until the date of the spring festival was ordained. The elders had, amidst some controversy, chosen the day of the full moon. You had heard several gasps and whispers from the townsfolk when it was first announced. Nyssa, who had been standing closer to the mayor, had turned from him and watched you. You only spared her a glance. It wouldn’t change anything. The beast wouldn’t show itself in the middle of the day.
You had woken up early on the morning of the festival. You spent hours putting the finishing touches on dishes and getting everything ready for transport. The festival took place outside, in a field dotted with wildflowers. That meant you had to cart everything out yourself. It was a pain, but you couldn’t argue against tradition, lest everyone else suspect you of being a witch.
When the sun was at its highest, the festival began. Children danced and wove ribbons together into colourful braids. The adults chatted with each other like it was any other day. The food you had laid out was crowded amongst the other offerings. The baker had laughed heartily about how good her recipe had become. The kitchen-master of the local inn insisted that his meat was superior, despite all of it coming from the same butcher.
You stood off to the side. Spending so much time slaving over food had drained your appetite. You weren’t one for festivals. At least you had gotten some compliments on your pastries. Your pumpkin bread was a hit yet again. Several of the other women in town pestered you for the recipe like it was tradition, but you had skirted the question. Competition was steep in small towns. If you had the best pastries in Fyerdin, then you had an edge.
Nyssa caught your eye. She was playing with some of the younger children. The sky was changing colour now, which meant that the children would soon be heading back to their homes while the festival continued. Despite having no children of her own and no husband, she acted like a mother to anyone younger than her. She was good at it, too. She could calm even the most colicky of babies and soothe the fieriest of toddler tantrums. You didn’t share that talent. Children would grasp at your skirt and ask you to sneak them another pastry, but that spoke more of your baking skills than your motherly instinct. Ilya had laughed about it. He had said that your children would certainly grow up with a healthy appetite.
Your gaze shifted to Nikolas. He was sitting alone at one end of the feasting table. Other men were nearby, crowded together as they shared stories and laughed. You weren’t surprised to see Nikolas finish his cup and stare down at his food. He never ate anything that you made. When you had first met him, you had made him some pumpkin bread as a housewarming gift. He had refused it. You were frustrated, and Ilya had tried to smooth things over by informing you that Nikolas wasn’t raised with sweet things. They had already been good friends and hunting partners by that point, so Ilya knew more about Nikolas than you ever would.
Your thoughts were interrupted by the music suddenly changing. Woodwinds and string instruments became louder and the rhythm grew faster. You exhaled though your noise. You recognized this music. It was yet another tradition. A dance for all of the unwed men and women. The elders claimed that the gods would grant dancers with increased fertility. Your stomach lurched at the word. You tried to avoid the dance every year, but now you found yourself wanting to outright leave the festival.
You weren’t even given the chance to escape unnoticed. Henris, the miller’s son, sidled up next to you and took your hand. His smile was as warm as the sun’s light on your skin. “Dance with me,” he offered as he guided you towards the other dancers that had begun to weave and spin.
You complied, though you wouldn’t be dancing with him for long. The dance involved changing partners frequently. Some unions lasted more than others depending on mutual interest. After a while, the sound would abruptly end and partners would be considered blessed by the gods in the form of children. You weren’t sure why it was only the unwed who were supposedly given fertility. Perhaps it was meant to result in more marriages.
You couldn’t leave, so you went through the motions. You danced with Henris. He had quite the talent for it. You weren’t surprised that he was so popular with the other young women. Then, you separated with a flourish and a spin to find other partners. Nyssa smiled at you as she skipped by. You were abruptly stopped by a hand around your wrist. You turned, pulled off balance. It was Kelv, the mayor’s son. His hand moved to yours. He was a few years older than you. He was, by far, the most sought-after bachelor in Fyerdin. So many girls lusted after him. So many young ladies confessed to him, only to be turned away. He claimed he was after a woman of a higher caliber. In short, he wanted a woman with a hefty dowry.
You let go of his hand. A single turn revealed some of the married men heaving Nikolas up from his chair and ushering him toward the dance. You dodged Nyssa and a fisherman. You tried to find Henris, only to be guided away by a traveling merchant. Either he was used to such customs, or he had caught on quickly. It didn’t matter. You just wanted to avoid Nikolas. You sighed in relief when Nyssa took his hands and danced with him.
You took a step in the other direction. The merchant’s grip on your hand tightened. You looked at him warily. You wrenched your hand away. You casted a glare as you distanced yourself. You weren’t in the mood for this. All you wanted to do was-
Dark clothing was all you caught in your periphery before you walked straight into someone else. You stifled a groan as you righted yourself. It only took a glance. The sight of Nikolas already looking past you in search of a different partner made your mood darken. His hands came down on your shoulders. He all but forced you to one side so he could get by.
The moment his hands left you, the music cut out and everyone stopped. Young women gasped and young men laughed as couples exchanged flushed glances. You didn’t turn to look at Nikolas. You would rather be alone than share good luck with him. There was no consequence to having no partner at the end of the dance. Some girls were distraught and feared they were undesirable after ending up alone, but you had no such worry.
After a brief round of applause, the music began again. Partners and married couples danced together. You graciously took your leave. With the start of spring, you had a lot of work to do.
You drew a sharp breath. You pressed your knuckles into the small of your back. You had finally finished the preparations for Jenny’s bridal shower. The actual baking wouldn’t start until tomorrow morning, but you wanted to have everything ready beforehand. She had requested so many cakes and pastries and other goods that you would be baking for the next few days. Henris, the miller’s eldest son, had looked like he was about to drop to his knees and ask for your hand in marriage when you listed off everything you wanted to buy. You glanced to the window. The sound of shouting and cheering had continued well into the night, but things had long since gone quiet.
With everything sorted and packaged for the morning, you stepped out into the bar and immediately wilted. Since Nyssa had left early the night before, it was still a mess. Ale was soaked into the floorboards. Cups were strewn about. You gathered your apron into a makeshift pouch so you could begin to gather everything up to be washed or disposed of.
A deep, loud noise gave you pause. It carried and echoed in the night air. A wolf’s howl. You imagined that Nyssa would be in her bedroom now, frightfully curling up beneath her blanket and praying that the beast would stay far away from Fyerdin. You kept moving. The sooner you were finished, the longer you would be able to sleep before the rooster-
Something rustled in the next room. You straightened and turned toward the noise. You kept still, lest everything cradled in your apron clatter against each other. You waited. You fully expected to hear nothing else. It was just the wood of the building settling from the cold.
But there it was again; another noise. It was coming from the pantry. You scowled. You had been salting a fair bit of meat. A few of your customers had asked about it. You wouldn’t be surprised if one of them was drunk and trying to steal it. You carefully set what you were holding onto the bar’s surface. You headed down the hall. Getting closer, you heard a snarl. You grabbed the broom that had been leaning against the wall. You had used it to chase off scavengers before. They usually ran off the moment they heard you coming. The rest fled when you swatted at them.
The pantry door was ajar, blocking your view of whatever was inside. The muffled sounds grew louder and was followed by sloppy chewing. You raised the broom. You could afford to lose a slab of meat or two, but not the entire lot.
“Mm…So good…” A low voice growled through a full mouth.
You froze. A person? You rattled off a list of the men in town. You didn’t think that any of them were enough of a slob to sneak in and eat raw, salted meat. The travelers currently lodged at the Badger’s Den seemed respectable at first glance.
You discarded those thoughts. Whoever it was, you needed to stop them and teach them a lesson.
The person took a step back. Then two. It sounded odd. It wasn’t the sound of shoes or bare feet hitting the floor. It almost sounded like scraping. You moved closer, broom at the ready. If they were about to drag the tray of meats out with them, you wouldn’t let them get far.
A hand gripped the edge of the door. The sight of it stopped you in your tracks. Fur covered the skin. The nails were long and dark. The tips dug into the wood like it was made of softened butter. You stiffened. This couldn’t be happening. You had just drifted off while taking a break in the kitchens. But the dread working its way through your bones felt all too real. The broom in your hands was definitely there.
The beast stepped further back. You only caught a glimpse of them before you ducked into the kitchen and pressed your back against the wall. With one hand still holding the broom, you covered your mouth with the other. In that sliver of a moment, you had seen it. It had been hunched over, though you couldn’t tell if it was just its natural posture or because it was too tall to stand properly in the hallway. Its entire body was covered with long, dark fur. It walked on the pads of its feet. It was claws that had made the scraping sound. Its head was that of a wolf; a long snout, pointed ears on top of its head. A pink tongue had slipped out from between sharp teeth to lick up stray grains of salt.
Your resolve wavered. The beast was real. You had seen it with your own eyes. More importantly, it was still inside the tavern. It was still so close.
“Such a good little cook.”
You didn’t move. Did it know who you were? Had you met while it was human.
It padded down the hall. It sniffed. “Ah, she’s been baking again. Let’s see.”
You froze. Your eyes flickered to the back door. The beast was moving slowly. It wasn’t even halfway down the hall. Maybe, if you were quiet enough, you could escape.
It continued to sniff the air. You could hear the saliva dripping from its maw and hitting the floor. “Sweet rolls. Tarts. Almond cakes. But there’s something else...something so much sweeter…”
You flinched as something knocked against the wall. It was right behind you. You pressed your hand even harder over your mouth. You didn’t make a sound, but you knew that a cry could have so easily leapt from your throat. Did it know that you were there? Could it smell you? A growl came from the other side of the wall. It leaned closer. Its presence was stifling.
“You’re up late, sweetheart.”
You knew that this was your only chance. You turned and ran for the back door. You didn’t make it far. Its claws snatched the bow of your apron and yanked you backward. You lost your grip on the broom. The wood clattered across the floor. In the next moment, you were pushed down onto the table. The impact caused what remained of the flour and other powdery ingredients to puff up into the air. You winced. One hand was still curled around the ribbon of your apron. The other pressed between your shoulders. You could feel its claws slicing through the fabric of your dress, but they didn’t press deep enough to cut you.
“Did you think that you were hiding?” Its claws slipped out from beneath the ribbon. Only the hand on your back kept you still. No matter how hard you fought, you didn’t gain an inch. “I can smell you from miles away.”
You tensed as it buried its snout into your hair and neck. It inhaled deeply, then withdrew with a sigh. “You always smell so good, but something’s different this time. Like a pinch of cinnamon added to that pumpkin bread you make that everyone loves.” It sniffed its way down your spine. Further and further. Your body tightened, muscles coiling like springs. Its hand wandered downward, settling just above your hips to keep you pressed against the table.
You gasped when its nose nuzzled into your skirt. You kicked at him blindly in attempt to drive him away. Your foot kept moving through the air, missing or not reaching far enough. When you did manage to land a blow, the beast didn’t even react. It didn’t stiffen or grunt in pain.
“Let go of me,” you hissed. It kept sniffing. Short puffs of air rustled your dress and hair. The more it took in, the harder its hand pressed against you. “If you don’t, I’ll-“ Your words caught in your throat as the beast loomed over you once more. Something hot and sticky pressed against your skirt. Your eyes widened. You hadn’t been sure before, but now you knew that it was a male. Nyssa’s comment about spring returned to your mind, carrying more weight than before. It couldn’t be real. He was more wolf than man now. Surely he would have just found a feral dog instead.
You tensed as the beast grabbed your skirt and lifted it. The material was then bunched around your waist. You shivered as cold air met your legs. The beast exhaled above you, the last of his breath shifting into a ragged snarl. His cock, even warmer now that was pressed against your skin, rubbed against your smallclothes.
You swallowed. “You can take whatever you want from the pantry.”
The beast’s hand slid down your back. “Are you trying to barter with me?”
You hesitated. You didn’t know if the truth would anger him. You chose to risk it. “I-I can leave food for you every n-night so you don’t have to hunt.”
“And trying to sweeten your offer, no less. It won’t work. I know exactly what I want from you.” He dragged your smallclothes down to your knees, leaving you bare for him. His mouth opened. Hot air pooled across your back as he panted and growled.
“Your scent is always sweet, but to be so close is…intoxicating.” His teeth were bared as he spoke, like he was barely clinging to human speech. “I’ve always wanted to have you, but now you smell so good. So…fertile…”
Your heartbeat pounded in your ears. His thumb strayed to your inner thigh. He forced your legs apart bit by bit. With just a bit more pressure, he parted your folds and revealed your entrance.
The familiar heat and slickness prodded against you. You tried to fight against his grip, but could barely move. His claws dug into your flesh. You winced as the little marks stung and droplets of fresh blood bubbled up.
“Stay still,” he growled.
“Find someone else!” you pleaded.
“No, I’ll only ever have you. Wolves mate for life. From the moment I saw you, smelled you-“ The tip finally found its mark. It stretched you open. His breathing became labored as he plunged deeper and deeper inside of you. “I knew…I knew that I had to have you.”
Your fingernails dug into the table beneath you. You hadn’t been with a man since Ilya had disappeared. Even then, the beast’s cock was different than a human’s. You felt every movement, every stutter of his hips as he tried not to carelessly rut into you. Tears filled your eyes as the head of his cock found your cervix. The tip nestled against it like a passionate kiss. You pressed your forehead against the table. You felt like you could barely breathe with something so big still inside of you.
The beast let out a long, pleased hum, like he was tempted to howl in victory but knew better than to alert the other townsfolk. Nikolas would be the one to stop him. If he knew countless stories about werewolves, he would be the one to kill the beast once and for all.
The beast’s cock withdrew. His body quivered with a feral need as he shoved himself back inside your heat. “Oh, sweetheart…You feel so good…” The instant that you tried to lift your upper body, his hand shot out and pinned you back down. “Stay there. Yes, just like that.”
You were relieved to feel that he didn’t go as far the second time, but his pace was becoming faster. The more his cock rubbed against you, the easier it was for him to snap his hips back to meet yours. You were still wrapped around him so tightly, and yet his path was becoming slick with his fluids. The feeling of his fur against your thighs was strange. It was softer than you thought it would be, but the heat of it loomed over you. Despite the night air being so cold, you didn’t feel it at all.
He slowed, then stopped. He straightened as if to look something over. He angled his hips experimentally. You waited, unsure of what he was trying to do. Then, without warning, his hips snapped forward to meet yours. You let out a sharp cry as he hit something different. When he pulled back, the head of his cock rubbed at your walls in small, deliberate strokes. It made your legs quiver. Your mouth hung open as he kept going. Wetness dripped down your thighs.
The beast laughed. “There we go. You like that, don’t you?”
You didn’t answer. Your face burned with anger and shame. Your expression faltered. You felt dizzy. You hadn’t felt anything like this in a long time. Not since Ilya had left, and your bed had grown cold. Your body relaxed against the table. You were thankful that it was there hold you up. Your legs were getting weaker. You couldn’t find the strength to kick and fight against him.
He plunged into you once more. This time, something had flared at the base. It pushed at your entrance. It teased you open before finally slipping inside. You made a small noise at the discomfort as his hips withdrew, but the bulb tugged at your walls. It came out, but it was still growing. Soon it wouldn’t be able to get inside of you. Or out. Your heart leapt into your throat. Could a monster…could he really- The muscles in your back tightened as the bulb pressed against you again. It was bigger now. Your body offered more resistance to the intrusion. You hoped that it wouldn’t fit. Maybe it would convince him to back off.
Instead, he rubbed the tip of his cock against that sweet spot inside of you. Over and over and over again. You moaned softly. Heat pooled between your legs. Each time, the wideness prodded at your entrance. It spread you further apart with every stroke.
With a sudden, sharp thrust, the beast forced his way back inside of you. You squirmed. The feeling of it made you uncomfortable. It swelled. When he withdrew, even though it was only slight, your walls tightened around him. He snarled. His hips snapped back against yours. You yelped in response to the pressure against your cervix. It nearly knocked the breath from your lungs.
The beast’s movements became shorter. He rocked back and forth at a leisurely pace. It was only a façade. You could feel the way his hips twitched and stuttered. His hands slammed down on the table on either side of you. The sound of it made you jump. The small jolt made you tighten around him. The wood splintered and groaned beneath the weight, but didn’t break completely. His claws dug into the surface. He began to move again in quick, deep thrusts. The table creaked with each change of direction.
“I’ve always wanted to have you, just like this. Underneath me. Taking everything I give you. Ilya was always in the fucking way. I made me sick to see him with you. Parading you around like he deserved you. As if he had done anything worthwhile to prove himself the worthy candidate.” His dark claws dragged down the wood, creating rows of tears. He drove into you harder, the tip of his cock never straying far from your cervix.
You panted and gasped. You wanted to get away from him, but you didn’t have the strength. Your body was exhausted from fighting. Your muscles ached. The tension in your belly had been growing, little by little. Now it was overwhelming. You knew that you were nearing the edge, no matter how much you tried to stop it. He was stretching you so wide. Going so deep. Your body glistened with a thin layer of sweat. The fur at his hips was wet with your slick. It was cold as it brushed against your thighs. “Please…”
He rewarded you with another rough tilt of his hips. “Please what?”
“Take it out. Don’t- Don’t come inside of me.”
The beast didn’t like that answer. His hand pressed against your back, pinning you down onto the table to keep you in place. “No. Not after I’ve waited for so long to claim you. I’m going to breed you. I’m going to fill you so full that your body has no choice but to take my seed. And I’ll watch, day by day, as your womb swells with my pups until everyone in this fucking town knows that you’re spoken for.”
You tried to arch your back to get his hand off of you. Your arm blindly reached out in an attempt to push him away.
He snatched your wrist. His claws bit into your skin. “Do you understand? That fucking hunter might have been your fiancé, but that just a useless half-title. I’m going to be the father of your child. That’s more than some flowery promise and metal on your finger. You’ll be bound to me by flesh and-!”
The coil snapped. You whimpered and squirmed as your walls spasmed around him. Instinct took over. He let go of your arm. He hunched over you, hands gripping the opposite end of the table as he pushed his hips flush against yours. Searing heat pooled into you. Each time you tightened around his cock, more and more fluid spurted inside of you. His cock twitched with every flutter. You could feel something pulsing amidst his fur.
His hand moved your hair from your shoulder. He buried his snout into the crook of your neck and inhaled deeply. He nipped at your flesh, his tongue quickly darting out afterwards to lave against the marks. You didn’t turn to look at him, even though a part of you wanted to. It wasn’t likely that you’d be able to tell who he was. A wolf’s head was different than a man’s. You doubted many features carried over during the transformation.
You forced yourself to relax against the table. You stared at the grooves in the surface and prayed that the knot would shrink quickly. His seed was still pouring into you. With the knot swollen so snugly inside of your walls, none of it could escape. You could feel it, warm and viscous, as it poured into your womb. Every time he shifted his weight in an attempt to get comfortable, the fluid sloshed and more was pushed deeper. His hand wandered downward. His palm rubbed the inside of your thigh in slow, deliberate circles.
You flinched as he filled you to the brim, but more kept coming. His knot still wasn’t going down. An uncomfortable fullness quickly gave way to pain. You whined and tried to push him away. He growled, angry that you were trying to refuse his knot.
“It’s too much,” you wheezed. “It hurts.”
To your surprise, he relented. He pulled you further down the table until only your chest and arms were splayed across the surface, all while still locked inside of you. You sighed in relief as it took some of the pressure off. It only lasted for a moment. The beast’s hand moved from your thigh. It slipped further up your dress. It smoothed over your stomach. Softly enough that it didn’t add to the discomfort, but enough that you knew your belly had rounded out slightly. There was a weight to what he touched. You were so full that your womb had swelled outward just enough to be felt.
“You’ll carry my pups so well.” His voice rumbled through your back. “I can’t wait to see you showing through your clothes.”
A trickle followed. His cock shifted inside of you. The discomfort lessened. He stepped back. His softened knot slipped out with a wet pop. Fluid poured down your thighs. You sniffled, tears finally falling. You straightened despite the ache in your back. You stumbled a bit, but managed to keep yourself upright. You pulled your dress back down to cover yourself. You didn’t look. You didn’t want to. You just wanted him to leave.
Your wish was granted. Footsteps softly padded away. The back door opened and closed. A howl rang through the air. Closer, then faded as the beast ran off. You tiredly cleaned up the floor as best as you could. You weren’t willing to leave any trace behind. You stared at the table for a moment. You couldn’t do anything about the marks. You’d just have to keep it covered the next time Nyssa wandered into the kitchens. A bath was your next step. The wounds on your hips, arm, and shoulder stung. With your body still wet, you collapsed into your bed. Sleep came quickly.
The rooster’s call made you groan. You felt like you had only slept for a few minutes. Sitting up brought a dull ache to your hips and entrance. You stared warily down at your lap. You had hoped that the events of the night before had just been a dream influenced by Nyssa’s ramblings, but you hadn’t been so lucky. You got dressed. The soreness of your body persisted.
It wasn’t until you got downstairs that you heard talking. You were the only one that lived there, and Nyssa wasn’t supposed to arrive until noon. You headed toward the noise and rushed into the kitchens.
Two heads turned to look at you. Nyssa’s eyes were wide. She was clasping her hands in front of her chest. Nikolas was with her. He was wearing his usual hunting gear that was made from a dark leather. He had none of his weapons save the dagger strapped to his thigh. His arms were crossed. You couldn’t read his expression through his full beard, and you honestly didn’t care. He had been in your eyesight for all of two seconds and you were already tired of his presence.
You slipped a new apron over your head and cinched it tight behind you. “What are you doing here?”
“I asked him to come,” Nyssa explained. “Didn’t you hear the howling last night? I-It was coming from this side of town, so I wanted to make sure that everything was okay.”
“Well, my house is still standing and I’m still alive, so everything seems to be in order,” you countered.
“Not quite.” Nikolas gestured to the table. “It seems the werewolf truly was here.”
You approached, even though you knew what they were so interested in. You stared at the gouges in the wood. You scoffed. “Maybe it’s a werecat. I’ve never seen a dog scratch at furniture.”
“Where were you last night?” Nikolas asked.
“Here,” you replied. “I finished my preparations and cleaned up. Then I went to bed.” Your brow furrowed. “Why does it matter?”
He stared back at you, unwavering. “I find it odd that you didn’t hear anything.”
Your temper flared. “Are you excusing me of being the werewolf?”
“I’m addressing a concern,” he shot back in a flat tone. He took a step to the side. “I want to check your inventory.”
You placed yourself in front of him, barring his path out of the kitchen.
Nikolas pulled his shoulders back. “Interfering like this tells me that you’re hiding something.”
“I’m not hiding anything.” You moved even closer to him. He was a head taller than you, but you weren’t afraid of him in the slightest. “You’re the one trespassing. I didn’t invite you in here.”
“Investigating a werewolf-“
“There isn’t a werewolf!” you argued. “They don’t exist. The only reason that you insist on telling these stories is to sc-“
“That’s enough!” Nyssa pushed herself between you and Nikolas. “Stop fighting, both of you. Ilya wouldn’t want to see you fighting like this.”
Both your and Nikolas’ expressions soured. You kept silent, albeit begrudgingly.
You relented. You went to the pantry, even though you knew what you were about to find. When you opened the door, you were well aware of the footsteps following you. The light patter of Nyssa. The heavy boots of Nikolas. You didn’t look, but you felt him looming behind you. Nyssa tried to peek on either side of him.
“What’s missing?” Nikolas asked.
You sighed. “A slab of meat. Maybe two. It doesn’t prove anything. Wild dogs would do the same.”
“They would have had trouble with the door,” he countered. He didn’t flinch when you glared at him. “And a man couldn’t eat a whole slab.”
You shut the pantry door. “Then I suppose you should go out and scour every cupboard in town to see who stole it.” You waved them both away. “I need to get started on my work. You can both go back to whatever it is you were doing before you came to bother me.”
“Wait!” Nyssa hurried after you as you went back to the kitchens. “Will you at least let Nikolas put up some wards? You were lucky enough that you didn’t get hurt last time, but…if it comes back…”
You turned. Your gaze lifted to Nikolas. He was staring at the pantry’s door. More specifically, he was looking at the dents in the wood. You hesitated. Nyssa wrung her hands. If you didn’t assuage her fears, it was unlikely she’d ever set foot in your tavern again. You couldn’t make food and serve drinks at the same time. You shrugged. “Do whatever you like, but I’m not paying for it.”
“I charge for game,” Nikolas called after you, “Not protection.”
“How altruistic of you,” you muttered.
The moon waned, waxed, then waned again. The werewolf didn’t return to your home. Instead, some livestock had been found dead in the fields. Large chunks of meat and been ripped and bitten from the bodies. Many of the townsfolk were becoming concerned. A wolf’s jaws were too small for such a thing, but a werewolf was a different story.
You refused to credit Nikolas’ wards. You couldn’t fathom how a little carving above each door and window could possibly keep a creature like that out. Even now, as you entered the kitchens amidst the early morning cold, the little image on the door frame looked pitiful. A figure within a circle. You had overheard Nikolas explain that it was a moon looming behind them. You shook your head and grabbed your apron, slipping your head through the top strap. You have too much work to do to worry about anything, especially Nikolas. The town council was having a meeting and wanted you to cater it. Kelv had brought over a list of his father’s demands. It was far too much food for six people, but it wasn’t like you could argue. You wanted to get paid, after all.
You moved toward the table. The grooves were still there from the werewolf. You averted your gaze and tightened the ribbon of your apron, only to pause. Your gaze fell. The way it draped over you felt…different. You loosened the knot and tied it again. The uneasy feeling was still there. You gently smoothed down the front of the apron. It moved lower and lower, and yet you felt no change. Then, your hand froze just beneath your navel. A slight curve. Not even noticeable at first glance. You pressed your lips together. A few days ago, one of the drunks had teased you about gaining weight.
...
No, it couldn’t be. You had to just be imagining it.
“Hello!” Nyssa chimed from the front entrance. She closed the door behind her before joining you in the kitchen. She was so cheery despite it being so late. Upon seeing you, she stopped in her tracks. “Are you alright? You look like you haven’t slept.”
You waved off her concern as you transferred a large bowl from the shelf to the table. You had left the mixture of flour and water to ferment. It always smelled a little sour, as it should, but this time it was overwhelming. Your stomach was in knots just from being close to it. Your apron was still sitting differently on you. You were lucky enough that no one had noticed. You tried to angle yourself away from Nyssa. You had seen the looks she had been giving you lately. She knew that something was going on, but hadn’t asked outright.
“Do you need any-“
You couldn’t take it. You turned and vomited into the waste pail hooked on the wall. For a moment, you remained there, leaning over the bucket and trying to breathe through the nausea. You experimentally moved your tongue. You wanted to wash the acidic taste out, but you still felt ill.
Nyssa was by your side in an instant. She grabbed your arm in case you collapsed. “You can’t work like this. You need to see a physiker.”
You swallowed. You couldn’t allow for that to happen. If this was what you thought it was, if you were… You couldn’t let anyone attend to you. No one could know. If they did, you wouldn’t be able to do anything about it. You glared at the bottom of the pail. This wasn’t the first time this had happened. It was just the first time you had been caught. “I’m fine.”
“You aren’t,” Nyssa insisted.
“The nearest physiker is in the next town over.” You shakily inhaled. Your eyes closed as you attempted to focus on anything but the nausea. “It’s not like I can walk there this late.”
Her grip on your arm loosened for a moment. Then, it returned to its full strength. “Then you should see my granny. She’ll know what to do.”
You managed to lift your head and look at her warily. You wiped your mouth on your sleeve. Nyssa’s grandmother had a reputation. The children of Fyerdin called her Granny Waxwood or the Waxwood Witch. She lived in a house on the outskirts of town. She was called the Waxwood Witch because she was obsessed with the healing properties of candles and their wax. She would leave candles burning at all hours. She would use the wax for everything. She would bathe in the melted wax and even use it as a perfume, coating layer upon layer onto her skin to the point that her skin looked like the bark of a tree. When she thought no one was looking, she would eat chunks of wax from a small pot she always-
You turned and vomited into the bucket once more. You sighed, knowing that you shouldn’t have thought too deeply about it. You doubted that you’d survive the trip unscathed. You’d probably end up with a set of candles shoved into your arms.
“Promise me that you’ll go,” Nyssa whispered. “I’ll take care of things here.”
You looked to her again. The concern on her face was undeniable. Your expression softened. “…Fine.”
“Good!” She clapped her hands. “Apron off. Out you go.”
You begrudgingly allowed her to take your apron and shoo you out of your own kitchen. You wouldn’t admit it, but the fresh air brought relief. It was a nice change compared to the yeast and booze. Still, that didn’t mean your journey was going to be a pleasant one.
Nyssa’s grandmother lived on the other side of a river. Crossing it was the only bridge in Fyerdin. Technically it existed as a symbol of the town’s limits, but that had been decreed when the town was only made up of twenty-five people.
You approached the bridge. Seeing it always reminded you of the stories your father had told you of trolls and goblins and other monsters. You wished that he had stayed home to tell you more stories rather than fight and die for some distant king.
You kept to the right side of the bridge. You glanced down at the water rushing beneath. The river was wide due to the snow still melting in the north. You raised your head again. Merchants and other travelers used these roads. You didn’t want to get hit by a cart or robbed by thieves.
The house was easy to find. All of the windowsills were filled with candles. The flames danced against the glass. Even the edges of the door were illuminated, as if all of the light was trapped inside and eager to burst free. As you drew closer, you could see Nyssa’s grandmother puttering about. Your brow furrowed as you wondered what she was doing. After watching for a bit longer, you realized she was rearranging the candles in her home. Your pace slowed as you considered the idea that maybe she wasn’t the best person to ask for advice. A pack of wolves howling in the distance forced your hand. You kept moving.
You hesitated when you reached the door. There were countless handprints along the wood. All of them were from frail, thin hands covered in wax. Your attention lowered to the doorknob. It was covered in wax, too. You decided to knock on the doorframe instead. “Hello?”
The old woman stopped moving. For a moment, you almost thought that all of the flames had gone still. Silence. Then, shuffled footsteps coming toward the door. “Who is it?”
“_____,” you replied. “I’m a friend of Nyssa’s. I was wondering if I could-“
The door swung open, revealing the Waxwood Witch in all of her glory. Her nightgown was stained with multiple layers. Her skin was coated in different colours and scents. Her feet were covered in soot. She stared up at you with wide eyes. When she tilted her head, her hair barely moved. There was too much wax coating her scalp.
You tried your best to take a subtle step back. The smell was making you dizzy. “I-I’m sorry if I woke you. Nyssa-“
“You want candles?”
“No, I’m looking for some help.”
“Help from candles.”
Your mouth opened, but you said nothing. You refocused. “No, not from candles. From you.”
She ushered you in. Against your better judgment, you obliged. You lifted your skirts to make sure that they didn’t catch flame. There were so many candles and so much wax covering the floor that it was hard to walk around. Narrow paths zigzagged through the house. You followed her into another room. There were two wooden chairs. One was completely clean. You guessed that it was where Nyssa sat when she visited. You sat down.
The woman sat down across from you. She looked you over. She seemed to be a bit more coherent now that she was back inside.
You waited, anxious. You didn’t know how useful she would be regarding your predicament. You weren’t even sure if she would keep this a secret from Nyssa. At the very least, the Waxwood Witch wouldn’t be able to tell anyone else. Whenever she came into town for supplies, she was avoided at all cost. She got most things for free because the townsfolk were afraid of her. Well, most of the townsfolk. The candlemaker was more than happy to see her.
You leaned forward. “What should I call you?”
“Granny Waxwood.”
You hesitated. “I mean your name.”
“Granny Waxwood.”
“I…I wouldn’t want to insult you.”
“Insult? I like it.”
You stared at her. This was going nowhere.
Her head tilted once more. “Boy or girl?”
Your body went cold. She couldn’t possibly be insinuating- “I’m a girl.”
“I know you’re girl. I mean little one.”
“L…” Your throat tightened. You couldn’t repeat it. “I-I’m- How-“
“Can tell.” She gestured to your abdomen. “I see?”
You didn’t want to, but she was already up before you could refuse. She placed her hand below your navel. Your face burned. The resistance against her hand was obvious. Still not noticeable at first glance, but enough to be felt, and it was growing bigger.
She shuffled away. “Very tiny little one.”
You sniffled. You had hoped that you were wrong when it first crossed your mind. Now, it felt like the weight of your reality was crashing down on top of you. “…What can I- What am I supposed to do?”
“No drink. Careful. Take rest.”
You didn’t know what to say. You had hoped that she would have a more short-term solution. You had heard people whispering about it. Certain herbs that would stop things before they progressed. Then again, you knew that there was a reason those things were whispered.
“River flowers.”
You looked to her once more.
“Crush up. Put in water. Drop of blood. Will glow.”
You hesitated. You hadn’t seen flowers on the way to her house.
“Married?”
You shook your head. You knew it would be a problem as time passed. Soon enough, you wouldn’t be able to hide the pregnancy. Knowing that you weren’t married, the townsfolk would disapprove. You would be stared at. Gossiped about. They would smile to your face but shake their heads when you weren’t looking. And how were you supposed to raise a child? You owned a tavern. You couldn’t have them crying in another room when the patrons were too rowdy. You couldn’t close down. The werewolf was someone in the town. What if he tried to get involved? Your hands shook as you tried to think of a more positive outcome, but you only came up with more worries.
You stood up. You needed to leave. You needed to think of something. “Thank you. Good night.”
You hurried out before she could call after you.
You huffed in annoyance. You had walked alongside the riverbank as it twisted and curved until you were exhausted. The moon was hanging high in the darkness. You stared up at it, basking in the glow. Maybe Nyssa’s grandmother was wrong. Maybe the flowers were from somewhere far away. Your shoulders fell. They probably didn’t even exist in the first place.
The sight of something dark made you go still. It was faint, but you could still see it. Blood. You looked upstream, farther ahead on your path. There was a curve in the river. On the outer side was a dark figure. It was crouched by the edge of the water. Its pink tongue dipped into the river to pull up mouthfuls. Its maw was shining with a dark fluid. The river water was slowly washing it away as the beast drank.
You froze. It was the werewolf. You needed to leave. You watched the beast. If he heard or saw you, you were going to run and hide as fast as you could.
The wind shifted. You shivered as the cold blew over your back. The iciness only settled deeper into your chest when you saw the grass rustle in a slow path towards him.
The tongue disappeared. Ears swiveled. His head lifted as he sniffed the air. Then, he looked right at you.
“_____?”
You flinched. The voice had come from somewhere else. You turned in its direction.
Nyssa was standing a few feet away. Her hands were clasped together.
You glanced over your shoulder. The river was empty. You swallowed. For a moment, you wondered if you had really seen the beast or if you were just consumed by worry. You refocused on Nyssa. “What are you doing out here?”
“Looking for you!” She hurried closer. “You were gone for ages. I thought that something had happened, so I left the bar.”
Your priorities shifted. “You didn’t close down? What if something happens?”
She crossed her arms. “You’re the one in trouble, not-!”
A howl put a stop to your argument. It was close. Far too close. And it was alone. You knew what it was.
Nyssa grabbed your hand. “We need to go back. It’s too dangerous out here. We’ll sort everything out then.”
You allowed her to pull you back into town. Even as the urge to glance over your shoulder grew stronger and the weight of a distant gaze grew heavier, you kept your gaze on her.
The chill of night was being kept at bay by the flame before you. The tavern had been opened for a few hours already. You could hear people singing and talking and laughing. You were sure that every seat was full. It certainly sounded like it. With so many people drinking, you were hidden away in the kitchens making their food. You didn’t mind it in the slightest. You hadn’t been able to find the river flowers. There was no need. You hadn’t bled since the spring festival. The swell continued to grow. You couldn’t deny it any longer, as much as you wanted to. You were thankful that you always wore an apron. At least it made things a bit more ambiguous. But that wouldn’t last forever. You had seen some of the older women give you looks when you were running errands that morning. It wouldn’t be long until speculation became fact.
Your gaze fell. Your hand slipped between the white fabric and your dress. Fingertips ghosted over the curve. Against your better judgment, you gently pressed your palm against it. There was only slight resistance. You mostly felt your own flesh. You frowned. Soon enough, your womb would be full to the brim and it would be firm to the touch. You wouldn’t be able to ignore it.
“_____!”
Your hand immediately withdrew. You turned from the stove.
Nyssa stood in the doorway, panting. “Could you help me for a bit? It’s a madhouse out there.”
“Give me a moment to finish these and I’ll be right out.”
She sighed. “Thank you. You’re a lifesaver.”
You got back to what you were doing, hurrying this time. When everything was plated, you carried the food out yourself. Sliced and buttered bread for the regulars. Meat and potatoes for those with more of an appetite. Your final stop was at a table in the back corner. A few of the younger men were there, laughing. Kelv and Henris were in attendance. They usually stopped by whenever Kelv’s father had given him a bit of money to spend. It was clear that they were all drunk. Even the merchant you had danced with at the festival, Arthur, was slurring his words.
“You’re heaven-sent.” Tomas hunched over his plate the moment you set it down. “What do you put in this?”
You grinned, placing your hands on your hips. “If I told you that, I’d be out of a job.”
“I wish I could eat your cooking every day,” Arthur drawled. “I almost wish I didn’t have to leave at first light tomorrow. Could you make me something for the road?”
“I have some extra pastries that-“ You laughed as all four of them cheered. “I suppose I should bring out one for each of you?”
They nodded.
“Do any of you need another drink?”
Tomas sniffled. “She’s heaven-sent.”
“Nyssa just came by, so we’re all set,” Henris replied.
“Perfect. I’ll be right back.” You disappeared into the kitchen, returning with four more plates. “Can I get you boys anything else?”
“Your hand,” Kelv answered with a hiccup. “Not for me, though.” He gestured to Henris. “Please just get married already. I’m tired of hearing him whine about you.”
Henris’ expression faltered. He immediately sobered. His back straightened. He stared down at his dessert and didn’t say a word.
“The miller’s son and the best baker east of the Hymnals.” Arthur waved his hand like he was directing a music troupe. “The perfect match.”
You were about to go along with their game, but you noticed Henris’ brow twitch. His hand were clenched beneath the table. You relented. “Well, I’ll let Nyssa know that you’ve all had enough to drink. Enjoy the rest of your night.”
You continued down the line of booths. Nyssa flitted up and down the bar to refill mugs. She smiled when your fleeting gazes met. More ale and beer was poured. More barrels were opened.
The second-to-last booth housed some of the heaviest drinkers in Fyerdin. You smiled, though you made sure to keep your distance. Richard was the only one still awake, but his tendency to grope any woman that wasn’t his wife grew even stronger when he was drunk. “Do you need another drink?”
He stared up at you blankly. Then, his attention lowered.
You did your best to mask your disgust. You didn’t appreciate him ogling you on a normal night, but this was even worse.
He didn’t look up. “How about a sip from those tits of yours?”
You scowled. He hadn’t made that sort of comment before. Usually he just asked you to sit in his lap while you poured him another drink. You put your mask back on. Your laughter was a nervous lilt to it. “You and I both know that I don’t keep that in stock.” With that, you promptly walked past him. The booth nearest to the door looked empty. You hoped that it was. You had had enough of drunk men for the night.
Dark clothing came into view as you approached the table. Broad shoulders. Rough hands. It was the hair that gave him away. Black with wisps of silver, like stars in a midnight sky. Nikolas.
Your eyes narrowed. You said nothing. He had never stepped foot into your tavern before, so you weren’t sure why he was starting now. You had invited him countless times when you were still naïve and wanted to be kind to Ilya’s best friend. He always refused and walked off. Ilya tried to comfort you with the knowledge that he was quite nervous around people, but now you knew that he was just the type that didn’t know how to act around others.
Your annoyance grew worse as he didn’t even look at you. He was just staring down at his drink. You didn’t want to get him another one. Knowing him, he’d probably refuse.
Finally, you chose to speak up. “Did you come here to lick your wounds?”
Nikolas’ eyes lifted. He stared back at you.
“What got away from you this time? A deer?”
He leaned back against his seat. “No.”
You exhaled through your nose. The tension hang in the air. You looked to his mug. “Do you want another?”
“I’ll get it later.”
You rolled your eyes. “If you’re that attached to Nyssa, then bother her when she isn’t working.” You then headed farther back into the tavern.
At least, you would have, if Richard’s arm hadn’t shot out to stop you. He had gotten up from his seat and nearly collapsed onto you. One arm was around your waist, pulling your stomach flush against his. His other hand cupped your breast through your dress.
The tray you were folding clattered to the floor. One of the mugs broke with the impact. You tried to shove him away from you, but he was too persistent. “Let go of me!” you ordered.
“Whose brat is it?” He asked. His breath stank of ale.
You went to push him again. Another pair of hands grabbed Richard from behind. In the next instant, he was thrown to the floor. The room went quiet. Henris was standing beside you, red in the face from booze and rage. He turned to you. “Are you alright?”
You nodded. “Thank you.”
His gaze lingered on you, as if he wanted to say something else. He refocused on the drunk. “I think he’s had enough fun for the night.” He then grabbed Richard by the front of his shirt and hauled him up to his feet. Richard was nearly dragged out, his legs wobbling beneath him.
For a moment, you stood there. Your breathing had quickened despite it being such a brief struggle. Your heart was still pounding in your chest. Everyone had turned to look when Richard hit the floor. You hoped that no one had heard anything else. You glanced to Nikolas. He had been the closest. He wasn’t looking at you. He was taking another sip from his mug.
You took a shaky breath and disappeared into the kitchens once more.
Hours later, you closed the tavern for the night. The moment the doors were locked, your body wilted. Your hands slipped behind your back to arch it. Everything felt sore. You didn’t bother cleaning up. You would worry about it tomorrow. After what had happened, you just wanted to sleep and forget.
You trudged up the stairs. You were panting softly by the time you reached the top. Your gaze lowered to your abdomen. It still had so much growing to do. You didn’t know how you would manage. You swallowed. You supposed that you’d find out eventually.
Your bed was a welcome sight. You changed into a nightgown quickly. It sank beneath your hands and knees as you climbed inside. You lowered your head onto the pillow and shut your eyes.
You stirred as a distant noise woke you. You turned to look at the window. The sky was just beginning to change colour. The rooster hadn’t called out to start the day. You got up, mind still foggy. Your hands moved with practiced ease, even though you were still half asleep. You reached for the latch, only to feel that it wasn’t in place. You rubbed your eyes before taking a better look at it. You didn’t remember leaving it open. You gently pushed the panes apart. At first glance, there didn’t seem to be any damage. Your brow furrowed. You peered out the window. Your room was on the second floor. No one could reach the window unless they had a ladder There was no sign of anything like that in the soil. You straightened. You closed the window and locked it.
It wasn’t until you stepped away that you felt something strange. The fabric of your nightgown was sticking to your body. It didn’t make sense. You weren’t sweating. Your hair was completely dry. You grabbed the fabric and pulled it from your skin. The sight of a dark stain made you freeze. Not breathing, you lifted it higher. You whimpered, tears forming in your eyes as the shape came into view. Five marks were the darkest. Fingers from a hand larger than any man’s. At the ends were smaller, triangular stains. The tips of claws. The palm was faint. It had picked up the blood that had dripped from the fingers.
You let go. Your gaze followed the stain. It settled over your stomach once more. Dread washed over you. He had broken in while you were sleeping. He had stood behind you and placed his hand on the growing swell.
You wrenched the nightgown from your body and tossed it into the hamper. You grabbed a dress and began to put it on. You would worry about the stain later. You were far more concerned with how he had gotten in. Maybe there was evidence on one of the doors, or he had used a ladder to get to your room. You hurried down the stairs. The front door was too risky. He would have been seen by someone. The back entrance was much more likely.
When you turned to walk down the hallway leading to the back door, you stopped dead in your tracks. The door was open. Cautiously, you approached it. It was ajar. You couldn’t tell if it had been pulled close to shut by the wind or if the werewolf had moved it on his way out. You leaned down to examine the door more closely. The lock wasn’t broken, but it was covered in scratches. The frame was in the same state. Had he forced it open with his-
A figure moved to stand behind the door. You jumped to your feet with a gasp.
Kelv opened the door. “Did you just wake up?”
You stared at him. What was he doing at your back door? Why hadn’t he knocked on the front or shouted for you? You took a step away from him, your hand over your chest as you tried to calm your heart. “A few minutes ago. Why?”
He hesitated, as if it wasn’t something you should know. “Something happened last night.”
Your hand fell to your side. You steeled yourself. “What happened? Tell me.”
“Jonathan found a body in his fields.”
Your throat tightened. You had a bad feeling about this. “Whose body?”
“Richard’s.”
A second passed. Two. Three. The blood on your clothes. Was it from-
You strode past Kelv. You headed straight toward Jonathan’s property.
“_____, wait!”
“I need to see this for myself.”
He caught up, walking beside you. “You’re not wearing any shoes.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“Is something going on? You’ve been acting strange lately.”
You didn’t reply. You just kept walking. Finding the scene was easy enough. Most of the townfolk were already gathered around. Women were clustered behind the fence, hands covering their mouths and tears in their eyes. Children leaned this way and that to get a closer look or played amongst themselves out of boredom. Men were staggered throughout the field, all facing one particular spot. Jonathan was talking to the mayor.
“_____!” Kelv called after you once more.
You didn’t listen. You stepped onto the field, ignoring the feeling of dewy grass and mud between your toes. Your attention shifted to someone standing behind Jonathan and the mayor. Henris. He was farther away than the others. His arms were crossed. He was staring at the ground. You faltered. He had been the one to pull Richard away from you and drag him out of the tavern. It was almost right after his friends had let slip that he had feelings for you. You swallowed. Was this his doing?
You stopped when the body came into view. Your lips pressed together. The smell of blood was so strong that you could taste it. You tried to breathe through the nausea as you looked over corpse. Richard’s body had been torn apart. His organs had spilled from gaping wounds in his abdomen, staining his skin and his clothes and the ground beneath him.
Nikolas was kneeling beside the body. He hadn’t looked up when you approached. His attention was focused on the wounds.
“What do you think?” The mayor moved to stand next to him.
“Too rabid to be a man. Too smart to be an animal.”
“A werewolf?” Jonathan asked. “Like the one that killed my cows and sheep?”
“It’s the same one. They’re solitary creatures. They don’t hunt in packs like wolves.”
“Were the sheep not enough? Has it moved onto humans now?”
“It wouldn’t kill a human if there was a better meal around. This was personal.”
You glanced to Henris. He had moved further away.
Suddenly, he was eclipsed by Nikolas’ shoulder. He was standing now, over a head taller than you were. His gaze was focused solely on you. It only lasted for a moment. Then, he turned away as if you weren’t even there. “The tracks lead into the forest. I won’t be able to trace it back to a source.”
“So you can’t figure out who it is,” you spoke up.
Several pairs of eyes flickered to you, including Nikolas’.
The mayor was the one to speak. “I trust that you’ll be able to sort this out, Nikolas.”
“There are wards I can use. Certain materials that can drive it away. But there’s another problem.”
You tensed. You had a feeling you knew where this was going.
“What is it?” the mayor asked.
“It’s likely that the werewolf is someone in Fyerdin.”
Silence fell over the field. When Nikolas looked to the forest, Henris was gone.
“It would be wise to start a curfew,” Nikolas continued. “You’ll have to get volunteers to stand guard at night.”
The mayor nodded. “I’ll ask around today. I hope that you’ll join them.”
“I will.”
With the decision made, the crowd began to disperse. You walked back to the tavern alone. For once, you were actually relieved by Nikolas’ presence. At the same time, you were worried that someone else would die. The werewolf had only chased off Ilya. If your suspicions were correct and the beast had killed Richard for touching you, he was becoming more territorial. You refused to think of it as him protecting you.
You slowed as you entered the garden behind the tavern. You grew some of your own supplies and bought everything else. Usually you only worried about the things that were too expensive to buy on its own. You looked over the mud and the glistening plants. Some of the stems were broken. There were footprints leading to the back door. You frowned. You brought out a rake and upturned what soil you could. It would look suspicious if you only worried about the pawprints. You wiped your brow when you were finished. You had never thought that you’d be hiding evidence of such a creature. Then again, you hadn’t even believed in such monsters a few moons ago.
You washed your feet off before heading back inside. You glanced to the stairs. You wondered if it would be better to burn the nightgown or wash it.
A knock at the door put a stop to those thoughts. You looked over your shoulder. The sound had come from the back door. You approached warily. The werewolf wouldn’t show up in the middle of the day. Someone would see him. You wondered if it was Henris, or Kelv, or-
Opening the door revealed none of the men you expected. You were instead met with the sight of dark leather. Your gaze lifted. Dark hair. Light eyes.
So, if the whole werewolf thing wasn't a thing, what's the potential of Nikolas x protagonist? What would that relationship be like?
It’s unlikely. Their respective circles don’t overlap very often. Nikolas is a loner and prefers quieter places. The protagonist runs a tavern, so she’s in the worst place for someone like Nikolas.
Additionally, they’re both stubborn. They’re so used to bickering and fighting with each other that it would take a long time for them to relent and be nicer. Nyssa would have to act as mediator for a long time, jumping up and scolding them whenever they start getting irritable.
Ilya is another problem. He and the protagonist were engaged prior to his disappearance. Ilya is Nikolas’ best friend. There would be some guilt involved. They would both feel like their relationship would be disrespectful to Ilya.
However, if things slowly improved and Nyssa was able to wrangle them both into playing nice? It could work, but it would take a lot of compromise. The protagonist will be hesitant to sell her tavern or stop working there. Nikolas won’t want to give up his solitary lifestyle.
In general:
No matter what, they share a bed together. Even if the protagonist works until late at night and Nikolas is up early, they share a bed. If the protagonist is still asleep when Nikolas gets up, he’ll give her a kiss before leaving.
Nikolas knows the forests surrounding Fyerdin like the back of his hand. When he’s feeling more open about his emotions, he’ll bring the protagonist to the most romantic places.
Getting Nikolas to eat anything the protagonist makes is still a struggle. He grew up with plain foods, so anything too sweet will make him feel ill. If the protagonist makes savoury foods, he’ll clean his plate and ask for seconds and thirds.
The protagonist won’t want to hunt with him. She doesn’t like the idea of killing things. She will, however, listen to any stories he tells her. He’s quite good at storytelling, much to her surprise. He usually sits down with her and tells her stories when the tavern is closed in the mornings, or when she’s sewing up his clothes in the evenings.
Nikolas is secretly romantic. He’s just not very good at showing it. He’ll leave flowers in the tavern’s kitchen. He’ll linger close to her whenever they’re together in public. If the protagonist ever points these things out, he’ll grumble that he’s going for a walk and try to leave. If the protagonist manages to trap him and thank him, he’ll blush all the way up to his ears.
Regarding intimacy:
The sexual tension is constant. Even something as small as them catching each other’s gaze from across the room will spark the flame. Angry/jealous sex doesn’t happen as often as you’d think, though. They usually get too frustrated with each other and need space to cool off instead.
Nikolas has a lot of scars. The newer ones are from hunting. The older ones are from fighting in his younger years. He doesn’t particularly like them. if the protagonist pays attention to them (touching, kissing), his breath will catch in his throat. He has quite a bit of body hair, so some scars are harder to see than others.
He’s had some experience, but his reserved nature carries over into sex. He’s content to let the protagonist take the lead.
The protagonist likes to tease, which never ends well for her. Nikolas is hard to read, so she can’t tell when enough is enough. He’ll just let her keep going until he finally snaps and turns the tables. Since he’s so strong, he has no problem holding her still while he gets sweet revenge.
He prefers giving oral rather than receiving. He’s not opposed to receiving, he’s just likes pleasing (and teasing) the protagonist more.
His cock is lovely. And big. Poor protagonist will walk funny if they’ve had a long night.
Nikolas prefers any position where the protagonist is facing him. Her straddling his lap is the most common situation. She can grip his shoulders, they can kiss, and his hands can wander. If she tries to hold out on him, he won’t hesitate to hold her waist and take control.
If he’s on top, it’s for one of two reasons. The first is that they’re both cuddled up in bed and things got heated. The protagonist doesn’t want to get cold, and Nikolas is more than willing to keep her nice and warm. The second is that the protagonist kept pushing his buttons, so she needs to learn her lesson.
(this is from the user who had asked about fanart ; v ; dunno if this is the ideal way to send fanart because I’ve never actually sent a blog submission before. my discord is Pink_Snom#5045 if that would be easier)
Wow, wow, wow! Thank you so much! Look at how big that handprint is! You really sold just how big the werewolf (werehusband) is in comparison to the protagonist. I’d love to see what you envision for the other characters in the story, if you’re willing!
I suspected the miller's son! Aka Henris! Even befor chapter three! Sorry for yelling! I'm just very invested. Also I didn't necessarily meant for Nikolas to protect her, but to keep a very close eye on the tavern and burst in once the werewolf had sneaked in. 🐺
I’m glad that you’re invested~ It means that I’m doing my job hahaha
Now that you mention it, though, having Nikolas protect her might be a good strategy for the protagonist. That is, if she can swallow her pride and ask him.
