Hideaway Strath Up north’s getting cold soon

Something about hearing him tell her again that he loved her made her desperate to hear it more. To finally have him tell her he felt that way and at a time when she felt like she had no idea who she was anymore—it gave her something to cling to and pull herself up from the pit inside her mind. She pressed harder into him, afraid that the moment would end if she didn't hold on to him as tightly as possible. 

When he pulled back, she reluctantly did the same but only enough to look up and meet his gaze. She saw the moisture in his eyes—the unshed tears. She sank further into the quicksand. His words gave their love power—they gave her power. It was intoxicating to the broken thing that she was. She decided right then that she never wanted to give the feeling up. Good, she told him, the word breathy. If you love me, then you have to treat me with respect from here on out, she urged. Even in front of the pack. You can't have me one way in secret and expect something different in public. I'm not going to allow that. This would not be like before; if he wanted her, then he had to prove it no matter the circumstances. She reached up and grazed her muzzle across his chin as if to offer him a preview of how things could be for them. He would have to give some, though; she refused to be the only one to do so.