Silver Creek what fell from grace

Jarus answered her sound with a deep rumble of pleasure of his own, moving on from her maw to nibble around the back of her ears. 

For a long time he was silent, taking in this information with a very serious expression on his broad features. Raising pups was not exactly his speciality. Many a female had come to him in recent months claiming the black-and-tan whelps they had borne were of his seed, and with each and every one he had sent them back to their dens with no father to follow for their spawn. 

This was different. His queen's pups would be princes, princesses. Royalty. Besides, Jarus was under the firm opinion that anything borne from his new wife (as he had started to imagine her so) would be perfection incarnate. 

"I came from a place where humankind pit dog against dog, I was a proud fighter, a champion. For you, my queen, I would kill the newborn pups of your enemies, fight bears and bull elk." He paused for a moment to work a particularly deep knot out of her shoulder. "And I will raise your whelps as if they were my own. Because just as I am yours, you are mine. That is my one condition."