She lifted up on her own arms, propelling herself onto his shaft so intensely he feared he’d split her in two.
But she threw back her dark head, her hair flying over his hand still fisted in it, over his forearm, down her back and she howled her release.
He pulled out and surged back in, burying himself to the root one last time and then howled his own.
* * * * *
Callum woke with a start, still wolf, lying on his side in the snow under a pine tree.
The dream was still vivid. His skin under his fur heated not from his coat but from f**king the faceless, dark-headed, she-wolf.
Fucking hell, he thought, coming to his paws, his mind troubled.
The parts of his dream were not syncing. So contradictory to each other, to his feelings for Sonia now, the deeper ones he had in his dream, the heartbreakingly deeper ones he felt from her. His instinct as wolf to be faithful to his mate abrading against the episode with the she-wolf, an episode so lucid, so f**king real it was like it happened.
Like he’d actually been disloyal to Sonia.
The thought was so vile he felt his gut roil and he started to run.
But he ran toward home.
Toward Sonia.
He leapt to man outside the backdoor which was always open in case he or his family needed to roam which was often.
He opened the door and mindlessly pulled on the clothes he left there when he transformed earlier.
He slid on his wedding band and was shrugging on a shirt while moving into the house when he noticed his mother there.
She was wearing a robe, her hair disheveled, her face as troubled as his thoughts.
Atypically, Callum had no time for his mother’s troubled thoughts.
“Not now, Regan.”
“Cal –”
Impatient to get to Sonia, he stopped and leaned into her. “Not… now.”
Without another word or processing the look of distress on his mother’s face, Callum took the stairs three at a time to get to his wife.
She was lying on her side, the fire ebbing but still dancing in the room. So like his dream it sliced trough him.
But, unlike the dream, she was facing away from the door.
And she wasn’t asleep.
He went immediately to the bed.
He sat next to her and put a hand to her hip over the hides.
“Baby doll,” he whispered, cursing himself mentally for giving in selfishly to his instinct to roam. “Your injection –”
“I took it,” she replied in a voice strangely flat. “Don’t worry, Callum. I made sure Regan was in the room when I did.”
He’d just run for hours, for miles, slept rough and run for miles again and still his gut was tight. His thoughts a torment. Feelings of guilt and fear and grief all snaking insidiously through his brain.
He needed her.