Swiftcurrent Creek aim; it's a one shot take down

She wanted puppies—spurred, no doubt, by the season. Logic was thrown out the window at the best of times during this part of the year, but the raven waif was no stranger to her heat, he doubted. He began to prowl, a growl rumbling in his chest. He did not seek a mate—but that didn’t mean he couldn’t have a connection.

“Yes,” he offered, his own voice pitched lower with the decision.

And so he waited, pale gold eyes upon her form, waiting for his permission to touch her now—when before, he might have had unspoken permission—but he would allow her to lead now. After everything that had transpired between them.