drops down onto the bedding and runs her hands over the soft green fibers with obvious delight.
“I did promise that I would do everything I could to see to your comfort,” I murmur as I drop down beside her.
I promptly cross my legs in an attempt to ignore my hardening cock as she moans at my side and burrows into the blankets. I also ignore the goblin tsking as he draws up to my side.
“Not that you couldn’t have done half of this and had something suitable for us while saving yourself some energy. But no, you just have to lavish comforts on your mate as if you’re set up in your grotto’s keep,” Grimsal interjects, making my eyes snap to him with an unforgiving glower.
The male holds up his hands in surrender and drops down comfortably on his own mound of blankets. He sighs as he leans back and lies flat, giving him a far better look at the magic-spun fabric I’ve anchored into place.
Steph lifts her head, a frown of worry creasing her face, and I snarl at that damnable goblin. I want her to enjoy the shelter I made for her, not worry about whether I drained my reserves too low to fashion this… Even if the goblin is correct.
“You didn’t do that, did you?” she demands, her brow dropping unhappily, worry evident in her dark eyes. “I didn’t come with you so you can drop dead from exhaustion.”
I lean forward so I can comfortably meet her eyes and touch her arm comfortingly.
“It’s just a little magic,” I assure her. “I will be perfectly fine in the morning. In exchange, we will have some small comfort while we sleep on the ground. This should be enough to keep us warm and dry.”
“Are you going to be doing this every night?” she asks, a faint note of worry in her voice and a great deal of disapproval.
It seems that my mate cares more about my welfare than what she lets on or is willing to admit. The thought brings a smile to my face and my sweet mate punches me in the arm to get my attention.
Chuckling, I ward off another attack and very gently hold her against me until she drops back to physically maintain the distance between us. Frustrated, I blow out a long breath, but my mate isn’t giving up her inquiry.
“Well, are you? You can’t possibly keep doing this,” she observes, her eyes narrowing on me with such intensity that I almost feel as if she is attempting to see into every hidden corner of my soul.
If only she knew that I would give every bit of it to do with as she sees fit if she asks.
The goblin gives a rough snort of amusement, his dark eyes burning with interest as he stares at us. With a strange vocal click, he turns back to surveying my work for a few more minutes before he elects to speak again.
“No reason for him to do all of this again—unless he’s a masochist,” he snickers. I am considering that I very may well be keeping him in my company when the goblin continues. “This shouldn’t be too hard to take down in the morning. Everything is put together in a tight but orderly fashion, so it will not be too difficult to store it.”
Steph glances over at the both of us and then down at herself in dismay before meeting our eyes again.
“On what?”
“Not on—in!” he informs her happily as he tosses a bag no larger than a small pillow between us. It lands on the forest floor with a light thump as he jabs a finger at it with excitement. “It just so happens that I have a winpar satchel.”
I exchange a confused look with my mate, because I have never heard of any such thing either. She lifts an eyebrow and I shrug my shoulders in answer. At our mutual confusion his grin widens.
“Not surprising you’ve never heard of it, unicorn. Not that you’ve heard of much magic beyond your borders, I suspect.” He chuckles. “But in this case, it would be natural. It is a peculiar bit of goblin magic that is not just an illusion. Not exactly, anyway. Funny thing, winpar satchels. Those who manage to get ahold of them mistakenly call them bottomless bags, but they are not. They can hold contents equal to roughly the same volume as the one who owns the satchel—which can certainly be a lot for