Horizon Ridge I can be you're saving grace if you'll let me

The snort that had escaped Thistle’s being did not seem unladylike to Björn whose definition of a ‘lady’ likely differed vastly from most other peoples’. On the short and low of things, he barely noticed it aside from simply acknowledging it along with the words that she spoke soon after. “Not necessarily,” Björn contradicted softly, his mind drifting to his third (and now previous) wife, Dagmar. “My ex-mate had gone into heat but she miscarried. Our healer said that she wasn’t fertile despite that her body went through the cycles.” He was soft spoken, as always, but there was twinge of regret in his voice. Regret that she had been infertile and unable to bear him many and strong sons. It had been her in fertileness and his soon lack of general interest in her (as it had been with his wives before her) that had him booting her off to a neighboring pack as a “gift”. A trick, really. Infertile beauty that he was certain not to inform said neighboring pack’s alpha male. “You are afraid of me,” He repeated with a wiry smile tugging at the edges of his lips.

That was a good thing, he told himself. He was a dangerous man, nothing that was truly safe, warm, or secure about him. “I am a dangerous man,” He told her honestly, in a slightly wistful tone but he was sure that Thistle and her instincts were already well informed of that fact. If her instincts hadn’t picked up on that surely she would not feel the fear of him that she did. She thought it was kind of him, though in truth, it had not been a kind gesture at all. It had been selfish, borne of his overpowering desire to sit as Pump’s second in command. He was pretty sure that taking Thistle (especially against her consent though he had never stooped so low before) would have demolished every single piece of foundation he had began to build to see himself to that rank. However, the Viking chose not to comment figuring that what she didn’t know couldn’t hurt her.