Permafrost Hollows hunger is the beginning of every folk tale

Gyda was patient and though her paws itched to carry her closer to her chosen lover she resisted. Whatever awkwardness she might have been feeling prior to her heat it was gone now. She was led by instincts far much older than her, driven by her desire for children. In many ways, Gyda realized she was romanticizing the whole thing — that he would not only be giving her the chance to be a mother as she'd wanted for many months now with a fierceness she couldn't place, but also the future of Sleeping Dragon. Both warranted affection towards him from the Viking Queen, endearing him to her in a way that would not be possible any other way. Perhaps, in some ways, it wasn't fair to Gavriel, to ask him to sire her children but not take him as her mate; but the future was full of unknowns and Gyda was finding it hard to focus upon anything that wasn't the present.

A soft mewling whine left the shield-maiden when she felt his nose brush against the underside of her chin, and the few licks he left against the silver fur there. Her weight shifted, betraying her need and, as surprising as it was to her, her want. She desired him, as she'd desired no man before and though she wasn't quite sure what to do with the knowledge she decided that her best course of action was to let her body take control of her and stop over thinking it all.

He trailed along her body, and her body shivered as the brush of his body against hers lit her nerves on fire beneath her skin. She was woefully inexperienced in this area, and wondered if he was as well but couldn't find the words to ask him — which was probably for the better because literally the last thing she wanted to do was speak at that moment. She glimpsed over her shoulder at him, giving him a heavy-lidded look before she moved her tail to the side, giving him permission to proceed.