Hoshor Plains [m] the tortured poets department

“Mmm,” he rumbled at her words—doe-eyes upon him, freckles across her cheeks. He knew nothing about this woman—she knew nothing of him. But in this moment, the herd grazed before them, and the air was chilled with the winter wind… but the warmth from her was comforting.

Her scent teased at him. He was able to refrain—the itch beneath his skin could be ignored, and yet why should he, when the very woman he had been fulfilling a bride price for had certainly kept her own bed warm.

Had never bat an eye at having multiple fathers for her cubs.

He leaned down, grazing his mouth over her a moment—testing the waters—tasting her. He very well could be throwing away everything he did have at Moonspear away—the family he had tried to carve with Sialuk and Elentari… But there was that nagging doubt… He lived a fool’s dream.

They had many to warm their beds. Why not him?