Chapter 223

The warriors came at dawn.

They arrived in waves, lions and lionesses, tools in hand, eager to help. Word had spread that Prince Ravin’s mate needed the house expanded, and the pride had responded the way the pride always did. With their whole hearts. With their whole hands.

They worked day and night. They dug foundations and cut timber and hauled stone. They built walls and raised roofs and fitted doors. It was a frenzy of labor, cheerful and chaotic, and by the end of the first week, the house had grown beyond recognition.

We added four new rooms to the seven we already had.

One for Eryx, so that he no longer had to share with his brother. He had been sleeping in Veylan’s room since we got back, and with the wolf pup as well the room is cramped but Eryx, he never complained, I knew he deserved a space of his own. A door he could close. A corner that was his.

One for the four older boys, so they could sleep together in one room, they didn’t mind sharing it anyways since they are used to being together. They had been scattered across the house since we got back, crammed into corners and hallways. Now they had a proper den, their own space, a place to be loud and messy and young.

One for the cheetah boys, plus Niku and Sikai. Since they are more closer in age sharing a room would be perfect. But I just have to make sure they went to bed since these little trouble maker would talk all night and not go to bed if they got their way.

And we made one for the girls. All of them. Levy, the serpent girls, the pearlings, and the wolf girls, all together in one long room. It was a palace of giggling and secrets and braided hair, and the moment it was finished, they claimed it as their own.

That left the old nursery for me. For us. For whatever children came next.

Four new rooms. Eleven in total. It was enormous. It was ridiculous. And even as we finished it, I looked around and thought that perhaps, perhaps, we should simply move into a bigger space entirely.

The day went on, as days always did. The children were mischievous, racing through the new rooms, sliding down the fresh floors, hiding in the rafters and startling the workers. I scolded them, more than once, my voice rising above the chaos, and they grinned and scattered and did it all again the moment my back was turned.

And the older boys, my four oldest, went out to play.

I met Layla and Wren that afternoon.

Layla was glowing, her son Lennon at her side, the foal boy tall and lanky, all long legs and bright mane, appearing perhaps twelve in his human form. He was handsome, in a coltish, unfinished way, and he grinned at me when I ruffled his hair. Wren’s bear son was with her too, a burly boy of the same age, already broad and thick-armed, his shoulders wide, his jaw square. He would be a warrior, that one. A protector. But for now, he was still a boy, and he shoved Lennon playfully and laughed when the foal shoved him back.

And as we talked, I saw it happen. My four older boys walked past, tall and golden and laughing, and a group of young females across the field actually squealed.

Squealed.

I had been right. My sons were capturing attention already. And the girls of the pride were taking notice.

That night, when the children had settled and the house had gone quiet, I pulled Aureon to the stream.

We washed together in the cool water, the moonlight silver on the surface, our bodies close. I could feel his anticipation, the way his hands lingered, the way his eyes kept finding mine. And when I led him back inside, down the hall, past the sleeping rooms, to his own room, his own space, the one he had carved out for himself, he followed without a word.

Tonight, we would do our best to conceive.

Aureon was gentle at first, reverent, as though he could not quite believe this was finally happening. He laid me down on the furs and knelt over me, his golden eyes burning, his white-and-black striped body bright in the dim light. And then he began to worship me.

He kissed me slowly, thoroughly, from my lips to my jaw to the hollow of my throat. He traced my collarbones with his tongue, pressed his mouth to the curve of my shoulder, worked his way down my arms, my wrists, my fingertips. He spent what felt like hours on my breasts, laving and sucking at each one until I was arching beneath him, gasping his name, my fingers tangled in his hair.

"You are so beautiful," he murmured against my skin. "So beautiful, Krys. I have dreamed of this."

"Then stop dreaming," I breathed. "And touch me."

He laughed, low and rough, and obeyed.

He moved lower, kissing my stomach, my hips, the delicate skin of my inner thighs. And then he settled between my legs and put his mouth on me.

I gasped, my back bowing off the furs, my hands fisting in the blankets. He was eager and thorough and utterly devoted, his tongue tracing slow circles, then faster, then slower again, learning me, reading me, finding every place that made me tremble. He groaned against me like he was the one being pleasured, the vibration of it sending sparks up my spine. And when he slid a finger inside me, then two, curling and stroking in time with his tongue, I came apart with a muffled cry hoping that the house won’t wake up.

He did not stop. He kept going, relentless, until the aftershocks rolled through me and another peak began to build. Until I was sobbing his name, begging him, my thighs trembling on either side of his head.

"Please," I gasped. "Aureon, please."

He lifted his head, his mouth wet, his golden eyes wild. "Please what?"

"Please. Inside me. Now."

He did not need to be told twice.

He rose over me, his body enormous and warm, his stripes rippling with every movement. And then he pushed inside.

Slow. Deep. Perfect.

The stretch of him made me gasp, made my nails dig into his back, made my legs lock around his waist. He was thick and hot and hard, and he filled me completely, and for a moment he simply stayed there, buried to the hilt, his forehead pressed to mine, breathing hard.

"By the Beast Gods," he whispered. "Krys. You feel..."

"I know," I breathed. "Move. Please move."

He moved.

He moved like he loved me. Slow and deep and steady, his hips rolling, every stroke hitting something that made my toes curl. He kissed me as he thrust, swallowing my moans, his hands roaming my body like he was memorizing it. He whispered my name. He told me I was beautiful. He told me I was everything, that he had waited his whole life for this, that he would give me everything he had.

And when I came apart around him the third time, clenching and trembling and crying out, he followed. His rhythm broke, his body surged, and he spilled deep inside me with a groan that shook his entire frame, his hips jerking, his breath ragged against my neck.

But he was not finished.

He took me again.

He rolled us over, pulling me on top of him, and let me ride him. His hands found my hips, gripping tight, guiding my rhythm, his eyes fixed on my body with a hunger that made me feel like a goddess. He watched me move, watched my breasts sway, watched the flush spread across my chest, and he groaned like a man in agony.

"That is it," he rasped. "Oh Beast Gods, Krys, that is it. Ride me. Take what you need."

I took it. I rode him until my thighs burned, until I shattered again, and he came with me, spilling into me a second time, his fingers digging into my hips hard enough to bruise.

And then, when we could barely breathe, he took me a third time.

He turned me onto my stomach, pulled my hips up, and slid in from behind. And this time, there was nothing gentle left. This time, he fucked me. Hard and fast and deep, his hips slapping against mine, his hands gripping my waist, his breath coming in grunts. He drove into me again and again, filling me, claiming me, giving me everything he had. And when he came for the third time, roaring my name, he buried himself so deep I felt the pulse of him against my very core.

We collapsed together in a heap of limbs and sweat and trembling, and we did not move for a long, long time.

"Sweet Beast Gods," he finally whispered, his voice wrecked.

"Yes," I agreed, laughing weakly.

He pulled me close, his arms wrapping around me, his face buried in my hair. "Thank you," he said. "Thank you, Krys. Thank you."

"Thank me when the cub comes," I murmured.

He laughed, the sound warm and full of hope, and held me tighter.

And in the dark, in the quiet, with his heartbeat against my back and his seed warm inside me, I thought that maybe, just maybe, tonight had done its work.

Maybe Aureon would finally have his turn.