Sleepy Fox Hollow [m] nomajoka

Her god. Anselm remained silent. He wanted to counter - to point out it was Etienne that brought her here, not the whims of some spectral agent. But why kick a dog while it was down?

But now she opened up to him in a different way. The widow of the ruinwood shared her body with him, and now she shared something perhaps more tender. Her past.

It was very different than his own. A line appeared against the rough cut of his jaw. A better person would have told her they were sorry to hear her life had been thrust with such hardship. Anselm was not that person.

She spoke of sin again. A word that carried with it a powerful fear, worse than the mention of God itself. She was so very afraid of it.

He felt the disconnect widen, because he did not believe chasing his primal want was a sin. Nor did he believe their union -- while fraught with a hunger neither would speak of again -- was contemptuous. But now she spoke of pregnancy, and children -- and fuck!

Panic set into Anselm, chilling the hard pound of his hot blood. Vhat, vhy vould you make them someone else's prob-- He paused, distraught in a different way than he had been before.

He thought the cornerstone of being a man was burying his urges into a woman. Now, Anselm was exposed to a different, altogether more difficult concept: standing by the consequences of his action.

Was it worth it, those short-lived moments of warm bliss? Would it be a fruitful thing, or was her womb a black garden the same as his heart?

How long before you know? He liked the idea of another wolf raising his children even less than he liked the idea of her being pregnant.