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Chapter Text

Eilika hurries along the well worn dirt path in the forest clearing, pulling the hood of her crimson velvet cloak up over her head. The vernal equinox has passed, and though the villagers have lately celebrated Orstara, the snow persists. Soft flakes swirl slowly downward and the scene; serenely still and silent – the path coated with a downy dusting of snow, the foliage tipped with glittery frost – is undeniably beautiful, but Eilika is in too much of a hurry to truly appreciate it. Shivering, she quickens her pace. 

She’d set out late, and must be back before eventide. A curfew has been in place since the eviscerated corpse of the third victim had been discovered last fortnight. Winderbron is a tiny town in the lowlands on the outskirts of the capital, and rumour has it the village is being terrorised by a ferocious, bloodthirsty wolf-like beast.

In the basket she holds beneath her cloak, along with the chicken pie and bread pudding her mother has baked for her sickly grandmother, Eilika carries the small crossbow her father had whittled for her. It’s a lovely little thing, lethal in the right hands – which happen to be Eilika’s, after long hours of practice – the rack and gear housing made from walnut wood and etched with delicate floral scrolls, and the bow stave made from light but sturdy whalebone. Though it further burdens her load, its weight is reassuring, under the circumstances. 

Grandmother may not be a skilled practitioner of the culinary arts, but she is proficient in the preparation of remedial concoctions; unguents, ointments, salves and tinctures. This, along with her wit and sharp-tongue, had long ago led to her being ostracised by the villagers, who’d accused her of using Maleficium against the townsfolk and communing with the Devil. This had happened around the time that Eilika’s father, born of noble blood but never a very shrewd moneylender, had fallen on hard times, and their family had been driven from the capital, seeking refuge in Winderbron.

In order to appease the townsfolk, so that they may stay in the village, and to prevent grandmother from being officially convicted of witchcraft and subjected to a sacramental exorcism, or worse, burned at the stake, Eilika’s father housed his mother far enough away so that after a matter of months, her alleged crimes had been abruptly forgotten, and the townsfolk had found another poor eccentric widow to harass instead. 

After obtaining a byre-dwelling to live in with his wife and four children, with the last of his dwindling fortune, father had managed to purchase a cottage for grandmother at the edge of the wood, about half a league from the town centre.

As Eilika approaches the small thatched-roof dwelling now, she feels a telling tingle up her spine. From the spinney beside her, she hears the distinct, crisp snapping of twigs under foot. The sounds echo in the vast white silence. She catches her breath, standing still and quiet.

What follows is a brutal blur of noise and violence. Gnashing of teeth, ripping of cloth, rending of flesh, thudding blows, grunts, growls, howls. Eilika had been set upon. Something huge and dark had hurtled out of the woods, but before it had reached her, it had been tackled by something equally large and strong. She had been knocked to the ground before she could take out her crossbow, and now she lies winded, on her front, her cloak tangled around her and obscuring her view of the vicious-sounding scuffle happening before her. 

Finally, there is one last horrible, high-pitched howl and Eilika manages to tear her hood from her face and push herself up on her gloved hands in time to see a creature – a hideous abomination, big and black and bristled, like a cross between a boar and a bear, limping, badly wounded, quickly retreating on all fours back into the dense thicket, leaving a copious trail of syrupy dark blood in its wake.

And, on its knees, in the centre of the snow-laden forest glade is the other creature. With a fresh flash of fear, Eilika realises it’s the famed werewolf the townsfolk have been hunting. Paralysed by panic, she stares at it. Part canine, part man, the creature is impossibly tall, with a broad human torso and arms and legs, but it has huge paws with claws, large pointed ears that stand erect, a tail, a muzzle, and fangs. It’s covered in grey and white fur, but is wearing clothing; a long-sleeved tunic, torn almost to shreds, braies, and woollen winningas wound around its thick calves. It wears a belt around its waist and a scabbard is slung at its hip. Its bloodied sword lays before it on the snow. 

Panting, he looks straight at Eilika, and amazingly, her fear abates the instant he meets her eyes. There is something vulnerable about him, something overwhelmingly human and benevolent. One of his eyes is squinted shut, a great gash across it. The other is a brilliant blue. There are several other cuts bleeding bright blood into his silver fur; a few on his chest, and the worst, which he clutches tightly, on his right bicep. 

‘Get inside!’ says a voice, and Eilika pulls her gaze away from the wolfman to see Grandma leaning in her doorway, small and frail but wild-eyed and wily as ever. ‘Quickly, both of you.’

Much to Eilika’s astonishment, Grandma gazes fondly at the wolfman, before tutting and rolling her eyes as if to imply she knows him well and he’s been up to his usual tricks. 

Grimacing and groaning, he slowly rises up, tears a strip of cloth from his sleeve, wipes the blood off his sword, and sheaths it. He ambles unsteadily toward Eilika, who is still sprawled in the snow, staring, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, in awe. 

He holds out a paw to her, which she sees is rather like a human hand, but much bigger and more padded, with well polished dark claws. Trusting her grandmother’s judgement implicitly, but moreover, reassured by her own intuition, she takes his hand – the palm of which is warm, furless, and calloused – and allows him to help her, ungracefully, to her feet. 

She wrestles her lopsided cloak back into position and when he releases her hand, she brushes off the worst of the snow caked on her blue kirtle, noting with irritation, that the slush has left grimy stains all down its front. 

She retrieves her basket, which is sitting right way up beside her, and mercifully, seems to have avoided any real damage, and the wolfman extracts her crossbow from where it has become lodged in a mound of snow. He has white patches of fur above each eye that function like brows and they quirk with interest as he briefly inspects the weapon before handing it back to her. 

‘Well,’ she says, a little defensively, ‘a girl can’t just travel through the woods unprepared these days.’

‘No,’ he says, his voice a deep rich rumble, ‘that would be unwise, indeed.’

His fine apparel and the intelligent glint in his eye should have prepared her, but Eilika is still taken aback by hearing him speak so fluently and articulately. After all, before her stands an incredible creature the likes of which she has never before seen.

‘You’re hurt,’ she says, eyes flitting down to the blood gushing through his fingers from the wound on his arm. It’s a rather obvious thing to state, but Eilika is simply dumbfounded, trying to comprehend what she sees before her, and cannot think of anything better to say.

He chuckles a little and shrugs the other arm. 

‘This is how I always find him on my doorstep,’ says Grandma with an arch look, ‘all bothered, bedevilled, and bleeding. Likes a bit of hurly-burly, this boy.’

The wolfman shakes his head, smiling. ‘Sure,’ he quips, ‘I am only too eager for the fray.’

Watching him head towards the cottage, Eilika is both stunned and intrigued by the easy, playful banter her grandmother shares with this mysterious, fantastical stranger. 

‘Now hurry up and get inside!’ barks Grandma.

Grandma's commands have always acted on Eilika like the crack of a whip. She scurries after the wolfman, who has to duck down low to enter the cottage. Grandma ushers them inside and shuts the door on the woods; hushed, hostile, watchful, and more forbidding than ever now.

Chapter Text

‘Are you still wearing that old thing?’ Grandma asks, once they are safely inside. She is eying the red velvet cloak she had made for Eilika’s fourteenth birthday. The bells above the door tinkle as it closes.

‘Yes,’ Eilika says, ‘it’s my favourite. It’s nice and warm.’

She looks about the room, finding the quaint, ramshackle house in its usual state of disarray. Everywhere, stacks of books lean precariously and parchment manuscripts tumble. Amongst these, a wild array of trinkets and curiosities are heaped in chaotic little piles; feathers, mugwort smudge sticks, incense letting off fragrant trails of spruce resin and valerian smoke. There are many, many glass bottles in various sizes, crystals, stones, bundles of dried flowers and herbs tied with string, tiny animal bones, abandoned bird’s nests, old keys, worn down coins, and stacks and stacks of soft, hand-woven jewel-toned blankets. 

Eilika sighs as she surveys the disorder. But, she is very glad to be inside. The cocklestove is heating the living quarters quite nicely. The wolfman does not appear to be at all curious about their peculiar surroundings, seeming, rather, to find them quite familiar. This causes Eilika to wonder just how many times he has been inside the cottage. 

‘It’s too short for you now,’ says Grandma, still looking at the cloak. She takes the basket from Eilika. 

‘Maybe,’ Eilika replies, removing her gloves and running a hand over the lush, dense pile surface of the garment in question. ‘But at least that means I don’t step on it. And most importantly, it’s still nice and full, and wraps all the way around me.’

She takes the cloak off and hangs it on the hook by the door, then strides after Grandma into the kitchen with the wolfman – head bowed low – following closely behind.

‘That’s because you’re all skin and bones,’ says Grandma. This is a complaint she voices very frequently about her granddaughter. She places the basket on the table and wastes no time greedily rummaging through its contents. ‘Need to fatten this one up,’ she says to the wolfman, before lifting out the pie. ‘Hühnerfrikassee. Lovely. Want some?’

‘No,’ says Eilika, and the wolfman shakes his head. ‘I’ve already eaten, and besides, there are more pressing matters. We need to tend to his wounds.’

‘You’ll have to do it, I’m far too frail,’ she says, although Eilika thinks she looks much improved, and her coughing appears to have abated. ‘I must eat my supper now, I need the nourishment.’

‘Fine,’ Eilika replies, placing her gloves beside the basket. ‘But you’ll need to show me what to do.’

‘Yes, yes,’ Grandma says, but she has already fetched herself a spoon and is tucking into the pie. ‘You’ll need to clean his wounds first. Get a bowl of water and put some vinegar in it. There are cloths you can use over there,’ she adds, pointing across the room. 

Eilika nods. Turning back to the wolfman, she is about to ask him to sit down, but sees that he has already seated himself on the bench her father had made out of the logs of giant felled trees. It is the best choice, Eilika concedes, sizable, and far more durable than any of Grandma’s rickety little chairs, but he still looks very odd perched upon it, with his knees almost up around his ears, like a very large adult sitting on a very small child's seat.

Eilika collects up the cloths and fills a bowl with a measure of cold water from the wooden barrel in the corner, a little hot water from the pot boiling on the brick-and-mortar hearth, and some vinegar. 

Then, when the wolfman removes his shredded tunic and discards it in a heap on the floor, Eilika is quite taken aback. She can’t help but notice how well defined the muscles of his broad chest are. 

His fur is predominantly grey, but he has a great many white markings, largely down his front on his throat and torso, and on his face and muzzle. It is mostly short all over, but grows longer in some places; on his neck, and his head, where it is braided into two plaits, and in a triangular pattern, pointing downward, on his torso. Around his neck, hanging from a leather band, he wears a pewter pendant that looks like the blade of an axe.

Eilika tears one of the cloths, tying it around his bicep to stem the blood flowing from his worst wound, then busies herself with cleaning the others.

‘What’s your name?’ she asks, drenching another cloth in the water and wringing it out.

As a matter of urgency, she tends to his eye. When she cleans it, she feels ridiculously, inordinately relieved to find that the eye itself has not been damaged. He can open it fully now, and she realises (having feared, curiously rather strenuously, that it may have been blinded in the battle) that he must have only been squinting to stop the blood from getting in it. Her concern is further alleviated when she closely inspects the gash and finds that it is not nearly as bad as it had first appeared. 

Now, he fixes both blazing blue eyes upon hers. The intensity of his gaze makes her jolt.

‘Forgive me,’ he says. ‘I did not introduce myself. My name is Frixheim, but you can call me Frix.’

‘Well,’ she says, averting her eyes, moving to clean one of the cuts on his chest, ‘nice to meet you, Frix. My name is Eilika.’

‘It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Eilika, and thank you for your assistance.’

‘Thank you for yours,’ she replies, and then, remembering the awful, black bristled beast, she adds, ‘what was that thing?’

The more pressing question she wishes to ask is, ‘what are you?’ but given Frix’s chivalry and remarkable civility, Eilika decides that would be very rude.

‘A dämonbär,’ says Frix plainly. 

Eilika’s brow furrows. ‘A what?’

‘Terrible monsters,’ he explains, ‘demonic creatures conjured by magic but quite natural – that is, natural as opposed to supernatural. I do not mean to imply that they are usual or ordinary in any way. Though it is said that they originate from Satan's lair, they are merely mortal and can be killed.’

She nods her understanding, though thinks the way he speaks is rather strange, as, by distinguishing the dämonbär as unusual, he therefore must consider himself to be usual and ordinary, when to her, he is everything but. 

She glances over at Grandma, who seems unruffled by the news about the demonic hell beasts, and is clearly not at all concerned about Frix’s existence. Instead, obviously quite used to him, she is largely ignoring the pair of them whilst happily demolishing the pie. And, Eilika supposes, if they are as well acquainted as they seem to be, Frix has likely already told Grandma the tale of Lucifer’s savage pets.

‘We have hunted them across the land, and followed them here,’ Frix continues, ‘by order of our king. We have been directed to kill as many as possible, and to return home with the tusk of at least one, so that it may be examined and used to determine the origins of this foul magic.’

‘We?’ says Eilika.

‘My brother and I,’ Frix replies. ‘We were engaged to embark on the expedition together, but we were separated over a month ago while in pursuit of a particularly fierce dämonbär. I have since killed several, and collected more specimens than necessary, far more than just one tusk; teeth, claws, bristles, even a tail. But I must find Herdegen before I can return home.’

‘Oh,’ says Eilika, her mind whirring as she attempts to process this bombardment of fantastically absurd information. ‘And that one you fought outside, that… dämonbär. What will become of it? I’m afraid I got tangled up in my cloak and missed what happened.’

‘That one won’t survive. I slashed its throat. But there will be more.’

Having finished cleaning all of Frix’s wounds, except for the gash on his bicep, Eilika turns back to Grandma. 

‘Which ointment should I use?’ she asks the older woman, who has now moved on to eating the bread pudding. 

‘No ointment,’ she replies through a mouthful of pudding, ‘just honey.’

Eilika raises an eyebrow. ‘Honey?’

‘That’s right. It will prevent infection. You’ll find it on the top shelf.’

Eilika obeys her grandmother's instructions, and occupies herself with smearing honey over Frix’s cleansed wounds, which is a difficult task, as the viscous substance doesn’t rub into his fur very easily. Frix, however, is unperturbed, apparently having received this treatment before. Indeed, Eilika notices many other scars in various stages of healing all over his torso and arms. 

‘Is it the dämonbär who have been killing our villagers?’ asks Eilika.

‘Yes,’ Frix says darkly. 

‘The townspeople believe it’s a werewolf,’ she cautions him, ‘if they see either you or your brother, I expect they might think you’re to blame.’

‘I expect so. But we are not werewolves. We are Eckzahnmenschlich. Wolfkin.’

‘What’s the difference?’

‘Werewolves are shapeshifters. They mostly remain in their human form and only transform into wolves under a full moon. This,’ he says, gesturing down his body, ‘is my only form. Wolfkin do not shift.’

‘Oh.’

‘Yes. We are distantly related to werewolves, but you may be surprised to learn that wolfkin are a more evolved species. We are far more placid and peaceable, and do not feed off human flesh.’

‘Well, whatever the case, you must be careful. They have hired a huntsman and he will kill you and your brother on sight before bothering to stop and check exactly what it is you are.’

Frix laughs off her warning. ‘Not to worry. I thank you for your concern, but we are quite used to being hunted ourselves. We always take great care.’

Once she is finished applying the honey to his lesser injuries, Eilika reaches towards the laceration on Frix’s bicep but is stopped by Grandma interjecting from behind them.

‘You'll have to sew that one up.’

‘What?’ says Eilika. Though she understands completely, the prospect causes her great anxiety. 

‘It’s just like sewing with cloth,’ Grandma reassures her. ‘And you are a much better seamstress than I.’ She leans around Eilika, and to Frix, she says, ‘how’s the other one healing?’

Much to Eilika’s discomfort, Frix begins to unbuckle his belt. She feels her cheeks heat but manages to stifle a gasp when he unfastens the laces down the front of his braies and pulls the fabric aside to expose a long, sinewy pink scar, standing out proud from his fur and aligning with his hipbone. He keeps whatever is between his legs covered, but Eilika sees far more than she expects to. She cannot fail to appreciate how toned and taut his abdomen is, and there is quite a big bulge hidden behind the fabric at the crotch of his pants. 

Grandma’s chair scrapes on the stone floor as she gets up to see. 

‘Ah,’ she says, and though she appears to be inspecting her old handwork, her rather lascivious tone implies that she has not failed to notice what a fine example of wolven masculinity Frix is either. ‘Very nice.’ Then, almost as an afterthought, she adds, ‘er, yes, it is healing well. Good.’

‘You did that?’ asks Eilika, impressed and more than a little flustered. 

The older woman simply winks at her, and amidst her embarrassment, Eilika is pleased to see that Grandma is her usual puckish self, even in her supposedly weakened condition.

‘The needle and linen thread are on the small table by the stove in the other room. But you’ll need to shave the area first. There’s a clean blade on the table here.’

Eilika gives her grandmother another shocked look. 

‘Well,’ says Grandma, ‘it’s best you learn how to shave a man. You’ll have a husband someday soon.’

Composing herself, Eilika collects the needle and thread, and when she returns, she finds that thankfully, Frix has refastened his braies and belt. 

She unravels the torn cloth tied at his bicep and inspects the large gash there. A trickle of warm, bright blood oozes from it, but she is relieved to find that the wound has begun clotting, and no longer gushes so enthusiastically. 

Frix hisses when she gently presses the dampened cloth to the wound.  

‘Sorry,’ she says, timidly flicking her eyes up to meet his.

‘No need to apologise. It was not you who slashed me with your claws.’

‘How many have you killed?’ Eilika asks, just to make conversation in an attempt to steady her nerves.

‘At least half a dozen,’ he replies. ‘But as I said, there will be more.’

Eilika turns to collect the copper blade from the table.

‘It’s nice and sharp,’ Grandma informs her. 

‘Good,’ says Eilika tremulously. 

‘Use some oil,’ Grandma adds, pointing to a bottle on the shelf. 

Eilika applies a little oil to the area, and, very carefully, uses the edge of the blade to shave the fur around the wound. 

‘See,’ says Grandma, ‘easy.’

‘Hmm,’ is Eilika’s only reply, as now, she faces the more difficult and disagreeable task of stitching up the gash. 

Eilika holds her breath for a good deal of the time while she works as quickly and precisely as she can, passing the needle through the skin on either side of the wound, ensuring that the edges meet snugly, and finishing it off by tying the ends of the thread together. Frix shows minimal overt signs of discomfort, but his muzzle is tight, and he does appear to be clenching his teeth. By the time the task is completed, Eilika is quite certain she may faint.

She sucks in a deep breath, and Grandma comes over to scrutinise her work, humming in approval. 

‘Very good,’ says Grandma. ‘Now smear it with honey, cover it with a clean cloth bandage, then the two of you need to get going. It’s almost eventide.’

Chapter Text

‘I want to walk with you, at least to the boundary stone at the edge of the village,’ says Frix, once they had bid farewell to Grandma. ‘May I?’

When Eilika looks up at him, he feels the same thing he did the first time their eyes had met. It’s something he’s never felt before; a peculiar tingling sensation that seems to vibrate through his whole body. He had also experienced it when she’d been tending to his wounds. He’d felt it, lightly, whenever their eyes had met, and more intensely whenever the soft pads of her slender little fingers had made contact with his body. He had experienced it even more intensely when she’d taken his hand while he’d helped her from the ground, so much so that he hadn’t wanted to release her. 

‘If you don’t mind,’ Eilika replies. ‘I would appreciate it.’

‘Good,’ says Frix. ‘Because if you’d said no, I was going to insist, and if you’d still said no, I was just going to follow you anyway.’

She laughs at this, and he is intrigued by how her smooth alabaster skin flushes with a rosy pink tint once more. This curious phenomenon is unfamiliar to wolfkin, with their thick pelts of fur. 

‘Well,’ she says, ‘there's no need to lurk behind trees. If you’re going to follow me anyway, you may as well walk beside me and we can enjoy a conversation while we try not to get eaten by gigantic, ferocious demonic hellbeasts.’

Frix grins widely, and Eilika finds his smile quite dazzling, even if he does have very sharp, pointed canine teeth. They are clean and white and straight and he smiles with his whole face. It is far more expressive than she imagined it could be. The corners of his muzzle curl up and his eyes gleam, creases crinkling around them.

‘I’d like that,’ he says, and then his expression neutralises when he adds, ‘I want to check the thicket first, to make sure that thing is dead. And, it wouldn’t hurt to collect another tusk. But maybe it’s best if you wait here while I do that,’ he says, gesturing to the thatched canopy above her grandmother’s front door. 

Feathery snowflakes whirl around them.

‘No,’ she replies, pulling the hood of her cloak up over her head. ‘I want to come with you.’

‘It will be… er… quite gruesome…’ he warns her. 

‘That doesn’t bother me,’ she says firmly. 'I've helped my brothers skin rabbits.'

‘Very well,’ he replies, stalking off, following the trail of dark blood toward the thicket. 

With his long, loping strides, he is able to cover more than twice as much ground than she can. She has to skip along after him, and when he realises, he slows down to match her pace. 

‘Actually…’ he starts, looking down at her, and when he does, it occurs to him that he quite likes looking at her face. 

He still finds it unusual, looking into a human face. That’s one reason he keeps doing it. It’s a fascinating novelty. But there’s just something about her… Her face is round, her features even, and her complexion as brilliant as a full moon. Her lips are plump and pink and her upturned button nose is tiny – no wonder, he thinks, humans have an inferior sense of smell, her nose does not seem fit for purpose. Her eyes are blue, but not like his. They’re darker, flecked with gold, and seem overly large in her little face. She wears her flaxen hair in a Gretchenfrisur halo braid.

‘I have a confession to make,’ he says.

Her eyes narrow with interest. ‘Oh?’

They come to the clearing in the thicket where the dämonbär has fallen.

‘I’ve followed you before,’ he admits. 

She simply nods, and he is heartened by the fact that she does not seem too alarmed by this disclosure. 

‘You don’t seem very surprised,’ he says.

‘You were quick in coming to my rescue. So, I figured either you were tracking me, or this thing, which was obviously tracking me,’ she says, pointing to the dead beast lying limp and supine in a mire of blood and sludgy snow. 'Or both.'

‘I caught your scent first,’ he says, and this causes Eilika to wonder what it is she smells like, exactly. 

It makes her a little self conscious. She bathes as regularly as anyone else, and uses scented oils and talc powder. When Frix turns away to look at the slain beast, she raises an arm to sniff herself, pleased not to detect any offensive odour. In fact, there is not much of a smell at all, she thinks, beyond a faint scent of lavender and cloves.

‘Then I caught a whiff of this,’ Frix adds, motioning toward the dämonbär. ‘A scent which rather tends to overpower everything else. And I found it stalking you.’

Frix kneels beside the beast, and, from the smaller scabbard slung on his hip opposite his sword, he slides out a knife, leans down, and hacks off one of the dämonbär’s tusks. He works with swift, practised efficiency, shaking the worst of the dripping blood from his trophy before dropping it into a leather bag, also hanging from his belt, that has been conditioned with pine resin to make it impervious to liquids. 

‘But I was already familiar with your scent,’ he continues, rising up.

‘I see. And how do I smell?’ she asks curtly.

Frix laughs when he realises what she has assumed. 

‘Not bad,’ he says, and she follows him out of the thicket and back onto the main path.

‘No?’

‘Not at all,’ he replies, as they set off towards the village. ‘And I think perhaps you may have misunderstood my meaning. You are not malodorous in any way. Only, everyone has their own unique scent. We wolfkin sense smells very differently to humans. It is our way of communicating with our kinfolk, recognising others, and gathering information about them.’

Eilika wrinkles her nose. ‘What kind of information?’

‘Their age, sex, emotions, physical condition, that kind of thing…’ Frix trails off, deciding it is probably best not to elaborate any further and reveal that wolfkin are able to detect even more intimate details about a person, such as the phase of their menstrual cycle, their fertility, and receptiveness to mating.

‘Oh,’ mutters Eilika, somewhat disconcerted. ‘And how do I smell?’

‘Like… you,’ is all he can answer. 

She frowns up at him. 

‘It’s difficult to describe,’ he says. ‘Warm and tangy. A little bit salty, a little bit sweet.’

Her nose wrinkles again. ‘And that’s not bad?’

‘No,’ he laughs, shaking his head. ‘But those are just words. Vocabulary is very limiting. It’s impossible to translate your scent into words, but it has subtle, distinct properties, like the very minute but perceptible differences that can be heard in the notes played on a harp, except that there are many thousands more scents than there are musical notes.’ 

‘I think I understand,’ she says slowly.

‘Anyway, I hope you don’t find it too troubling, only, as you may have guessed, I often visit your grandmother, and have seen you making the journey to her cottage several times. I learned your scent that way.’

‘Yes. You two seem to have become fast friends.’

Frix smiles. ‘She is a kind woman. Generous. And quite amusing.’

Eilika rolls her eyes. ‘That’s one word for it.’

‘I worry about her,’ he says gravely, ‘with these things getting around. Could she not return to live with your family in the village?’

‘She can’t go back into the village. The townsfolk drove her out. They believed she’d been dabbling in witchcraft. She’s a bit eccentric, and does some things that–’

‘I’ve noticed,’ Frix interjects.

Eilika stops dead in her tracks, glaring at him. ‘What have you noticed?!’

‘The symbols she paints on her stone floor,’ he says, turning on his heel and trudging back through the thickening snowpack to where Eilika stands still. ‘The candles in the windows, placed north, south, east and west. The bells on the front door.’

‘So?’ Eilika retorts. ‘She makes her own candles, so can afford to burn more than most people. And she has bells on the door because she lives alone and needs to be alerted to any intruders.’

Frix snorts a laugh, shaking his head. ‘No.’

Irritated by the way his eyes twinkle in amusement, Eilika begins walking again, stomping through the snow. ‘What do you mean, no?’

‘The bells are indeed there to alert her to intruders,’ he replies, falling into step beside her once more, ‘but not the corporeal kind. They are shields, to safeguard her home from evil, to ward off malignant spirits. And, the sound of bells is said to replicate the language spoken in the spirit world.’

Eilika blinks up at him, aghast. ‘And the candles?’

‘Hallowing a Compass,’ he says, with vexing matter-of-factness.

‘What?!’

‘It’s a traditional method for making one’s home a sacred space for spiritual practice and ritual, a portal to commune with spirits and deities,’ Frix explains, keeping his voice calm and even. He can sense the utter shock and dismay radiating off his small human companion, and is keen to try and soothe her distress. ‘It is oriented towards the four points of a compass, to align with the natural forces within the Earth–’

Eilika interrupts him with a groan. ‘So she is a witch, then.’

‘A good one, if that makes you feel any better. And quite skillful, from what I understand.’

‘Gosh. You know her better than I do, and it’s only been, what–?’

‘Five weeks. But I doubt that I know her better. Just… differently…’

‘Well, she’s definitely not going back to the village then.’

‘No,’ agrees Frix. ‘I guess not. Well, I’ll keep checking in on her. Daily, now that more dämonbär seem to be closing in on the village. But, she seems to have cast a rather effective apotropaic spell over the cottage to protect it. I think she will be safe.’

Eilika sighs. ‘This has certainly been a most interesting day.’

They walk on, conversing animatedly for the remainder of their trek, and as they approach the boundaries of the village, Eilika glances up at Frix. Though she has gotten quite used to looking at him shirtless, nightfall has begun to descend, bringing with it a frigid wind, and she is unable to hold back her concern.

‘Will you be cold without your tunic?’ she asks, then, feeling rather stupid for asking, she hastens to add, ‘I suppose your fur keeps you warm, though.’

‘To a degree. But I do feel the cold at night. Back where I am staying, I have more clothes, blankets and skins, as well as all of the supplies we brought with us on our trip.’

‘Where have you been staying?’ she blurts. 

When he pauses, hesitating to reply, she waves a hand at him. 

‘Never mind, you don’t have to answer that. It’s none of my business. I apologise. I asked before thinking.’

‘Not at all,’ says Frix. It is in his nature to be wary, to guard his den and defend his territory. But he finds himself trusting this little human equally as instinctively. ‘I found a cave nearby. It is deep and dry and well concealed. Your grandmother offered for me to stay with her–’

Eilika scoffs, recalling the way Grandma had ogled the half naked wolfman. ‘–of course she did.’ 

‘But I could not impose on her in that way,’ he says, as they come to the stone obelisk that marks the boundary of the village. 

The dim glow of candlelight and hearth fire can just be made out in the rows and rows of cottage windows beyond the rickety wooden bridge. Smoke curls languidly from craggy chimneys and lanterns swing from archways. A fog has begun to settle in the hollow and a hush has fallen over the town square giving the illusion of tranquillity. But, Eilika knows that behind the closed doors, the townsfolk tremble in fear.

‘Well, Miss Eilika,’ says Frix, stopping and bowing his head, ‘I shall take my leave here. Goodnight. May you sleep well and have pleasant dreams. Try not to think about what you have seen today. Leave that till tomorrow. Conundrums are best contemplated in the light of day.’

His tone implies that they will inevitably meet again, and soon. 

Eilika nods her head, smiling in return. ‘Thank you, for assisting me, and for looking out for my grandmother.’

Frix bows lower. ‘It is my pleasure.’

Chapter Text

Over the next few weeks, Eilika visits Grandma more and more frequently. When her parents question her about it, she shrugs it off, explaining that she is merely concerned for the frail, elderly woman’s wellbeing given the very real and terrifying threat looming over the village. 

This is true, however, it is only part of the reason for Eilika’s increased visitations. The other reason (which, if Eilika is perfectly honest with herself is the real motive for the new regularity with which she has been calling upon Grandma) is the high probability that during her visits, she will run into a certain wolfman whom she has discovered is not only gallant, but also intelligent, charismatic, attentive, charming, and terribly, terribly witty. 

Grandma is thrilled. Not only has she enjoyed the wide array of hearty victuals that both Eilika and her mother have prepared for her, but she quite clearly thrives on the company, her smile beaming and eyes twinkling as she laughs and jokes with Frix and Eilika, pestering them, goading them, and generally making mischief. She had made a full and speedy recovery from whatever had been ailing her, and Eilika has seen more flesh on her bones and colour in her cheeks now than ever before. 

In the time that has passed, no more mutilated bodies have been found around the village. The townsfolk attribute the lack of any further grizzly murders to the skill of the huntsman, who, Eilika has noticed, has so far been unable to produce evidence of his slaying of any beasts. Eilika knows however, that this fortunate turn of events is due, instead, to Frix’s interventions. The wolfman has, mercifully, thus far remained undiscovered by the huntsman and the villagers.

Talk about werewolves still abounds, but curiously, there has been no mention of the sighting of any bear-like monsters, dead or alive. Believing, however, that the woods have been bewitched, that a bloodthirsty werewolf has been summoned through sorcery by a necromancer who has formed a pact with Lucifer, the town’s council have also sought the assistance of a renowned witch hunter to uncover the evildoer. Father Volknand arrived in the village over a week ago, and though there has been a great display of bluster and bravado, he too has nothing yet to show for his efforts. 

The last snow of winter seemed to have coincided with Eilika meeting Frix. Spring has since awakened the land. Everything is radiant and vital; the days have grown longer, the light hazy and gorgeous, the meadows shimmering with wildflowers, the undergrowth abuzz with industrious insects and the rustling tree tops filled with the cheerful, chirruping cacophony of birdsong.

One afternoon, as the trio are enjoying Eilika’s sweet, lemony Springerle biscuits with a pot of stinging nettle tea – Frix sipping his out of a large bowl to accommodate his muzzle – Grandma quite suddenly and thoroughly dampens the mood by enquiring after the young man to whom Eilika’s hand in marriage has been promised. 

‘Have you met young Mister Berchtold yet?’

‘Yes,’ Eilika snaps back, feeling strangely uncomfortable discussing the topic in front of Frix. ‘We’ll talk about that later.’

Grandma’s eyebrows lift up. ‘Intriguing.’

Eilika stands abruptly, pushing back the chair with a grating scrape of wood on stone. ‘Well, it’s about time I got home.’

‘That bad, huh?’ says Grandma, examining the young woman with an expression of shrewd appraisal. ‘Or, that good?’

Eilika scrabbles to collect her things, donning her cloak, retrieving her basket and crossbow, and nodding an unceremonious farewell to Grandma. ‘Take care, Oma,’ she says brusquely. 

Frix thanks Grandma for the tea and follows Eilika outside, intending, as has become their usual routine, to walk her back to the village border. 

Their journey starts out with a long, uncomfortable silence. 

After a time, Frix looks down at Eilika, and, keeping his tone carefully neutral, he asks, ‘who is young Mister Berchtold?’

Eilika flinches, squeezing her eyes shut as if in physical pain. 

‘How about,’ Frix says kindly, pointing through the trees, ‘we take a detour here, and have a rest. We could talk about it, if you like?’

Eilika looks up at him, blue eyes blown wide. 

‘There’s quite a nice little dell down here by the stream,' Frix adds, 'shady and secluded. It’s a good place to stop for respite…’

Talking about Mister Berchtold is the very last thing Eilika wants to do, but, she supposes, since they have become quite good friends, she does rather owe Frix an explanation. 

‘All right then,’ she says, and Frix angles his head, indicating for Eilika to follow him off the main path. 

When they emerge into the clearing, Eilika gasps in awe. Frix was right about the spot being a pleasant place for a rest. The dell is a velvety, verdant valley, wide and open, yet shrouded enough by the edge of the woodland so as to give it a sense of seclusion and serenity. Through it runs a babbling brook bordered by swathes of resplendent blooms; edelweiss, buttercup, and red clover. 

Frix sits on a large flat boulder by the sparkling water and Eilika settles in front of him on the lush emerald grass. Placing her basket and crossbow beside her, she lowers the hood of her cloak, tilting her face up to catch the sun. 

They sit in companionable silence for a while. Eilika, leans back, arms stretched out behind her, eyes closed, enjoying the warmth of the sun on her skin. The weather has lately been so pleasant that she has been able to change from wearing her woollen kirtles to her linens, and noticed that Frix, too, has transitioned from wearing heavier tunics to lighter cotton clothing. 

She burns with curiosity about the state of his temporary dwelling – this mysterious cave, which she imagines to be alluringly dark and exotic, with flaming torches on the walls and a trove of his treasures hidden at its centre. She has spent a great deal of time speculating about the nature and extent of the belongings he keeps there.

After a lengthy interlude spent listening to the burbling of the brook and the whistle of the wind, eventually, Eilika is ready to answer Frix’s question. 

‘Clewin Berchtold is the man my parents expect me to marry.’

‘Oh,’ says Frix, experiencing a heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach upon hearing her confirm what he now realises he had been fearing ever since he’d first heard her grandmother mention that Eilika would soon have a husband. 

Eilika opens her eyes and shields them from the sun with a hand so that she can look at Frix, noticing that his ears, which normally stand proudly erect, have suddenly drooped. ‘Yes, oh.’

‘Not keen?’ Frix asks, feigning nonchalance. 

Eilika lets out a short, sharp laugh. ‘No.’

‘Is he… unattractive?’ Frix ventures.

Eilika shrugs. ‘There’s nothing wrong with his appearance. I suppose anyone would say he is attractive enough. He’s tall and well built. He has a full head of hair and a fine strong jaw. But…’

‘But?’

‘I don’t love him. I don’t even like him.’

‘You don’t think you could grow to like him?’

‘Not even remotely.’

‘And why’s that?’

‘He’s just not…right for me.’

‘And what sort of attributes might a man require, in order to be the right one for you…?’ asks Frix, finding himself unable to look Eilika in the eye when he says this. Instead, he pulls a spikelet off a long stalk of grass and plucks at its florets.

‘He’d have to be the very opposite of Clewin, who is as dull as dishwater. He has no personality. I’ve met with him three times now and I honestly couldn't tell you one thing he likes or enjoys. He can’t hold a conversation to save himself. I’ve had more robust discussions with the ducks in the village millpond.’

Frix huffs a laugh. ‘That does sound rather dire.’

‘I know I don’t really have a say,’ she continues, ‘but if I did, I would choose a man I can talk to. I want someone who I can respect and communicate openly with. A man of good character, but with a strong will. Someone who has a clear sense of their own identity. Someone who is passionate and free thinking and capable.’

Frix leans forward, his eyebrows slanting in sympathy. ‘And why is it that you don’t have a say?’

‘Clewin is the son of a wealthy merchant. My marriage to him will settle our family’s debts.’

‘Debts?’

‘My father had been born into nobility,’ she explains. ‘The king had granted him many parcels of land around the country to hold as a fief. The parcels included several manorial estates and assets; castles, fishing and grazing rights, salt pans, and hunting pre­ser­ves. Our family held a high social position and enjoyed all of its advantages, or so I am told. I cannot remember those days, but my mother speaks of it relentlessly.’

‘What happened?’ Frix asks, his ears flicking towards her, crystalline eyes soft and full of compassion.

‘I don’t know what, exactly. They’ve never divulged the details to me, but Papa fell from grace, almost overnight and quite completely. My mother has hinted at his ineptitude. Papa had never been a very shrewd financier. But that’s beside the point now. I have adult responsibilities. As the oldest child and only daughter, it is my duty to put my family’s interests ahead of my own…’

Frix remains quiet, listening, his expression warm and commiserative. 

‘I should be happy,’ she laughs bitterly. ‘It is a generous arrangement. The Berchtolds have been quite charitable. And my parents have secured an advantageous match for me. I am sure they have my best interests at heart. Marrying Clewin will afford me a far more comfortable life than that I have become accustomed to.’

Eilika follows Frix’s gaze to find that his eyes have come to rest upon her crossbow.

‘I can use it, you know,’ she says, as much to change the uncomfortable subject, if anything. 

‘I believe you.’

‘No you don’t.’

‘What makes you say that?’

‘You mocked me.’

‘What?! When?’

‘When you first saw it.’

‘I did no such thing!’

‘You raised a brow when you looked at it.’

‘Well, maybe it’s a cultural difference, but where I come from, raising a brow is not exclusively a mocking gesture.’

‘And where do you come from?’

‘A long way away,’ he says with a tone of finality that implies he won’t be pressed into telling her where, exactly. ‘If I raised a brow at your bow that day, it was only because I was admiring the craftsmanship,’ he adds, looking pointedly at her weapon again, hoping to move the conversation along.

His reticence about discussing his homeland only further piques her interest, but she resolves to leave the topic alone for now, determined to return to it again whenever the opportunity next presents itself. 

'Papa made it,' she says, stroking a finger over the bow's etched gear housing. 'So, he may have lost our fortune but he's not entirely irredeemable. It is rather pretty, isn't it?'

She stands, throwing off her cloak, and lifting the crossbow from where it rests atop her basket. ‘But it’s not merely decorative. It’s functional too, and quite effective.’

In front of them is a tree that had long ago lost a large lower limb. Using the growth rings within the branch tree collar of this missing limb as a target, Eilika takes a bolt from her quiver, engages it against the string, raises the crossbow, aims it carefully, and swiftly depresses the trigger, hitting a bullseye right in the nucleus of the tree's rings. 

‘Very impressive,’ says Frix sincerely. ‘But you really don’t have to prove yourself to me.’

‘Force of habit, living with three brothers,’ Eilika replies, lowering the crossbow. ‘They teased me about my interest in combat sports and wanting to learn archery.’

‘I would never tease you,’ Frix replies. ‘At least, not in any way you wouldn’t like,' he adds with a grin.

He had been referring to the playful, good-natured banter they so frequently enjoy with one another, but her expression makes him realise that this comment could have another, far less innocent meaning.

Eilika’s body responds to this statement by blushing brilliantly and tingling all over with an unusual but not at all unpleasant sensation. She looks away, busying herself with returning her crossbow to its position atop her basket.

‘Want me to teach you to use a sword, then?’ Frix says in a rush, attempting to detract from his inadvertently suggestive remark. 

He jumps up from the rock and unsheathes a baselard from a scabbard beside his broadsword. To him, it is merely a dagger, but to Eilika, it is large enough to function as a proper arming sword.

Her eyes glitter with excitement. ‘Yes.’

He flashes a broad smile, his bushy, white-tipped tail swishing behind him as holds the baselard out to her. If they are soon to be separated, it is pertinent, he thinks, that they should savour such simple pleasures with one another. All that matters is that they are together, here and now, and no one can take that away from them.

She lifts the dagger high, inspecting its blade. 

‘First,’ says Frix, ‘some basics, of which I’m sure you’re already familiar if you’re interested in combat sports. Assess your environment, see what you can use to your advantage. What do you see here that you may need to consider?’

‘The bright sunlight,’ she says, ‘I’d have to find the right angle, force my opponent to look into the sun so as to make it difficult for them to see me.’

‘Good, what else?’

‘I’d need to plan my escape route and consider any barriers to accessing it.’

‘Excellent. Yes, you should plan all your moves in advance and be aware of the escape route you will take.’

‘And I’d try not to stand still.’

‘Exactly. Moving around helps you avoid being struck and gives you more openings to attack your opponent. Now, let’s consider stance and grip.’ 

Frix moves behind her. ‘Put your left foot in front of your right, planted nice and firmly on the ground, and stand in a slanted position with your knees bent,’ he says, and she obeys. ‘Good, this will make you a smaller target. Not that you have to worry about that,’ he chuckles. ‘Bend your elbows and keep them close to your body.’

He stands at Eilika’s back, bending low and close. This causes the peculiar tingling sensation to return with a vengeance, becoming a hot sort of throb, pulsing throughout her body. Goosebumps break out across her skin and her breath becomes short and shallow. Frix gently takes hold of her arms and guides her to hold the sword with her right hand at the top end of the grip and her left hand at the bottom, closer to the pommel. 

‘This will allow for a wider range of movement,’ he tells her, ‘and give you a firm hold on the weapon, making it difficult for your opponent to knock it out of your grip.’

‘I– I see…’ she stutters, trying desperately hard to concentrate, though all she can seem to focus on is the sensation of Frix’s body so close to hers; his very thereness, his bulk and solidity, his heat and clean flinty scent. 

‘You must hold your sword in the ready position at all times. Hold it angled from you, aiming toward your opponent’s chest.’

‘Like this?’ she manages to ask, following his directions.

‘Exactly. Now, there are eight basic attack angles in sword fighting. Imagine an octagon in front of you, do you see it?’

She nods.

‘Now, you’re going to swipe your sword towards each of its sides,’ he says, swaying his body in motion with hers as she begins to do this, talking her through it. ‘That’s right, up and down, left to right. Nice, fluid wrist movements. Diagonally down to the left, diagonally down to the right. You’re a natural. Diagonally up to the left, diagonally up to the right.’

Eilika repeats the motions again and again until she is panting from the effort, and from the thrill of Frix’s proximity and touch.

‘Very good,’ he says, his warm breath tickling down her neck, soft thin lips barely touching the shell of her ear. ‘You’ll have the hang of this in no time.’

The strange tingling sensation is now so intense and widespread that Eilika has begun trembling.

‘Now I really think I should be getting home,’ she says bashfully.

Immediately, Frix releases her, stepping back.

‘Well, that’s a start, anyway,’ he blusters, realising that his tuition had become a little more hands-on than he’d first intended it to be, and hoping Eilika does not feel he has been impertinent.

‘Yes,’ she says, handing the baselard back to him and redonning her cloak. ‘A start.’

Eilika experiences a ripple of pleasure at the thought that Frix may hold her that way again under the guise of further sword fighting lessons. This possibility, along with the memory of his touch, will keep her occupied for the long hours until they meet again.

Chapter Text

One day, when Eilika has arrived at Grandma’s house long before Frix, the older woman takes the opportunity, while they are alone, to pounce on her granddaughter and hassle her about her love life. 

‘You know,’ she says forcefully, ‘Frix Fredeward is a far better match for you than Clewin Berchtold.’

Eilika affects an expression of shock. ‘What?’

She is shocked by Grandma voicing this assertion – but not by the assertion itself, which she happens to agree with, but feels she cannot admit. And, she is a little perturbed by her grandmother’s uncanny ability to mirror her thoughts so closely. Although, Eilika has always thought that grandmother has a preternatural ability to read the minds of others.

‘I’ve seen the way you two talk and laugh together,’ Grandma says, ‘the way you look at each other.’

‘We’re just friends,’ Eilika insists, though she knows her milky complexion is flushing furiously, giving her away. 

Grandma’s expression is wry and watchful. ‘If you say so dear…’

‘How are your supplies of wine?’ Eilika asks, attempting to forestall Grandma’s inquisition. ‘Shall I bring you more next time?’

‘He’s a true gentleman,’ Grandma perseveres, patently ignoring Eilika’s attempted diversion. ‘And I don’t care if he is part wolf, he’s the most handsome man I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen a fair few in my time. I’d go for it if I were your age. I’m sure he’d be a generous lover. You’ve seen him eating,’ she adds with a suggestive waggle of her sparse, pale eyebrows.

‘What’s that got to do with it?’ says Eilika hotly. 

‘Surely you’ve noticed his rather long tongue.’

Eilika stares at her grandmother for a moment, face flaming and pinched, so appalled she cannot speak. ‘Oma!’ she finally manages to exclaim. 

‘And,’ Grandma proceeds, unheeding, ‘if you do not wish to conceive pups right away, I have a very effective elixir that can help with that.’

‘Oma!’ Eilika repeats, thinking it’s no wonder the villagers drove her out if she was peddling contraception to the largely catholic inhabitants of the town. 

‘I’m just saying, think it through. Do you really want to be tied to boring Berchtold for the rest of your life? He may have money, but he’s nothing more than a droning, dizzy-eyed dewberry.’

Every muscle in Eilika’s body is tense with irritation. She is wound up, ready to snap. ‘It’s not as if I have a choice!’

Grandma leans in close, and, with a quiet, solemn conviction that is unnerving after her earlier silliness, she says, ‘we always have choices. But there are, of course, consequences to consider.’

Eilika folds her arms tightly across her chest. ‘What, exactly, are you suggesting?’

‘That you run away with him, of course! It would mean disappointing the family. But they’re quite a disappointing bunch themselves, if I’m frank.’

Through the sleeves of her linen kirtle, Eilika’s fingernails dig into her crossed arms. Grandma is, at the best of times, a brazen, defiant, obstreperous woman, but this is downright disrespectful. Eilika’s exasperation, however, is only further fueled by the fact that once again, she finds herself in agreement. 

‘He’s my son, and I adore him,’ Grandma continues, ‘but your father is absolutely useless.’ She tuts, shaking her head. ‘Squandering the family fortune like he did... Your brothers will never amount to anything, either. And your mother, well, I do appreciate everything she’s done for me, but I can’t say I condone her attitudes. She’s always been a mercenary money-grubber–’

‘Really!’ Eilika scolds, getting up from the table.

‘I’m sorry,’ says Grandma, watching as Eilika begins pacing the stone floor in front of the hearth. ‘But it has to be said. She may seem as if she’s thinking of your wellbeing, but your mother only really wants you to marry Clewin Berchtold because it will restore the family to good fortune, and she misses the gowns and jewels.’

Eilika unfolds her arms and throws her hands up in the air. ‘I’m not sure I can listen to much more of this–’ But only because the truth is difficult to bear. 

‘Imagine making it the sole responsibility of a trusting, innocent, helpless young woman – who has her whole life ahead of her – to rescue her family from pauperdom by tying herself to a pottle-deep, pigeon-livered popinjay–’

‘–I am not helpless!’ Eilika shouts, really losing her temper now, ‘and I resent the implication–’

‘–it’s despicable, that’s what it is–!’

Grandma is silenced by an assertive knock at the door. Frix has intervened before their quarrel can escalate any further. 

Eilika spins around, turning her back on Grandma. She swiftly dons her cloak and throws the door open with such force, it slams against the wall with a resounding clatter. 

Startled by this thunderous greeting, and by the murderous expression on Eilika’s face, Frix’s eyebrows jump in surprise. 

‘I was just leaving,’ Eilika says, snatching up her basket and crossbow. ‘You can stay, if you like, but I need to go.’

Frix shoots a questioning look at Grandma. 

‘Never mind,’ says the older woman, waving him away. ‘Just walk her home. You and I can natter later.’

Eilika doesn’t like the sound of this. She highly suspects Grandma and Frix have been talking about her behind her back. 

Meanwhile, Frix looks back and forth between the two women, eyes narrowed, attempting to comprehend what has taken place. 

Keen to depart before Grandma can boil over with any more provocative outpourings, Eilika hooks her arm through Frix’s. ‘Come on,’ she says, pulling him out the door.

Frix inclines his head, nodding farewell to Grandma, before allowing Eilika to drag him outside. 

She sets off at a brisk pace, so much so that Frix is the one left behind on this occasion. He catches up, and when they are a fair distance away from Grandma’s cottage and he determines that Eilika has begun to cool off, Frix asks, ‘do we need to make another detour to the dell?’

She lets out a long sigh. ‘Yes please.’

Once they reach their secret place, as is customary, Frix sits on his boulder, and Eilika sits on the grass before him. She reaches around, picking dozens of daisies, and collecting them in a pile on her lap.

Nowadays, the pair frequently steal away to the dell to spend time together alone, but there has been no further swordplay. Fearing he had overstepped the mark last time, Frix has not offered any more lessons and Eilika has been too shy to ask.

‘What happened back there?’ Frix asks. 

‘I love her, honestly I do, but sometimes, like today, I just find Oma a bit much.’

Frix chuckles. ‘She can be outrageous at times.’

With her thumbnail, Eilika slits the stem of a daisy, threading the stem of another through it until the flower sits snug against the incision. ‘That’s putting it mildly.’

‘What did she say?’

‘She was suggesting–’ Eilika starts, before promptly stopping herself. There is no way she can admit what Grandma had actually suggested. ‘She was saying…offensive things about my– our family…’

Then, all of Grandma’s words, and the truth of them, come rushing back and looking at Frix now, Eilika finds herself feeling utterly overwhelmed by her predicament. 

She cannot marry Clewin Berchtold. And yet she must. 

‘I don’t really want to talk about it any more,’ she says quietly. 

‘Then we won’t,’ says Frix. ‘What do you wish to talk about instead?’

‘Tell me about your pendant,’ Eilika replies, looking at his necklace. ‘What does the axe symbolise?’

‘It’s our pack’s emblem,’ Frix says, hand moving to touch the piece of jewellery hanging around his neck. ‘The Fredeward clan. My brother wears a matching one.’

Eilika looks up from her work weaving the daisies into a chain. ‘You are close to him?’

Frix nods. ‘Wolfkin are usually born in multiple; twins, triplets or quadruplets. Siblings therefore share a deep bond.’

This comment makes Eilika recall Grandma’s earlier remark about conceiving pups, and though she manages to keep her expression calm, her mind unavoidably strays toward the rather daunting yet surprisingly appealing notion of bearing and birthing Frix’s younglings.

‘Herdegen and I are twins,’ he continues, and she forces herself to focus on what he is saying. ‘This is the first time we have been separated for more than a few days.’

‘What happened?’ Eilika asks before she can think not to.

Frix hesitates, his expression sombre. ‘As I mentioned, we were separated while pursuing one of the more vicious dämonbär we had come across. We were chasing it through a grove just outside of Winderbron. The grove was dense and tangled with vines. Then we reached a narrow ravine. We lost sight of the dämonbär, and did not know which side it had taken.’

Eilika pauses in the act of twisting daisy stems to give Frix her full attention.

‘Herde took one side, I took the other. It turned out the beast had taken my side of the ravine. I gained upon it, dispatched it, and went looking for my brother. We’d agreed to meet at the other end, but there was no sign of him. I waited, and waited, then searched and searched. At nightfall, I headed back to our base camp. Herde had not reappeared by morning. That was the day I met your grandmother. I have stayed here, in Winderbron, hoping with each passing day that he will yet reappear.’

Eilika can tell from the sadness in his eyes that Frix has begun to lose this hope. 

‘What will you do?’ she asks, starting to string the stems together again. 

‘At the outset, we had agreed that if we were separated, and more than a month had passed, we would head home.’

She looks up at him once more. ‘Why have you not done so?’

‘I couldn’t shake the feeling that he hasn’t headed home, that he’s still out there somewhere. Then your grandmother and I became friends, and I seem to have developed this strong, unyielding desire to protect her. Then, I met you…’

Frix lets this last statement hang in the air for a time while they maintain intense unwavering eye contact. What he will not confess is that Eilika has become his primary reason for staying in Winderbron now.

‘But I must return home, eventually,’ he says finally.

Eilika drops her head, nodding, fiddling with the flowers.

‘Have you any news about the huntsmen?’ Frix asks, in order to break the strained silence. 

Weekly, the town bailiff presides over a gathering in the great hall, where Father Volknand, the Witchfinder General, and Ulfhard the Great, a so-called “wolf slayer” extraordinaire, update the villagers on any advancements they have made in their quest to find the monster.

‘A lot of talk and nothing to show for it,’ Eilika replies. ‘There has been no mention of the dämonbär, though, no talk of finding dead boar-bear beasts, or of slaying them. Why do you think that is?’

Frix shrugs. ‘I know not. But that is puzzling.’

‘You have made no attempt to conceal or dispose of any of the bodies?’ she asks. 

‘No. Nor have I found any that have not been slain by myself.’

‘It doesn’t make any sense.’

‘Perhaps, if they have come across them, the huntsmen have been passing the dämonbär off as regular bears. They have a very clear profile of a lycanthrope monster in mind, and those beasts do not fit with their prepossessions. I have come across such religious zealots before. Such is their obsessive enthusiasm for their own beliefs, they are uncompromising in the face of truth. They are looking for something that is consistent with their existing beliefs, and are liable to discard anything that does not confirm their ideas.’

Eilika nods. ‘They certainly are enthusiastic about their cause. Father Volknand keeps going on with his hymns, the Gloria Patri and other doxologies. He raves on and on about how the wolf is a servant of Satan and how God’s holy love is our only hope for redemption.’

‘Has anyone questioned them about their lack of results?’

‘No. No one would dare. Though I know it is on people’s minds.’

‘And how do they appease the people?’

‘By talking about the action they have supposedly taken. Now, they say they plan to set traps.’

‘I am familiar with the kind they use. Haussepieds. They are an elaborate contraption. A type of snare that lifts the prey from the ground.’

Eilika suddenly jumps to her feet, striding over. Standing in front of him, she gazes intently at Frix, her big eyes boring into his, beseeching. ‘Do be careful, won’t you? Promise me you’ll be alert and aware at all times.’

‘I am always aware,’ Frix says with a wink. ‘I’m a-ware-wolf.’

Eilika rolls her eyes, grinning. ‘Very funny.’

She drops the crown of daisies she has made upon his head. 

‘It suits you,’ she says, tweaking it until it sits right. Her hands fall to rest on his shoulders. ‘Mein prinz,’ she whispers, smiling.

And though her tone is jocular and slightly flippant, her expression quickly turns serious. She sways forward, and for the briefest moment, watching and waiting with bated breath, his heart pounding in his chest, Frix believes she intends to kiss him. 

The moment is broken when she apparently comes to her senses, shivers a little, as if shaking off some kind of enchantment that had briefly overpowered her, and steps back. 

‘I dare you to wear it,’ she says, reprising her humorous tone. 

‘I'm afraid it may rather diminish my credibility as a big bad wolf,’ he says, removing the crown and placing it on her head instead. ‘I have a reputation to uphold, you know.’

‘Sure,’ she says, taking his hand and pulling him up from the rock. ‘Come on, Mister Big Bad. Walk me home.’

And though she turns away from him laughing, no amount of humour can fully disguise the thing that is between them, especially when they touch. It is visceral, corporeal, powerful. It is right and pure and true. It thrums and throbs and aches. 

In fact, he’s fairly certain she’s his mate. But, he hasn’t decided what – if anything – to do about it. Surely, he thinks, she must feel it too. Though he sometimes thinks he can detect that alluring, felicitous scent radiating off her, the one wolfkin are supposed to recognise when they meet their ideal companion, it is usually clouded by a jumble of other scents that suggest a confusion of emotions and the mixed feelings of one who is troubled by conflicting interests. 

If she happens to return his affections on any level, not to mention the demands that her family have placed on her, she would also no doubt be hesitant about the fact that he is not entirely human. Theirs would surely be a union her people would consider repugnant and immoral, may forbid, even. 

Nevertheless, the thing that crackles between them is undeniable, and felt so profoundly today, that it is more of a roaring blaze than a slow burning smoulder when she holds his hand.

She lets it go once they have returned to the main path, but when they approach the village border, Frix stops and looks down at Eilika, compelled now to confess at least something of his feelings for her.

‘Eilika,’ he starts, ‘whatever happens I–’

Realising what he is about to say, her eyes widen in distress. ‘Don’t–’

‘Please, I just want to say–’

‘Don’t,’ she repeats, her eyes now shining with tears, her bottom lip trembling. She looks down at her feet.

He gently cups her jaw with his great big paw, raising her face to his. ‘Look at me, please, kleine.’

Reluctantly, she meets his eyes again.

‘If we’re separated, I want you to know that you’re the best friend I’ve ever had. I’ve enjoyed our time together, and I’ll miss you terribly.’

She blinks, allowing the tears to finally fall, leaking down her cheeks, spilling over his fingers.  

There is much more he wishes to say, but resolves to leave it at that. 

‘There. It’s said. Now, with any luck, it won’t happen. But I’m glad to have said it.’

‘I feel the same,’ she says.

She takes his hand from her face, turns it over, kisses the back, then drops it, racing away across the wooden truss bridge before she can cry any more, or before her self-restraint erodes so entirely that she finds herself unable to resist taking some drastic, irreversible action. 

Chapter Text

It’s all a blur. A horrible, heavy haze of perplexity and dread. 

There’s blood. A great deal of blood. Eilika can see it splashed about like someone has carelessly spilled quarts and quarts of paint. And she can smell it, the raw acrid reek of it.

Grandma’s house is even more of a mess than usual. It’s not the regular, homely sort of chaos that Eilika is used to seeing in the cottage. It’s the kind of disorder that is born of sudden violence. 

Things are broken. Shards of shattered earthenware crockery lay scattered around, furniture has been upturned, and the cauldron has been knocked down from the brick-and-mortar hearth spewing its steaming contents all over the stone floor. Everything is still, and the silence in the little house has that charged quality that speaks of dark deeds recently enacted, or yet to come to pass.  

Eilika teeters on the spot, the room spinning around her. She blinks, willing her mind to make sense of the scene. 

Frix takes her by the arm with a comforting firmness, turns her around, and steers her outside. 

‘I’m not going to keep you from looking, if you need to,’ he says kindly, helping her to sit on the wooden bench outside Grandma’s front door, ‘but I don’t think it’s a good idea.’

‘W-what happened?’ she asks woozily, looking up at him. 

He sits beside her, folding his big body awkwardly to fit on the bench, and takes one of her hands in his. ‘Eilika,’ he says, his voice soft and sincere, ‘your grandmother is dead. I’m so sorry.’

Eilika falls into his arms, wailing, and Frix holds her tightly. He allows her to cry – great heaving sobs that shake her whole body – until his tunic is wet right down to his fur. He rocks her gently, cooing soothing words, stroking her hair.

When her sobbing abates, she draws back and he presses his snout to her forehead, thin lips pursing in the best approximation of kiss he can manage.

‘Was it the d-dämonbär?’ she manages to ask, trembling. Her throat hurts and she’s out of breath. 

‘No. I don’t think so.’

She narrows her swollen, red-rimmed eyes at him questioningly. 

‘When dämonbär kill, it’s…’ he hesitates, not wishing to distress her any further. 

‘Just say it,’ she spits, appreciating his solicitude, but overwhelmed by the need to understand what has taken place. 

‘When dämonbär kill,’ he continues, his expression grim, ‘it’s a feral frenzy – rough and crude. But her throat had been cleanly cut. With a blade, not claws or teeth. And her apotropaic spell had been disrupted.’

Eilika sniffs, her eyes widening as she grasps his meaning. ‘So, you think–’

‘Yes. Someone knew about the spell, knew how it worked, and how to break it.’

Eilika opens her mouth to speak again, but stiffens in silence as they hear voices approaching at the back of the cottage.

‘Check everywhere again,’ shouts a booming baritone she recognises. ‘I mean everywhere. Crawl up inside the chimneys. Dig up the stones and check under the floor. We must find it.’

‘Father Volknand,’ Eilika hisses.

Frix’s voice is a harsh whisper as he takes Eilika by the hand, pulling her up from the bench. ‘Quick, over here.’

He guides her toward the nearby brushwood and they conceal themselves behind the thicket of shrubs and small trees just as Volknand rounds the cottage with Ulfhard and four of their apprentice soldiers – young men from the village. 

Volknand is a formidable-looking man with a huge scar down one cheek, grizzled hair, and dark, penetrating eyes. He wears white, priestly robes covered by heavily dimpled battle armour. A broadsword hangs from a scabbard at his hip, the hilt of which is a crucifix.

Volknand enters the cottage with Ulfhard and the young men in tow. Frix and Eilika hear the resounding clatter of pots and smashing crockery as the search for whatever they seek recommences. A few moments later, Volknand emerges with Ulfhard and they stand in the doorway where the Witchfinder General addresses his subordinate.

‘Though you have quite neatly and efficiently disposed of the old hag,’ he says, ‘as I impressed upon you earlier, the mission is incomplete without the grimoire in our possession.’

‘But where can it be?’ Ulfhard replies in exasperation. ‘We have turned this place upside down. Quite literally! Surely it is not so well hidden that we have been unable to find it yet.’

Volknand pauses, staring into the middle distance, apparently deep in thought. ‘Perhaps…’ he says, scanning the surrounding boscage, ‘…it has already been taken by another.’ His gaze lingers for an uncomfortable amount of time right on the spot where Frix and Eilika are hiding. 

He turns sharply to glare at Ulfhard. ‘Withdraw the men. Search the thicket instead.’

Ulfhard nods, ducking through the doorway to bark orders at the band of novice soldiers, who trot, single-file, out of the cottage directly toward the copse.

‘What will we do?’ Eilika mutters, squatted beside Frix, who lays flat on his front in the dirt to hide his large form.

She has her crossbow drawn, loaded, and gripped firmly in her hands. Her basket had been left in Grandma’s cottage but her quiver is attached to a belt worn at her waist. 

Frix hops up into a crouch, rapidly assessing their chances. Though he is bigger and undoubtedly more skilled than most of the soldiers, they are outnumbered, Volknand seems entirely competent, and Frix does not want Eilika implicated in this nefarious business.

He flashes a quick, regretful look at her. ‘Run,’ he rasps, ‘as fast as you can.’

They burst out of the copse, startling the soldiers and stunning them briefly, giving them a head start as they race off in opposite directions through the forest. 

Ulfhard bellows an order for the soldiers to split up, commanding three to follow him with Volknand in pursuit of Frix, and one to chase after Eilika.

In a blind panic, Eilika crashes through the woods, leaping over low shrubs and thick tangled roots, dimly aware she has been separated from Frix. Through the sound of her pulse pounding in her ears, she can hear the shouts of Volknand’s soldier gaining on her. She is sprinting as fast as her legs will carry her, her breath harsh and ragged, the sharp sting of a stitch in her chest, but it is not fast enough. 

The young man has caught up to her. He snags a handful of her cloak, throwing her to the ground. When he turns her over, she recognises him as Barnim Burgold, the simpleton who used to tug at her braids when they were children. He drags her, struggling, spitting, kicking and cursing, all the way back to Grandma’s cottage. 

Burgold yanks her up onto her feet, snatches away her crossbow, and, standing behind her, wraps both arms firmly around her so that her own arms are forced down by her sides. Here in the clearing, she is dismayed to see that Frix hadn’t gotten far himself. But, he’s putting up a good fight. 

He has his sword drawn, but simply swipes Volknand’s soldiers aside as they run at him instead, swatting one of them directly into a wide tree trunk and smacking another aside with his tail. The other men slip in the mud created by the heavy spring rains and as they attempt to scrabble to their feet, Frix bats them into the ground with his enormous paw.

But Volknand fights with fury and finesse, feinting with his right hand, then swinging with his left, distracting Frix enough to gain an advantage. The tide of battle turns suddenly.

Eilika shrieks when Volknand kicks Frix’s legs out from under him. 

His sword is knocked clear out of his hand and he falls on his face. The three men scramble over to sit atop him and Ulfhard forces his arms behind his back, tying his hands together with a rope. 

Upon seeing her strong, capable companion overcome by these louses, a frighteningly fierce rage of the likes Eilika has never before experienced bubbles up hotly within her.

‘NO!’ she screams.

‘It’s the hellhound!’ one of the men cries out in delight, ‘we’ve caught it!’

‘Indeed we have,’ says Ulfhard, rising up to stand beside Volknand, panting and triumphant.

‘But what have we here?’ Volknand asks, regarding Eilika with fascination.

‘She’s the old hag’s granddaughter, Your Eminence,’ says Burgold, and Eilika flinches at the smell of his rancid hot breath.

‘Most intriguing,’ comments Volknand. 

‘And she has been conspiring with this unholy beast,’ says Burgold. ‘She must be a witch, too.’

‘Where is the grimoire?’ Volknand demands, striding toward Eilika.

‘The what?’ she asks, genuinely confused. 

‘The hag’s spellbook. Do you have it?’

She shakes her head in bafflement. ‘No.’

‘I do not believe you,’ he says, bringing his face close to hers.

‘I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ she insists.

‘What will we do to her?’ Burgold asks gleefully.

‘We’ll shut her into the Schandmantel,’ Volknand replies, eyes fixed on Eilika’s. ‘There, she will be forced to stand for days on end, spiked, on all sides, with the sharpest of nails. She will be unable to rest without being pierced. She will stay there until she tells us everything, until she relinquishes the grimoire and tells us how it is that she has come to live as the devil’s concubine, or, until she dies, whichever comes first.’

Burgold’s lips peel back, exposing a gap-toothed grin. ‘And the werewolf?’

‘We’ll cut off its paws,’ says Ulfhard, and Volknand turns to stride back to where he stands, ‘followed by its head. Then we’ll burn it.’

All eyes turn back to Frix, who continues to wriggle and writhe beneath his captours, jostling them about atop him like riders on a bucking horse.

In his rapture, Burgold has become complacent, and, assuming – by virtue of her sex – that his particular adversary is weak and feeble, he has loosened his grip on Eilika. Taking advantage of this, she stamps down hard on his foot and throws her head back, smashing it into his face. There’s a sickening crunch and a grunt of pain as he releases his grip on her, and before the other men can comprehend what has happened, Eilika spins around, reclaims her crossbow, and steps back to aim it at Burgold. She shoots him through the shoulder, pinning him to the tree behind.

Utterly astounded, Ulfhard and Volknand seem frozen in place as Eilika reloads, turns, and fires another bolt at one of the men sitting on Frix. He falls backward, knocking the soldier at his right side down with him, and Frix wrenches his wrists apart, tearing the rope. 

He jumps up, throwing off the last man, and retrieves his broadsword. Now, he fights ruthlessly. With a few swift slashes of his sword, he wounds the men badly enough to incapacitate them while leaving them alive.

Meanwhile Eilika fires a bolt into Volknand, then another into Ulfhard, each strategically aimed at the legs to immobilise both men rather than to kill them.

Frix rushes toward Eilika, hefting her up and tossing her onto his back. She winds her arms around his neck and wraps her legs around his front.

‘Hold on tight,’ he tells her, before setting off at an incredible, inhuman pace.

Eilika buries her face in his fur and the air whips around her as they hurtle through the woods.

Chapter Text

Back at Frix’s hideout, he sits Eilika down on a stack of furs and offers her a waterskin to drink from. 

She gulps several mouthfuls, then hands it back to him, looking around the cave, which is nowhere near as exciting as she had pictured, and far smaller. It’s cool, and there’s a pleasant, crisp, earthy aroma. Eilika’s eyes have taken a while to adjust to the darkness but she can see her surroundings clearly now. 

Frix has his belongings – and those of his brother, Herdegen – packed up and neatly arranged, as if he has always been ready to leave at a moment’s notice. 

The thought that Frix may have one day simply disappeared without so much as a goodbye causes Eilika to experience a sharp pang of something cold and painful deep in her gut. 

Her eyes roam over the objects. There are two of everything: bedrolls, satchel bags, sacks, and wooden frame packs with wicker baskets attached. Eilika draws her gaze away from them to look at Frix again. 

‘What will we do now?’ she asks.

He finishes the last of the water and inhales a deep breath. ‘The Witchfinder General will not rest until he has captured you. You’re not safe here anymore.’

‘I know, but–’

‘We need to leave,’ he interrupts.

‘You mean–?’

‘Run away with me.’

Her mouth hangs open. ‘What?’

‘Will you run away with me?’ he says, slowly and emphatically, leaving no doubt as to what he is proposing.

Frix expects her to hesitate, to baulk at the idea, but she answers immediately and with great fervour.

‘Yes.’

Despite the terrible happenings of the day, the turmoil and trauma, at this suggestion, Eilika is buoyed by a sudden sensation of warmth and lightness. This, she thinks, is the solution to all of her problems. Her eyes are brimming once more, but this time, with tears of happiness. Running away with Frix is a dream she has never allowed herself to entertain, and now, miraculously, it’s coming true.

Frix tries not to break out into a wide smile. It doesn’t seem appropriate, under the circumstances, but her response makes his heart leap for joy and his tail betrays him, swaying enthusiastically back and forth.

‘Good. We’ll head back to my homeland where I guarantee you will be safe. But, we must make haste. We’ll leave immediately.’ 

Frix shoves a waxed canvas tent and several of the pelts into the basket of one of the packs. He straps the wooden poles of the tent frame, an iron trivet, a barrel filled with food rations, and his bedroll to the bottom, then turns around, intending to instruct Eilika to load herself up in a similar manner, but pauses, studying her standing beside Herdegen’s pack. It is far too large and heavy for her. He frowns. 

‘What’s wrong?’ she asks. 

‘You won’t be able to return to your village,’ Frix says apologetically.

Eilika nods. She had already come to the same conclusion, and feels rather guilty at her lack of concern. She will likely never see her family again, and wonders if the absence of any sadness is due to numbness from shock. 

‘I’m afraid you can’t retrieve any of your belongings…’ Frix continues.

She shrugs. ‘I have nothing of value, except for my cloak and crossbow, both of which are here with me.’

‘Well,’ Frix says, ‘we’ll have to pack your cloak away–’

‘Why?’ she asks, fixing him with her pretty, plaintive eyes. 

‘I know you love it, and it’s very important to you…’ he says, closing the distance between them, enveloping her face in his big hands, thumbs stroking over her smooth, rounded cheeks. 

The tenderness of the gesture causes a lump in her throat.

Especially now that it’s your last remaining connection to your late grandmother, he thinks, but, wanting to avoid triggering flashbacks of the day’s horrific events, he does not say so.

‘But the colour is too bright,’ he explains, dropping his hands away from her face and returning to fiddle with his pack. ‘It’s not very good for blending in with the surroundings.’

Of course, she chides herself. Stupid. 

‘Oh,’ she says, unclasping the cloak and shucking it off. ‘Yes, of course.’

Underneath, her linen kirtle is a muddy green colour, which is far more suitable for trekking surreptitiously through the woods.

‘I was going to say you could roll it up and put it in here,’ he explains, gesturing to the other frame pack. ‘But this is too big for you. Do you think you could carry the sack and satchel, though?’

Eilika regards the two items. ‘I think so.’

Fix takes Herdegen’s clothing out of the sack’s pouches. It causes him great sorrow to do so, but he pushes these feelings aside and turns his attention back to the task at hand. He leaves the clothing in a tidy pile by the frame pack, but keeps one scarf and two tunics. He imagines the tunics, in the absence of anything else, with some rope tied around the waist, may be utilised by Eilika as dresses if need be.

She hands him her folded cloak, and he adds it to the sack, along with two woollen blankets. Herdegen’s bedroll would also be too big and heavy for her to carry, but Frix hopes that the blankets and furs will be sufficient for her to sleep with. Naturally, he would welcome her sharing his bedroll, but feels it may be indecent to suggest such a thing just now. 

Frix removes some of the heaviest items; the clay pot, iron skillet, and wooden chopping board from Herdegen’s satchel, and transfers them to his own. This leaves only the ceramic mugs, various linen cloths, and eating utensils – wooden spoons and bowls – for Eilika to carry.

He slings his satchel across his front, and the double-pouched sack around his neck, then helps Eilika to do the same with hers. He has to adjust the buckles on the satchel so that it sits at the level of her hip, and the baggage looks overly large on her, but she seems to be able to manage comfortably. 

Frix hoists his frame pack onto his back and looks around his temporary den one final time. Before departing, at the mouth of the cave, he plunks a small piece of burnt wood from the charred remnants of his last fire and Eilika watches him draw several symbols – unrecognisable to her – on the rock wall.

‘It’s a message. In case Herdegen follows my scent a finds his way here,’ he tells her stoically, before holding his hand out to her.

‘Ready?’ he asks.

She takes his hand, and, without the slightest trace of fear, only bright with hope at the promise of a new, vibrant future, she gives him a brilliant smile.

 ‘Ready.’

Chapter Text

The pair walk for hours before stopping to rest. Frix had been keen to put as much distance between them and Winderbron as possible. But eventually it’s clear how much Eilika has begun to struggle with the weight and bulk of her oversized load. 

She sighs in relief when Frix tells her they’re stopping, easing the pack off her back and setting it down along with the sack and satchel. Frix does the same with his, and they survey their surroundings. The place they have chosen is flat and sheltered by the dense dark canopies of looming ​​evergreens. A wide stream gurgles along beside them. 

‘I think this will be as safe a place as any to spend the night,’ he tells her, and she nods in agreement. 

Great, sentinel conifer and broadleaf trees stand silent and still as the afternoon sun wanes and the wind begins to die down. Frix looks up at the sky, sniffing the air. ‘It won’t rain, so we will not need to erect the tent, as long as you’re comfortable sleeping in the open?’

Eilika has always felt eminently comfortable in nature. The darkness has never brought on a sense of dread for her, as it has for most of her fellow townsfolk. It is why she had never been afraid to make the regular trip through the woods to visit her grandmother, despite the danger and her mother's constant argumentation.

‘Actually,’ she answers, thinking, additionally, that she could likely sleep peacefully anywhere as long as Frix was nearby, ‘that sounds lovely.’

It’s Frix’s turn to nod. ‘Do you think you could start a fire?’ he asks her. 

She looks around at the undergrowth, already spying suitable twigs, dried pine needles, and larger branches to build up tinder. ‘Sure.’

‘Good. The striker flint is in your satchel,’ he says, before retrieving a feathered hook and nettle-hemp line from his own bag. ‘I’ll see if I can catch us something to eat.’

Frix sets off toward the stream with his fishing equipment and Eilika chooses the most level area of ground to begin building a fire. She clears away loose rocks and debris, then gets on her knees and uses her hands to create a circular shape in the dirt. Using the cleared rocks to form a ring, she then collects a bundle of small sticks and twigs, laying them flat on the base, making a platform to allow airflow beneath the tinder.

Gathering up dry grass and pine needles, she places them atop the sticks before fetching the striker flint from her satchel to start the fire, smiling with satisfaction as the tinder catches the spark and ignites.

She collects more twigs and branches for kindling, piling them up beside her and slowly adding them to stoke the fire. She also locates several logs from a fallen tree which they could add to fuel the flames. As she waits for Frix to return with his hatchet to break them down into smaller pieces, she sets about searching the edge of the forest for any edible plants to supplement their meal. 

Her foraging is profitable. She returns to the fireside with wild garlic, wood sorrel, spicknel, and a few handfuls of red whortleberries at the same time Frix comes trudging up from the stream with a wriggling Bachforellen on his line. 

The fish is a good size and weight with strong colouring: a golden belly, and dark red spots encircled by black. Frix is pleased by the smile that breaks out across Eilika’s face at the sight of it. He has a pressing need to demonstrate that he is more than capable of providing for her, that he would make a good mate – dutiful, devoted, attentive. 

Whether or not she returns his affections, he is already bonded to her. He has accepted that on the day they first met, something elemental shifted inside him irrevocably. He wants to be by her side always, to assist her, serve her, and please her in any way he can. It pains him to be parted from her, even for the briefest of times and shortest of distances. Leaving her mere metres away to fish in the stream just now, he’d felt the mate-bond – unbreakable yet unfulfilled – roaring and throbbing within, protesting against the separation. 

‘Very good,’ he says, eying the fire she has created, as well as the little pile of wild edibles she has left by its side on a linen cloth.

He smiles at her fondly. Eilika – he already knows for a fact – will be a most excellent mate to whomever she chooses to bond with. She is resourceful, bright, kind and clever. He envies whoever that person may be with a passion that makes his blood run hot, but resolves to respect any decision she makes nonetheless.

‘There are logs we can use over here,’ she says, pointing to the fallen tree. ‘But we’ll need to cut them into smaller pieces.’

Frix nods, finally putting the fish out of its misery, and setting it down beside Eilika’s offerings.

‘The skillet and pan is attached to my pack,’ he reminds her, before busying himself with cutting up the wood. 

She fetches the cooking equipment and utensils, then helps Frix to arrange the larger logs on the fire. 

Seasoned with spicknel, a little salt from Frix’s rations, and cooked in its own fatty oils, the trout is very tasty with a side of pan-fried garlic and a salad made of sorrel and whortleberries. After eating, they clean up their equipment in the stream, and Frix fills the pot with water to boil over the fire, planning to refill their many waterskins. He sets the pot aside after it has bubbled steadily for a good time. 

The air becomes cool as the dusk deepens and Eilika takes her cloak out of her sack, donning it to stay warm.

In order to avoid attracting attention and giving away their whereabouts with a smoke trail while they are sleeping and thus helpless, they will douse the fire before retiring, Frix has informed her. But, in the meantime they stare into it, mesmerised – exhausted but content, enjoying the heat, the rhythmic flick and flutter of the flames dancing before their eyes, and each other’s company.

Eilika retreats into her thoughts and Frix notices her expression become pensive. He scoots closer to her on the blanket they have set down by the fire.

‘You were incredible today…’ he starts to say. 

Startled out of her reverie, she blinks up at him. 

‘...the way you evaded Burgold and incapacitated Ulfhard and Volknand,’ he continues, ‘the way you freed me. I could never have defended myself without your–’

‘Of course you could,’ she interrupts, rolling her eyes, thinking he is merely saying this to flatter and reassure her. 

‘No,’ he insists. ‘We were outnumbered. Their footmen were useless, but both Ulfhard and Volknand are skilled warriors. I’m used to fighting in a pair. I may be large and strong, but without my brother, I’m severely disadvantaged. But you… you saved me. You saved us.’

‘I took a chance and got lucky because Burgold is an idiot,’ she says, dropping her head, stroking the velvet pile of her cloak forlornly. 'I’m just a girl–'

‘No you’re not,’ he says, tilting her face back up to look at him with a finger under her chin. ‘You’re a woman. A strong, brave woman. You're fast and smart and nimble. You're a very competent fighter. I couldn’t have done it without you.’

She scoffs. ‘Well, I certainly couldn’t have done it without you.’

‘We make a good team, then.'

She smiles weakly, still stroking the velvet cloak and the mate-bond gives him a sudden insight. 

‘I know what you’re thinking…’ he ventures.

She swallows hard, eyes darting away from his. 

‘You needn’t worry that you parted on bad terms,’ he says softly. ‘Your grandmother loved you dearly, and she knew just how much you loved her.’

The fact that Frix does indeed know exactly what Eilika is thinking, the resonance of his words, and his validation of her feelings causes a sob to escape from her throat. 

He drops an arm around her shoulders, waiting until she has cried out the last of her tears before speaking again. It is finally time, he decides – now that they have the possibility of a future together, now that she has already been endangered by events outside of his control, now that, in time, she will discover it herself anyway – to tell Eilika the whole truth. 

‘I need to show you something.’

She watches as he gets up and rummages through his satchel, producing, to her utter amazement, the book grandmother had always told her contained her recipes – an old leather-bound thing bursting with dogeared, deckled-edged, yellowed pages. The book that Volknand had called “the grimoire.” It makes sense now, she supposes, as grandmother never had been a very good cook after all... 

She stares at it for a long while, stunned, before finally finding her voice again. ‘Oma’s spellbook?’

Frix returns to his place beside her, sitting once more. ‘Yes. She gave it to me, for safekeeping, late last week. I should have known then that something bad was going to happen...’ he trails off. 

‘It’s not your fault,’ Eilika says, placing a hand over his where it rests atop the closed book. 

He gives her a sad smile, wishing, if it would bring him any peace at all, that he could allow himself to believe this. He turns his hand over, capturing hers.

‘Shall I tell you what’s really been going on?’ he asks, squeezing her fingers. 

Her eyes widen even further as a fresh wave of surprise washes over her. 

‘Please,’ she implores him.

'You know how I told you that I come from a long way away?’ Frix begins.

‘Yes.’

‘Well, actually… I’m from another world…’

A/N:

Visual inspo for Frix chopping logs for the fire.

Einarr by PersonalAmi

Chapter Text

Eilika is so utterly shocked, she cannot speak, cannot move. For what seems like an eternity, she simply stares at Frix, paralysed in a state of bewilderment. 

‘It’s difficult to comprehend,’ says Frix calmly, ‘I know.’

‘This other world,’ she manages to say, ‘is… is that where you’re taking me?’ 

‘Yes. That is, only if you want to go.’

‘I’d–’ She stops herself from saying what’s on the tip of her tongue. I’d go anywhere with you.

‘I’m happy to go,’ she says. ‘But, will I be able to return to this world?’

Frix nods. ‘With ease, if you wish. And, if you do not wish to leave this world, you needn’t,’ he tells her.

His emotions are at war with his rational mind. Though it causes the mate-bond to howl in objection, he loves her so much that he must be completely frank with her, must be fair. He must offer her a choice, an alternative to going with him.

‘If you want to stay, we’ll find another village where the townspeople will allow you to take refuge,’ he offers. ‘But, I believe you’re not safe here, in your world, anymore, and that you’ll be far better off where I’m going.’ 

Fortunately, this happens to be the truth, as well as his personal preference. 

Eilika continues to stare at him, dumbfounded. There are hundreds of questions she wishes to ask, but she is not sure which to start with.

‘I apologise,’ says Frix, who is still holding her hand. The calloused pad of his big thumb is rubbing soothing circles over the back of it. ‘I should have been clear with you from the start, before we set out on this journey, only, we were rather in a hurry to remove ourselves from imminent danger…’

‘I understand,’ she says, ‘and I’m glad we left when we did. I trust you. But tell me, how do we get to your world?’

‘There is a sort of… portal… a magical gateway between our worlds–’

‘That’s how you got here?’

‘Yes.’

‘Where is it?’

‘A good many day’s journey south. There is a vast, sweeping plain near Arnwin. There, between the two tallest mountains, at the mouth of the valley, there’s an oak and a linden tree whose branches entwine. The portal is between their trunks.’

‘What is your world called?’

‘Giryn.’

‘Giryn,’ she repeats, trying the syllables out on her tongue. ‘You were born there?’

‘I was. And so was your grandmother.’

So inundated with surprises lately, Eilika is beginning, by means of necessity, gradually, to become accustomed to them. ‘Oma was born in Giryn,’ she says, more as a statement of fact than a question.

‘Yes. Which is why I know you will be safe there. You will be warmly welcomed, celebrated, even. You see, I believe you share your grandmother’s gift, and thus, I believe Giryn is where you belong.’

‘Her gift. You mean, being a witch?’

‘Not quite. Your grandmother was a gifted witch, but that is something she cultivated and worked at over time. Witchcraft is a practice one must pursue and master. As magic comes from nature itself, everyone has access to it. Anyone can attempt to master it, but some are better suited to it than others.’

‘What makes one suitable?’ 

‘Certain traits. Innate abilities.’

‘Such as?’

‘The most accomplished witches and warlocks are humans born with natural abilities to channel the energy of the earth and its forces. They may notice certain things about themselves before they fully understand them. They can tend to feel the energy that surrounds them, which begins with uncanny sensations like a sudden shudder, coldness, or a tingle for no apparent reason. Their intuition serves them well, helping them to act quickly and effectively when in danger. Animals are drawn to them. They feel at home in the outdoors, and comfortable in the dark...’

Eilika is listening with fascination, making sense, for the first time, of some of the many curious experiences she has encountered during her short life, and the peculiar impression of otherness she has always felt – of estrangement from her community and distance from all of her family members, apart from her grandmother. 

‘Do you see?’ Frix asks. ‘It’s what makes you a good fighter. You used your gift in battle today.’

Eilika nods slowly. It had been her instinct – her gut feeling – to act how and when she had in order to escape Burgold and to fire her crossbow at the right times, aiming it in the right places. And it had worked. 

‘It’s why you were so close to your grandmother,’ Frix continues, ‘why you understood her better than anyone else, why she could read your thoughts.’

‘So she could read my thoughts? You mean–?’

‘Telepathy,’ Frix finishes for her. ‘Yes. It is a common ability of Girynians to be able to communicate telepathically with those they are bonded to. I also have that gift, as do you.’

‘But I’ve never–’ Eilika begins to argue.

‘It’s there,’ says Frix, raising his hand to gently tap a finger against her temple. ‘Believe me. You just need to practise.’

Eilika is back to feeling overwhelmed again, and merely gapes at Frix as he continues to enlighten her. 

Frix talks freely now. It is a relief to do so, as keeping secrets from Eilika had made him deeply uncomfortable. 

‘These abilities are hereditary,’ he explains. ‘Of course, not all offspring inherit psionic powers. It is more common in females than in males, which perhaps explains why you are the only other of your kind in your immediate bloodline.’

‘And these abilities allow one to use witchcraft?’

‘With extensive practise, yes. Those with abilities can learn to cast spells, create potions, to communicate telepathically, to foretell the future – divination – and to commune with spirits.’

‘And this is common in your world?’ 

‘In my world, magic is seen as quite ordinary, yes. In your world, as you have witnessed, it is considered a serious threat to traditional religion and politics. In Giryn, the people are used to diversity. There are many species besides humans; other intelligent, sentient creatures with various abilities capable of communication, complex reasoning, and creativity. Such as us wolfkin.’

‘And dämonbär?’

‘The dämonbär came from Giryn, yes, however they are not native to the lands, not endemic. And they are not intelligent. As I explained before, they were summoned by magic. Bad magic.’

‘And Oma’s magic was good?’

‘Yes. White magic. In Giryn, there are strict laws around the use of magic for benevolent purposes only. Many moons ago, a pact was formed to protect the Girynian people, and bans were introduced on certain kinds of magic. This is enforced through magic itself. A protective enchantment called the Gutzauber lays over the land, which prevents individuals from using particular forms of necromancy, hemomancy, and other magic which can summon fiends and alter creatures' minds to dominate them.

‘But,’ Frix continues soberly, ‘someone has defied these laws, and has discovered a counter-spell to terminate the magical defences of the Gutzauber. The responsible individual is yet to be identified, but it is believed this power is emanating from Fylkisforad, in the north of Giryn. It seems the individual’s counter-spell was weak, in the beginning, but their power grows, day by day. Slowly, the caster has been able to enchant more and more to join their ranks. Their legion had started with the living. They began by poisoning the minds and bodies of the weak willed, compelling them to do their bidding, but it seems now that they have begun to raise an army of the dead, and as their numbers grow, their power grows, exponentially. If they are not stopped, their ability to harness this magic will one day afford them power over the entire world.’ 

‘And what can be done?’ Eilika asks, disturbed.

‘There is only one incantation, the Heilung Beschwörung, which can completely neutralise this power. Your grandmother has that spell here, in this book,’ says Frix, pressing his palm flat on the cover of the closed grimoire laying in his lap.

‘Then can’t you recite it and put a stop to this?’

‘I’m afraid it’s not that simple. Your grandmother inherited this grimoire from her ancestors. There are many ancient incantations in this book, passed down through generations of witches. We know this book contains the incantation, the problem is, she did not know which is the correct one. Before she died, she was working through a process of elimination to determine the correct incantation. When I take this spell book back to the Bureau of Magic in Giryn, they may have better luck in identifying it, but until then, I’m afraid there is nothing else that can be done.’

‘And the dämonbär, what is their role in all of this?’

‘The dämonbär are fiends, summoned by this practitioner of the Dark Arts. They are evil hunting dogs, if you will, designed to sniff out magic. And, as you have seen with the unfortunate victims from your town, they are ravenously hungry beasts that require the flesh of mortals for sustenance. Herdegen and I were tasked to follow them, and hunt them in return, in the hopes that we would discover more about the origins of this bad magic, and that they would lead us to their master.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘I did not want to jeopardise your safety. In this world, having such knowledge is dangerous. But, since Volknand – who seems to be an agent of this Dark Sorcerer – has since identified you in connection with your grandmother and her magic, there is no further need for discretion.’

‘How is Volknand involved, exactly?’

‘He was after this grimoire. He knows magic. He knew how to disrupt your grandmother’s apotropaic spell and sent Ulfhard to do so, to retrieve the book, and assassinate her.’

‘How do you know her apotropaic spell had been disrupted?’

‘She had etched a rounded reamed cross, a symbol composed of five perfectly formed interlocking circles – sun motifs, her unique White Arts emblem – at every one of the liminal thresholds in her cottage. I saw them. They were scratched above her fireplaces, windows, and doors. If anyone else made such markings, they would be mere superstitious precautions. But given your grandmother’s skill, they were charged with arcane energy. The result is a powerful form of protective magic called mystical deflection. It’s like a sort of metaphysical shield against the Dark Arts that functions to deflect all manner of dark magic and malevolent influences. It is the ultimate protection spell, and takes considerable expertise to perform. But when we were last in her cottage, I noticed that each of her markings had been burned with deep tapered scorch marks, as if they had been lashed with a flaming whip. I believe this is evidence that the Diabolicum Peitsche had been used to nullify your grandmother’s white magic.’

‘Diabolicum Peitsche?’

‘It’s a magic-cancelling whip that allows the user to negate any kind of magic. It neutralises the mystical powers of any symbol, object, or living being. It was created using a complex Fusion Magic spell of the kind only a powerful sorcerer could invoke. Volknand’s guise of a clergyman is merely pretence. He is not a priest. He is a servant of evil, and I’m quite sure he has been sent here, equipped with all manner of dark instruments, in order to harvest magic from this world. He gave Ulfhard the Diabolicum Peitsche to use. And, he commands the dämonbär, which is why the men have been deceiving the townspeople and convincing them they ought to be on the lookout for a werewolf instead, to divert suspicion away from themselves.’

‘You don’t think Volknand, himself, could be this Dark Sorcerer?’

‘No,’ Frix replies. ‘That individual is the most dangerous and powerful sorcerer currently alive. If we happened to look upon them, we would know it.’

At this comment, Eilika shivers. Noticing this, Frix drapes his arm around her shoulders again. 

‘But enough of this unpleasant talk,’ he says, ‘we should make up your bed and get you warm and comfortable. It’s time we rest and ready ourselves for another long trek tomorrow.’

Frix stands, stowing the grimoire away in his satchel once more, then he fusses about, arranging two piles of soft spruce branches to function as mattresses for them, before unfolding his bedroll on one, and layering furs and thick wool blankets atop the other for Eilika.

‘Thank you,’ she says, sitting down on the invitingly cosy nest Frix has created for her. 

She unlaces her boots, removing them as she watches Frix fill up their waterskins, then return to the stream with the pot, collecting more water to extinguish the fire. 

‘Goodnight, kleine,’ Frix says, untying the sides of his bedroll to climb inside. 

‘Goodnight, dear Frix,’ she replies from the other side of the doused fire, still fully clothed, wrapping her cloak tightly around herself and pulling the blankets and furs up to her chin. 

The moon is high and bright – almost full, and Eilika can just see the outline of Frix’s ears in the silver light. He has rolled onto his side and she knows that with his powerful canine vision, he can see her quite clearly in the darkness. She can feel his eyes on her, and the sensation is exceedingly comforting. 

However, despite her exhaustion, she cannot get to sleep. Even though the spring days have been warm and temperate, the nights are still bitterly cold once the sun sets – even more so in the depths of the forest. Her teeth chatter, and she draws her knees up, curling herself into a ball in an attempt to concentrate and amplify her body heat. 

‘Eilika,’ Frix says, after a while of watching her wriggle about beneath the furs, struggling to settle.

‘Mmm?’ she hums in reply. 

‘You’re welcome to share my bedroll. If we sleep closer together, we’ll be warmer.’

Frix expects her to decline this offer, imaging she will find it too forward – improper, even – but to his surprise and delight, she is so eager to accept his invitation that without a word, she promptly casts off her covers, snatches up the largest, heaviest fur to bring with her, and stumbles in the darkness around the charred logs and cinder toward him. She crawls into his bedroll so quickly, that before he can stop it, a deep rumble of pleasure issues from his throat at the feel of her warm little body pressing against his. 

It doesn’t help at all that the sweetest, softest sound – somewhere between a sigh and a moan – also escapes from Eilika’s mouth, and the scent of his ideal mate is strong and piquant, tickling tantalisingly at Frix’s nostrils.

Her back is against his front, and he eases away slightly, tilting his hips to give her more space as his cock twitches in his braies, beginning to swell and emerge from its sheath. 

Don’t you dare, he thinks, silently admonishing his wilful body. 

He had made the offer of sharing his bedroll out of genuine, altruistic concern for Eilika’s comfort and wellbeing, and does not need his body betraying him, giving her the impression he has ulterior motives for inviting her to sleep beside him.

With an almighty effort, and a concerted focus on slowing his breathing, Frix manages to moderate his body’s excitement, and when his budding erection abates, he allows himself to relax and press against Eilika again. After all, he tells himself, it’s the most effective way of keeping them both warm.

Eilika burrows in deep. It’s wonderful being so close to Frix, and his bedroll is simply heavenly; soft and densely padded, made from sheep skins and furs sewn within the quilted wool that lines the waxed canvas cover. And, in spite of the unthinkable things that Frix has just told her, feeling carefree and untroubled because she is cocooned safely beside him, within seconds, she is lulled – eyes heavy-lidded, blithe, buoyant and loose-limbed – into blissful sleep.

If anyone likes visual inspo for stories, I found this artwork (NSFW alert!!) that made me think of Frix and Eilika sharing his bedroll (albeit clothed). Unfortunately, the website I found it on had it uncredited, so if you happen to know the artist (I can’t quite make out the name in the corner), please tell me so I can credit them!

Update: I found out the wonderful artwork is from an artist called Caracalita.

Snuggles

Chapter Text

When Frix wakes the next morning, he finds that Eilika has turned over in her sleep, and is clinging to him rather tightly. Her kirtle and underskirts have been hiked up, and their legs are entwined together. Eilika has her face buried in the thick fur at the V in his tunic shirt, and is snoring softly against his chest. One of his great arms drapes lightly over her sleeping form. 

Frix grins widely, his heart fluttering and his pulse quickening. His skin tingles and feels pleasantly hot beneath his fur in every place their bodies make contact. 

If he wasn’t so anxious to move on from their camp, aware of how unwise it would be to stay too long in any one place, he’d be tempted to leave her sleep just so he could continue to hold her like this. 

Instead, he shifts so that he can bow his head, nuzzling his face into the crook of her neck briefly, deeply inhaling her scent. Then, pressing his snout to her ear, he whispers, ‘good morning, kleine.’

She stirs and looks up at him, bleary eyed. 

The rising sun is streaming through the foliage. Shimmering, dappled shadows dance around them and the mellow, melancholy whistles of Goldcrests and Blackbirds echo from the trees above.

‘Oh,’ she says, wiping the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand and flushing with embarrassment upon noticing the damp patch of drool she has left on his fur. ‘Sorry.’

She unwinds her arms and legs from his, moving back as far as she can in the bedroll. 

‘It’s quite alright,’ he chuckles, snatching up a loose strand of golden hair that has escaped from her braid. It is as soft as silk between his fingers as he tucks it behind her ear. ‘Did you sleep well?’

‘Yes, thank you,’ she replies. In reality, it had been the most incredible sleep she’d ever experienced – deep, unbroken, peaceful. ‘And you?’

He nods. ‘Very well.’ 

Frix has always been a light sleeper - even more so when he is travelling. His hindbrain is constantly primed to detect and respond to danger. He can usually manage a restorative sleep each night nonetheless, but this had been the best sleep he’d had since the night before Herdegen had disappeared. 

‘Hungry?’ he asks. 

‘Yes,’ she says. Their dinner of trout and sorrel had been delicious, but as she is accustomed to having bread with each meal, she has awoken with a fierce appetite. 

Frix yawns, stretching his arms up out of the bedroll. ‘I’ll make us some porridge.’

They pack up their bedding and relight the fire. The porridge Frix prepares is made from barley grains boiled in water and flavoured with honey and dried fruit from his rations. It is surprisingly satisfying and very filling. 

Afterwards, they wash their cooking equipment again, and when they have doused the fire for the final time, Frix covers it over with the spruce branches they had used for their bedding. Though they do not have time to ensure they cover their tracks thoroughly, he wants, at least, to do their best they can to conceal any obvious evidence of the path they have taken from Volknand, the dämonbär, and anything else that may be attempting to follow them. 

Loading themselves up with their packs once more, they set off early while the air is still crisp, their breath blooming in vaporous clouds before their faces.

They walk on for a few hours, keeping a steady pace, entertaining themselves with conversation. Eilika is brimming with questions about Giryn and Frix is only too happy to regale her with tales of his homeland.

‘What other species are there in Giryn?’ she asks, as they pick their way across a shallow, gurgling brook. 

‘As well as wolfkin, humans – witches and warlocks,’ says Frix, ‘there are wolpertinger, which are rather sweet little things, sort of like a cross between a hare and a deer.’

As she hops across the smooth, flat, water-worn rocks of the brook, Eilika laughs heartily, imagining such a creature.

‘Then there are drachenleute, the dragon people, and the feuermann, firebreathing fae related to them. There are also klabauterenschen, water sprites, as well as basilisks, centaurs, fauns, trolls and dwarves.’

‘My goodness,’ she says, ‘and everyone lives quite happily together?’

‘They had done,’ Frix replies, ‘of course there were the usual disputes one expects amongst any folk; feuding over territories, bar brawls, occasional culture clashes and misunderstandings. That was, until the Seige of Zauberwald.’

‘What happened?’ Eilika asks. 

‘It was the first attack staged by the Dark Sorcerer,’ he replies in a way that tells Eilika it is a painful subject for him. 

She nods in understanding. Changing tack, instead, she asks, ‘and are there… relations… between the different species?’

Frix spins around sharply, his eyes narrowing with interest. ‘Do you mean can different species have intercourse with one another and bear offspring?’

‘Yes,’ Eilika answers, managing to prevent her voice from quavering. 

‘Some can.’

‘Wolfkin and humans, for instance?’ Eilika questions further, trying desperately to keep her tone light and casual, as if she had simply plucked this particular pairing from her mind at random. Though, she can feel her face become inflamed, and is sure that Frix notices. 

‘It is possible, and has been done,’ Frix replies. ‘But it is uncommon. Wolfkin are highly social but quite a solitary species in the sense that they live in packs which are very close-knit communities. They are made up of a few groups of family units consisting of several mated pairs and their offspring. Wolfkin cooperate well with other packs, and other species, and are obedient servants of the king, however they tend to live away from the towns, out in the Western Willulf Woodlands.’

Frix’s response disappoints Eilika greatly. All at once, her shoulders slump, her stomach clenches, her arms hang slack at her sides, and her load feels unbearably heavy. She’s not sure what she had hoped for him to say – that wolfkin-human pairings are common? That their species are well-matched and are frequent bedfellows?

As they make their way up a sloping hillock, her steps become slow and laboured and alarmingly, she feels tears stinging her eyes as she realises her disappointment stems from the fact that she is now questioning every little flirtation she’d believed had passed between them. Her thoughts swirl in a rapid, surging whirlpool. Had she been imagining it all? Had the heated glances, lingering touches, and playful teasing merely been meaningless platonic exchanges all along? Did Frix consider her species strange and incompatible with his? Had he never actually contemplated a coupling between them? But it hadn’t just been her. Her grandmother had sensed it too, and she was a witch who knew things!

Frix notices Eilika’s sullen expression, sudden silence, and shuffling steps, and stops when they reach the top of the hillock.

‘Let’s have a rest,’ he says, and the tender way that he takes her pack off her back and coaxes her to sit down on a blanket under the single elm tree there gives her hope once more. 

‘Is something the matter?’ he asks, noticing her wet eyes and sensing the aura of sadness radiating off her. 

‘No,’ she lies, blinking away her tears and giving him a reassuring smile. ‘Tell me, how did you come to be asked by the king to travel here?’

Frix gazes at her for a long moment, knowing for certain that something has upset her, but unsure whether he should press her to tell him what it is. 

‘Wolfkin are known for being skilled trackers and hunters,’ he says finally, deciding not to urge her to reveal the source of her distress. ‘Herdegen and I developed something of a reputation throughout the kingdom after we helped to locate a noble faun’s missing child.’

‘I see,’ she says, accepting a pouch of nuts from him. ‘And is the king a faun?’

‘No,’ Frix replies, drinking from a waterskin, ‘he is a basilisk.’

Eilika’s mood has been temporarily bolstered by Frix’s doting, and this emboldens her to revisit the subject of human-wolfkin relations.

‘Had you met many humans before Oma and I?’ she asks.

‘No,’ he says, ‘I had only seen them from afar whenever Herdegen and I visited the towns on business.’

She pops several almonds into her mouth, and, aiming to sound indifferent, says, ‘oh. And what do you think of us?’

‘Well,’ Frix says, munching on a strip of cured meat, ‘I’m not in a position to pass judgment. I’ve not been acquainted with enough of your kind. Volknand and Ulfhard are poor examples; cruel and despicable. And if I ever get the chance, I’ll snap Burgold’s neck like a twig for handling you the way he did. But you and your grandmother have endeared me to your species. I am particularly fond of you.’

Frix places strong emphasis on these last words and intentionally holds eye contact with Eilika for a long while, hoping she gets the hint. He’s not yet ready to declare his true feelings plainly and openly, as he is still quite confused by Eilika’s scents, and the vibrations of her energy. He suspects that she too is confused, as he continues to sense a tumultuous, discordant amalgam of emotions emanating from her – attraction and affection mingled with hesitation and fear. 

There is a pregnant pause, and Eilika’s cheeks become ruddy again, but she does not speak.

‘Ahle Wurst,’ Frix says, offering her a cured sausage in an attempt to ease the tension. 

She takes it from him, biting into it and tasting its curious combination of flavours; nutmeg, cloves, salt and sugar, all the while staring at him, trying to discern whether he is intimating that being particularly fond of someone could be a precursor to loving them. 

The air between them seems to crackle and fizz, heavy with unspoken sentiment.

Frix clears his throat. ‘We best get moving again,’ he says, packing their snacks back into his satchel. ‘Be sure to drink some water. We still have a fair way to go before we can stop for the night.’

He takes her hand to help her down the opposite side of the hillock, which is far steeper than the one they had ascended, and at the bottom, the landscape flattens out into a heath, dense with heather and gorse.

‘How many are there in the Fredeward pack?’ she asks him, as they make their way through the tall, coarse grass and shrubs.

‘Over a hundred.’

‘And how many siblings do you have?’ 

‘Twenty-nine,’ he says, and Eilika is stunned into stopping. 

‘You’re joking!’

Frix glances back at her, smiling. ‘I am not.’

‘Your poor mother,’ says Eilika, walking on.

‘She believes she has been quite blessed.’

‘Oh,’ Eilika stammers, ‘well, of course she has. I didn’t mean-’

‘She has birthed six pairs of twins, two sets of triplets, and three sets of quadruplets.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Eilika says, experiencing dread at the thought that contraception may not be practiced in Giryn at all. ‘I just find it a little difficult to fathom.’

‘It does sound like a lot,’ Frix agrees, ‘but wolfkin give birth far more easily than humans, from what I understand. Labour is relatively brief and uncomplicated because pups – at least when they are first born – are smaller than human babies.’

‘Well that’s a relief!’ she blurts. Then, having intended on keeping that thought private, because, shamefully, she had been contemplating the possibility of birthing wolvish younglings herself, she hastens to add, ‘I mean, for your mother.’

‘Yes,’ Frix says, smirking. ‘But as a result, wolfkin are rather blasé about sexual relations. Of course, it is always a source of pride to have a large and healthy pack, but also, the ease of childbirth and rearing – you see, the whole pack also helps to raise the pups – make wolfkin very… er… unreserved about copulation.’

This comment causes Eilika to draw to an abrupt halt again, standing still and unblinking. Her mind races to process what she has just been told, and comes up with many more questions.

‘Do you mean that wolfkin are free to be… intimate… with as many others as they wish?’ she asks with trepidation.

Frix turns back to see that she is gawking at him, eyes wide with incredulity, mouth agape.

‘Oh no,’ Frix quickly clarifies, ‘pairs bond and mate for life. But once bonded, they mate very frequently and enthusiastically. And, they become particularly insatiable upon a full moon.’

‘Oh,’ says Eilika, her mouth going dry. 

Having heard far more information about wolven copulation than she’d been ready to process, she decides she will save her question about contraception for another time. 

‘I’m sorry,’ Frix says, noticing the glazed look in her eyes, ‘we wolfkin talk freely about such things. Is it inappropriate of me to have told you?’

‘No,’ she says, ‘I find it fascinating, just a little…’ Her lips move but she cannot form words. 

A little what? She berates herself internally. Overwhelming? Thrilling? Finish your sentence or he’s going to think you’re some naive, blushing maiden.

‘It’s just a lot to comprehend.’

Frix nods, but then, looking down at her feet, he frowns, and she follows his gaze to find that she has been walking without paying attention and her skirts have become caught up in the branches of a thick, sprawling bramble bush. 

‘Verdammt!’ she curses, tugging at her kirtle.

‘Wait,’ cautions Frix, kneeling before her. 

But it’s too late. The hem has snagged on a cluster of large, sharp thorns, and her action of pulling on the skirt tears the fabric. 

‘Oh,’ she groans in frustration. ‘I don’t have another dress...’

Frix inspects the tear, which is wide and runs right the way along the front of her skirt before angling upward. 

‘I think we’ll have to tear this off,’ he tells her, ‘or else you may trip.’

‘It’s too long anyway,’ Eilika says, 'completely impractical for walking.'

‘May I?’ asks Frix, holding the torn sides of the skirt in each of his paws, indicating he intends to rip them.

‘Yes,’ she says, ‘but we’ll have to do the same to my underskirts.’

By following the crosswise grain of the fabric, Fix manages to tear the skirt quite cleanly and evenly all the way around, until it now falls to just below Eilika’s knees. Taking a knife from his scabbard, he does the same with her underskirts, so that her stockinged legs and boots are now on display. 

Eilika is light-headed, overcome with a wave of excitement after all their talk about coition, and upon beholding the rather erotic image of this beautiful wolfman kneeling before her, ripping off layers of her clothing with such ease and vigour. This rush of exhilaration is even further amplified by her errant imagination presenting the idea of Frix sending his big hands roaming further up under her skirt, and pondering how – with full body contact – his fur would feel against her naked skin, as well as what, exactly, he could do to her with that tongue of his...

‘There,’ he says, admiring his work, ‘much better for trekking.’

‘Mmmhmm,’ Eilika agrees absently, finding herself lost for words again, but glad, at least, that Frix has not yet glimpsed the leather garters holding up the hose beneath her kirtle. 

It is best, she thinks, especially when one is not sure of a man’s intentions, to maintain some semblance of allure and mystery if one can.

Frix, however, is concurrently experiencing his own rush of pleasure. His cock jerks, his mouth waters, and his nostrils flare as a new, heady scent floods over him. It is unmistakable; pungent and tangy. 

Eilika is aroused.

The thought of her cunt becoming so wet that it is dripping into her undergarments – for it must be, such is the intensity of the scent – makes Frix jump to his feet and stumble away from her. 

Last night, the moon entered its first quarter, and the idea of sharing a bedroll with Eilika when it is full, now knowing how excited she has become, gives him serious reservations about his ability to maintain self-control.

He would not force himself on her. It has never been a question of that kind of temptation. However, she is obviously quite confused about her feelings, and, under the circumstances of their continued close proximity and the duress they have been under, he is concerned she may act impulsively. He worries that, clearly being attracted to him on some level, in the heat of the moment, she may have sex with him out of a sense of obligation or gratitude for his company and protection.

But, if Frix ever had the opportunity to experience that kind of physical intimacy with Eilika, the mate-bond would be fulfilled, and he would henceforth be absolutely, wholly, unequivocally bonded to her for life. If she then happened to change her mind, Frix would be doomed to live out the remainder of his days in misery; alone and heartbroken.

‘We must keep moving,’ he says rather shortly, stalking away from her. 

And now, feeling even more muddled about the status of their relationship, Eilika picks up the torn pieces of her skirts, shoves them into her satchel, and runs after Frix.

Please see below for more visual inspiration for the characters of Frix and Eilika on their journey. These are Einarr (wolfman) and Khiara (?cat lady?) by PersonalAmi. Obviously Eilika looks quite different in my imagination (no ears or tail for a start, and more clothes). But I liked these images for the depiction of their cooperation, approximate size difference, and outdoor adventuring vibe.

PersonalAmi 1

PersonalAmi 2

PersonalAmi 3

Chapter Text

Frix is uncharacteristically quiet for the rest of the afternoon, so much so that it is Eilika’s turn to wonder whether she has said the wrong thing or asked too many personal questions. However, despite the abatement of their conversation, Eilika doesn’t once feel frozen out by Frix the way she does whenever her mother becomes irritated and punishes everyone in her proximity with an icy silent treatment. 

As they continue, silently, on their journey, the same warmth and companionable energy remains between them, with Frix gently placing a paw at the small of Eilika’s back to help guide her across unstable, rocky terrain, or being there to catch her when she stumbles back, losing her footing as they navigate over the large trunks of fallen trees on the forest floor, and Eilika insisting on preening him, carefully removing burrs and dried leaves from his bushy tail whenever they emerge out of the more densely overgrown patches of brushwood. 

But, given the overarching silence, Eilika becomes preoccupied by her daydreams. Lately, as she has been able to frequently enjoy running her hands over his soft fur under the guise of helping to keep it unmatted, she begins to wonder what Frix’s normal grooming routine is when he is at home. She imagines it is quite thorough, as he is usually so tidy and well presented, with a healthy, shining coat, neat braids below his ears, and sharp, buffed claws. She would very much like – if he would allow it – to help him brush his fur and plait his mane some day. 

Then, her thoughts turn to her own personal hygiene, and she is acutely aware that she has not been able to cleanse herself properly for days. She hopes Frix has not been repulsed by her odour or soiled garments, but is thankful that the weather has remained temperate enough that she has never truly worked up a sweat, and the worst soiling on her kirtle had been removed anyway, when Frix had ripped away the lower parts of her skirts. 

She makes a mental note that the next time they come across an appropriate body of water, she should avail herself of the opportunity to bathe, and hopes that Frix has some kind of soap or talc or scented oil in his satchel that she may use to help herself feel refreshed.

Next, she begins to wonder what sort of homes wolfkin live in where they dwell in the Western Willulf Woodlands in Giryn. Would they reside in caves? Or tents? Or perhaps they live in cottages much like human homes, made from timber, stone or brick, but built on a larger scale to accommodate the greater size of their inhabitants, with bigger rooms and higher ceilings and door frames. This, she thinks, would be a very appropriate question to ask Frix when he becomes talkative again, as it is one he would surely be happy to answer, given it is nowhere near as personal as the queries she’d had about his species’ reproductive habits. 

Eilika is just beginning to wonder whether wolven villages would have the usual sort of utilities found in human towns; wells and watermills and trading posts and markets, when she runs into the back of Frix who has come to a sudden stop.

‘Oof,’ she grunts inelegantly, then looks up at him to add, ‘sorry.’

But Frix merely wraps an arm around her, holding her against his solid body to steady her, letting her regain her balance, and she huddles closer, relishing the contact. 

‘We might stop here for the night,’ he says, ‘what do you think?’

Eilika looks about her, realising that, having been lost in her own head for several hours, she’d not noticed that the sun is now low in the sky. They have come to a pretty forest glade where a level, mossy meadow is shaded beneath the canopies of a ring of maple trees. 

‘It’s wonderful,’ she says.

The lush, enchanting enclave presents the perfect place to camp, with the promise of good foraging potential amidst the herbage and delicate, leafy ferns in the abundant undergrowth. However, there is no stream or rivulet nearby. 

Eilika sighs, deferring her plans of a bath, and Frix seems to read her thoughts. 

‘No fish for dinner tonight,’ he says, removing his pack and resting it against the wide trunk of one of the maple trees. 

‘No,’ Eilika agrees. 

‘Have you ever used your crossbow to catch a rabbit?’ he asks, looking at where she has the weapon trussed to her pack.

‘I have, many a time,’ she says, lowering the pack, pulling off her sack and satchel, and unstrapping the crossbow. 

‘Want to swap jobs this evening?’ he suggests. ‘You see if you can catch us a rabbit, while I start a fire and look around for any other edibles?’

Eilika flashes him a wide smile in response, exceedingly pleased to be given the chance to make a meaningful contribution by providing a meal for them just as Frix had done the night prior. 

‘Yes,’ she says decisively, finally emerging from the hazy fog of absentmindedness she’d felt she’d been under for the past few hours, no longer feeling sluggish or distracted.

‘Very good,’ says Frix, locating an area on the ground free of grass and moss where he can build a fire, and beginning to clear it until there is nothing left but bare dirt.

Eilika slings the crossbow over her shoulder, secures the quiver on the belt worn at her waist, and begins to stride away from the clearing.

Seeing her with her back turned, marching away so determinedly, Frix experiences a tremor of fear. He had not scented any trace of the dämonbär here, nor had he sensed any other signs of danger, which was why he’d been satisfied to make camp in this grove. But, with every cubit she puts between them, forging further away from him into the forest, the mate-bond flails and howls within, warning him not to allow it. 

Stupid, he tells himself. Be still. Be calm. She’s wily and watchful and perfectly sensible. She doesn’t need me on her heels at all times, monitoring her like some oafish, slobbering watchdog. 

Aware though, of how easy it is to lose track of distance when one is focused on a target, on the hunt, and moreover, eager to appease the beast within, he is compelled to say something.

‘Be mindful not to stray too far, kleine,’ her calls after her, his voice soft with concern. ‘You needn’t worry if you can’t catch anything. We have plenty of provisions to eat.’

She turns back to nod in acknowledgement, grinning and waving, before setting off through the derbrush in search of their dinner.

Thoroughly used to living a life of luxury and privilege, Eilika’s father had always been a rather rakish, indolent individual. Apart from developing an unexpected interest in woodwork upon becoming poor, he had never been moved to take up any other hobbies or pursuits. As such, he has no clue about hunting, nor any other outdoor activities. Instead, Eilika has learned all she knows about the sport from her brothers, who’d taken to it out of necessity once they were old enough, as was the custom of all the young men in her village. 

Though Eilika is the first born, and by far the most prudent of the bunch, her brothers have always had the infuriating habit of frequently disregarding her instructions and requests on account of her sex.

For the longest time, the two eldest, Ailbern and Emrich, had been strongly opposed to her joining them on the hunt. It had been her youngest brother, Gilgen – the one with whom she’d always had the best rapport – who’d finally convinced his siblings to allow her to accompany them.

She had been an avid tutee. Rabbits, in particular, were an agreeable quarry, and thus were regularly on offer at the family table. Their meat was lean and tasty, and Eilika’s mother had become quite creative at using them in all manner of dishes. She would boil them, braise them, roast them, use them in soups and stews and pies, and make broths with their bones. Best of all, they were always in plentiful supply.

Hunting rabbits has therefore become almost second nature to Eilika. She understands their behaviour and ways of responding when frightened. She has learned their preferred habitats, and how to draw them out. As such, she moves slowly and quietly now, zig-zagging through the woods, pausing frequently to scan her surroundings with her bow loaded and at the ready. 

She checks all the right places, searching any areas that would provide the little critters the coverage they required; dense vegetation, thick brush, shrubs, piles of leaves, and hollowed out trunks of ancient, fallen trees. 

But, despite her skill and eagerness, Eilika is unsuccessful. The woods seem completely still and quiet – eerily so – as if she were the only life form there. Certainly, there are no rabbits, nor anything else suitable. No hares, squirrels, quail, pheasants, or grouse. And, though she does not sense any imminent threat, something is not quite right. She has searched for half an hour, and, aware of how far she has ventured away from camp already, Frix’s words echo in her mind. She will not go any further.

She is about to admit defeat, to turn, and go back empty handed, when she sees something impossible, yet seemingly indisputable to her eyes. Before her, on the forest floor, within a wide ring of toadstools, Frix, lays dead. His great body, unmistakable in its shape, form and colouring, is sprawled there, prone, limp and lifeless.

Her scream tears through the air, wretched and piercing. A flurry of startled crows burst forth from the surrounding trees. She stands rigid with horror, a wave of acid rising up from her stomach, barely aware of the heavy sound of footfall quickly approaching at her rear.

To her giddying relief and complete confusion, Frix rushes up behind her, clutching her shoulders and stooping over her protectively. 

‘What is it, kleine?’ he demands, breathless and alarmed. 

Stupefied, she cranes her neck to look at him, then at the body, then back at him.

He follows her gaze, then releases her, sinking to his knees. 

‘Herdegen,’ he whimpers, before letting out a terrible, tortured howl that seems to shake every leaf, rattle every branch, and quake the very earth they stand upon.

Chapter Text

Eilika manages to shake herself out of her state of shock so that she can focus her attention on Frix. Witnessing the man she loves in such intense pain is absolutely the most awful thing she has ever experienced. Crumpled over, almost in two, he is clutching her tightly and she holds him close in return, cradling his head against her breasts as he sobs. After a long while, he goes still, then looks back at Herdegen’s body. 

In his heart, he had accepted that his brother had most likely died – he had been gone for too long and without a trace – but it was far harder to accept in reality. 

Growing in utero and brought into life together, theirs had been a unique bond established long before birth – an indelible attachment leading to an uncanny sense of oneness and a remarkable, irreplaceable connection.

Though Frix had always known he’d been loved and appreciated by his pack, one did not often feel noticed or cherished with so many siblings and in such a large clan. But Frix and Herdegen always had each other, always cherished each other. The bond he had shared with his twin had been inimitable, more than making up for being inadvertently overlooked from time to time by their parents and other relations. 

Their ability to share thoughts and feelings and communicate with each other through their senses without a word went above and beyond the regular telepathic abilities of most wolfkin. They shared many personality traits, interests, and inclinations. They finished each other’s sentences, registered each other's sensory responses and emotions, felt each other’s distress and elation, fear and joy.

Which was why Frix had struggled to understand the sudden and absolute void that seemed to take his brother’s place almost immediately upon his disappearance. He’d felt a slight pang at first, but then… nothing… This had been incomprehensible until now. 

Having his ear pressed against Eilika’s heart – hearing the soft quick drum of it – fortifies Frix. Slowly, he breaks away from her, and, edging forward on his knees, with an effort, gently turns Herdegen over. He is stiff with rigour mortis, and his body is emaciated – his cheeks hollowed, his ribs visible beneath his loose tunic. He has no injuries; no lacerations or apparent broken bones. The only notable markings are dark smudges around his eyes, ears and mouth, which are blackened as if singed. 

Otherwise, there are no advanced signs of decay, and Frix estimates he has not been dead for long – which does not explain his emaciation, how he has come to be here so far away from where he was last seen, or why Frix had not been able to feel any of his pain, sense his demise, or the proximity of his body here in its final resting place. 

Only one thing can explain it all.

‘Nachzehrer,’ Frix croaks, looking back at Eilika. ‘Soul eater.’

Eilika nods stiffly. Now is not the time for questions. Instead, she moves closer to Frix, placing a hand on his shoulder in solidarity as he carries out the horrible task of inspecting his fallen brother. 

Traditionally, wolven funeral rites involve complex ceremonies where the body of the deceased is washed, dressed in their best clothes, and embalmed, after which, pack members gather to chant tributes while the body is cremated within a pyre, and mourners throw locks of their fur into the flames. 

But as they are unable to risk revealing their location with clouds of smoke issuing from a funerary fire, Frix concedes this will not be possible. And, they are still several day’s journey from the portal between the oak and linden trees near Arnwin, a fact which precludes the possibility of somehow transporting Herdegen’s body back home. Despairingly, Frix accepts they have no other option. 

‘He has to be buried,’ he tells Eilika, his face puckered with distress, ‘and quickly.’ 

‘I’ll help,’ she replies, feeling useless, and not sure that she can be of any real assistance, but keen to try in any way she can. 

Frix looks up at her again, his grief-stricken expression softening somewhat with gratitude. ‘You will?’ 

It's a dreadful burden, and he never would have thought to ask for her assistance, but he is deeply moved by her willingness to involve herself in such a grim task, and her dedication to supporting him. 

She bows to kiss his forehead. ‘Of course, mein liebling.’

Frix returns to their camp to fetch his short shovel and they bury Herdegen where he was found. The bright, red-and-white speckled toadstools – so incongruous to the scene – are considered to symbolise good luck in both human and wolven cultures. Frix holds out the vain hope that this may increase the chances of Herdegen’s soul being returned to this earthly plane so that it may be granted safe passage into the afterlife.   

Eilika lays a bouquet of wildflowers on Herdegen’s chest and Frix places a lock of his own mane into the grave before reciting a wolven funerary tribute. They fill in the hole and cover the mound of dirt as best they can with leaves and debris so that it is not easily distinguishable from the rest of the detritus on the forest floor. 

Afterwards, they make their way back to camp, where Eilika stokes up the waning fire Frix had built. She adds more kindling and another log, and it erupts back into life. Frix sits on a blanket with his back against the trunk of a tree, staring, unseeing, into the flames. 

Eilika drapes a pelt around his shoulders and encourages him to eat more dried meat and nuts, as well as the blueberries he’d found in the undergrowth before she had made her unfortunate discovery. She packs away the edible mushrooms he had also foraged, then piles up layers of branches to make a mattress as Frix had done the night before. She lays out his bedroll ready for sleeping, then sits beside him, waiting until he draws his eyes away from the fire to look at her.  

He opens his arms to her, inviting her closer, and she climbs into his lap where she nestles her head against his shoulder.

‘Before we left Giryn,’ he tells her in a low, disconsolate voice, ‘we’d heard rumours the evil one’s magic had already become so powerful he had developed the ability to summon those foul things.’

‘The nachzehrer?’ she asks, toying with the pewter pendant hanging from the leather band around Frix’s neck, then dropping her slender littler fingers lower to begin drawing patterns in the fur at his chest.

‘Yes. Ghastly, parasitic ghouls capable of pulling the living into death. They are able to stun their victims, hypnotising and commandeering them. They keep them alive, but paralyzed, so that they can feed on them for sustenance and absorb their memories, knowledge and abilities. I think it abducted Herde and brought him along with it for a convenient travel snack, much like we have provisions in our satchels. It likely kept him barely alive for weeks in order to sustain it–’

‘Oh, Frix–’ she says, her hand moving from his chest to clutch his massive bicep in sympathy, her voice doleful and tremulous.

‘T–they will feed on any sentient soul,’ he continues, his voice cracking as he struggles to maintain his composure. ‘But Herde would have been a particularly appetising meal given his wolven abilities.’

‘What do they do with the energy and abilities they consume?’

‘Some of it provides them with strength and nourishment, as food and water does for us. But some of it is stored, and, when they return to where they were summoned, they transfer it to their master to further enrich his powers. In turn, the more powerful he becomes, the more dangerous demons, wraiths and monsters he will be capable of summoning.’

Spooked, Eilika jerks her head up from where it has been resting on Frix’s shoulder to peer about the dark woods. ‘Is there a chance it’s still here? Do you think there are more things like it around?’

‘I do not believe so. I cannot sense any danger, can you?’

Eilika realises that Frix is asking her to tap into her supposed latent psionic powers to see if she can detect any sign of a threat. Obliging, she closes her eyes for a moment, takes a deep breath, and concentrates. It requires a great amount of effort and focus to perceive things in this way, but Frix is right. When she really tries, she can. The forest is teeming with life, abuzz with the harmless activities of awakening nocturnal creatures, and she can sense their benign energies so much so that she can almost see them behind her closed eyes like auras; flickering colourful emantations of light. But, thankfully, this is all she can sense. 

‘No,’ she says, opening her eyes again to meet his.

‘I don’t think there are any nearby,’ Frix says and, mollified, Eilika lays her head back down on his shoulder, resuming the teasing tickle of her fingers through his fur. 

‘Why do you think it was sent here?’

‘For the same reason the dämonbär were. To root out magic. But these are far more sophisticated sniffer dogs, and their primary function is to harvest magical abilities, to appropriate and amass them. The evil one knew there was someone in this world working to impede his mission, someone potentially more powerful than him…’

‘Oma?’

Frix nods. ‘He wanted to stop her, and to acquire her abilities for himself. Well, she is gone, but he has not stopped her, nor has he gained her knowledge or abilities. Yet.’

Eilika bites on her lower lip. ‘The grimoire?’

‘The grimoire,’ Frix confirms, looking over to where it is hidden in his satchel, and for a moment, Eilika almost thinks she can see it glowing from within.

‘I don’t suppose we’ll sleep very well tonight,’ she says. 

Frix has one huge hand splayed across Eilika’s back, the other at the crest of her hip. Holding her this way, he can just make out the dips and swells of her feminine curves. The feel of her fingers stroking through his fur is incredibly soothing, as is her human softness, her warmth, and her sweet, sweet scent.

At any other time this would arouse him, but in his current state, he draws nothing but immense comfort from her affections. 

‘We should try to sleep,’ he says. 

‘Come on then,’ she replies, getting to her feet and pulling him to his. ‘Let’s try.’

He is heartened to find that tonight, there is not even a question of them sleeping in separate beds. She has only prepared the one, and once she douses the fire and removes her boots, she climbs into the bedroll with him, and, instead of turning her back to him, she reprises the same position she’d awoken in that morning; head under his chin, legs entangled with his, clinging to him tightly. 

More visual inspo for Frix and Eilika snuggling by PersonalAmi

Fireside Comfort

Chapter Text

At daybreak, Eilika wakes to the sound of Frix weeping. She finds she is alone in the bedroll, and he is sitting at the edge of the clearing, looking in the direction of where Herdegen is buried. She crawls out of the bedroll, laces on her boots, and treads toward him slowly, giving him time to register her approach in case he’d rather be alone. He looks back at her, his expression woeful but welcoming, and she takes this as her cue to sit with him, holding his hand until he quietens.

‘Do you want to stay here for a bit longer?’ she asks when his weeping subsides. 

He dries his tears with the furry back of the hand she is not holding. ‘No,’ he says resolutely. ‘I can grieve just as well walking as I can sitting here.’

And with that, he rises to his feet, silhouetted against the vivid violet sky. 

She joins him, and he drops an arm around her shoulders, tucking her close to his side. ‘Come. We must keep moving.’

‘Did you want to visit his grave once more before we leave?’ she asks, throwing a glance toward the still, dark woods.

‘I already have. And anyway, he’s not there, he's in here,’ he tells her, pointing to his heart. 

Eilika nods in understanding, and they return to pack up their camp.

They continue on their way south, travelling all day until twilight. Frix is quiet and pensive, but talks a little about his brother, sharing stories of their adventures and tales about Herdegen’s kindness and courage. This appears to help him process his grief, and Eilika is glad both to be the person who is there to listen, and to learn more about her beloved’s twin brother, whom she’d never had the honour of knowing in life. 

At sundown, Eilika chooses a suitable place to stop for the night and Frix allows her to fuss over him. He lights a fire and she tries her luck at catching dinner again. She is successful this time, and makes a delicious rabbit stew with the mushrooms Frix had picked, as well as wild onion, garlic, yarrow, and ribwort, which she finds while hunting.

The location had been particularly appealing to Eilika as it is beside a rivulet. She is able to source water for their dinner, boil more to refill their skins, and looks forward to bathing before they set off again. To her great excitement, Frix does indeed have lye soap and lavender scented oil in his satchel. 

In the morning, they take turns bathing, and while the water is icy before the warming sun has fully risen, Eilika is most relieved to be able to clean herself properly and to wash and rebraid her hair. Even more satisfying, though, is the fact that Frix also has a large round boar bristle brush, and he consents to her brushing out his mane and replaiting it. Frix enjoys her doting, the physical contact, and the undeniable intimacy of the act, and Eilika enjoys pampering him, as well as taking advantage of any opportunity to slowly run her fingers through his silky soft fur. 

They decamp and set off once more. The dawn sky is ablaze, an unnaturally brilliant bronze colour, and Frix warns Eilika that they are in for bad weather. Sure enough, before the sun dips low in the sky, it disappears behind ominous, inky black clouds, and they are drenched in an inescapable downpour. 

They trudge on, Frix holding the waxed canvas tent above their heads for cover, until, mercifully, along their intended route, they find a cave to shelter in. Frix is able to build a fire just inside its mouth, and undresses down to his saturated braies before drying his fur with a large linen cloth.

Eilika lets down her hair to help it dry quicker, and, soaked through to her skin, yanks off her boots and sodden kirtle. This leaves her in nothing but her damp chemise, drawers, and stockings, bouncing up and down on the spot before the fire in an attempt to get warm. 

Her white cotton chemise and knickers have become transparent, slicked against her body, hugging every curve. Frix cannot fail to notice the pink peaks of Eilika’s erect nipples, the jiggle of her pert little breasts as she bounces, and the dark shadow of curls at the apex of her thighs.

Abruptly, he turns his back and pulls a spare grey tunic out of his sack, offering it to her with his eyes cast determinedly downward. She takes it from him with effusive thanks, and he turns around again while she peels off her wet underthings.

Frix stares out of the cave, waiting for Eilika to dry herself with a cloth and pull the tunic over her head. The rain has temporarily eased, and the sight of the full moon aglow in the evening gloam makes him very uneasy indeed. 

Raw, urgent need jolts through his system, his cock bucking in his braies. In a desperate attempt at diversion, Frix busies himself with fashioning a clothesline out of the rope and poles for the tent, bustling about, hanging their wet garments up to dry by the fire. 

‘You can turn around,’ Eilika says, and when Frix faces her, he huffs out a laugh at the sight of her swamped by his oversized shirt. 

She grumbles, rolling up the sleeves, and Frix finds a smaller piece of rope to tie around her waist, cinching the tunic to fit her more comfortably. 

‘There,’ he says, kneeling before her, grinning, ‘much better.’

It is the first time he has smiled in days. Their eyes lock and Eilika reads longing and hope in his, when only an hour ago his sorrow had seemed so deep and interminable.

Frix, meanwhile, is mesmerized. He has never beheld a lovelier sight. Eilika’s alabaster skin is luminous in the firelight, a rosy flush to her cheeks. Her hair falls to her waist, a golden halo cascading in crimped waves around her face. 

‘Dearest Eilika,’ Frix says. ‘I’m sorry I have not been very good company of late.’

She places a hand on each of his shoulders, leaning closer. ‘Nonsense,’ she coos. ‘You are my very favourite person and the best company, no matter what your mood. I'm only sorry there's not more I could say or do to ease your suffering.’

‘There's not much anyone can do to expedite the course of grief. It only takes time. And you have been a great comfort to me.’

In truth, Frix does not know how he would have coped without Eilika. She has been his anchor, keeping him tethered while the tumultuous tides of grief have lashed at him, ruthless and unrelenting.

She keeps her eyes fixed on his, hands tightening on his broad, muscled shoulders, and a frisson of something sparks between them – something scintillating that urges her, finally, to loosen her tongue.

‘Frix,’ she says, leaning impossibly closer, her gaze intensifying, pupils blown wide.

She thinks about finding Herdegen, about the sheer, gut-wrenching devastation she’d experienced in those seconds before realisation had dawned on her. She remembers how, when she’d thought she’d lost Frix, it had felt like the world had ended. It had felt as if any capacity for joy had been snuffed out of her, and any life worth living had been promptly snatched away. Now, she is bursting with the need to confess this burning secret. She cannot hold her peace any longer. Her yearning for him has suddenly culminated in a desperate, aching hunger she can no longer deny. 

Frix is watching raptly, waiting, anxious and expectant. ‘What is it, kleine?’

‘I–’ she stutters. ‘I need to tell you something…’

Chapter Text

‘I love you,’ Eilika blurts, and Frix merely blinks at her.

This is so incredible, that for a moment, he does not believe his ears. 

He stares at Eilika, speechless, which makes her terribly nervous, and allows all of her fears – that her feelings are not reciprocated after all, that it is unfair to trouble Frix with such a revelation while he is mourning his brother – to come racing back with a vengeance. 

‘When I thought that I had lost you…’ she hesitates, stammering. ‘I couldn’t… that is… I– I need you to know… and I’m sorry if it’s an inconvenient time, but I can’t keep it in any more. I love you.’

Stunned in his state of disbelief and elation, Frix still says nothing.

Eilika goes on then, speaking ever faster, running her words together. ‘And I don’t mean simply that I love you as the dear friend that you are to me. I mean that I am in love with you. I am madly, deeply, completely in love with you, body and sou–’

Eilika is silenced by Frix pressing his snout to her face, his wet nose and thin lips nudging gently against her lips. Overwhelmed with relief and excitement, she purses her lips in response, and the tip of his tongue flicks against them. 

Given that their mouths are so differently shaped – his lips so wide and narrow, hers so plush and pillowy with a distinct vermilion border – Frix had been concerned he would not be able to kiss Eilika the way she would like. But, she moans in encouragement, opening her mouth to him so that their tongues can meet.

It’s a strange and wonderful kiss that makes her giddy with joy. His arms wind around her, enveloping her fully as they commence a soft, slow exploration of one another; lingering pecks, little nips, and a tantalising tangle of tongues. 

‘Eilika,’ he breathes, breaking the kiss for a moment to hold her face in his big hands, ‘oh, mein schatz. How I love you. Forgive my hesitation just now, only, you are my everything… My heart beats your name, my soul soars at the sight of you, my love for you is infinite as time itself. You see, it was difficult for me to fathom that you could feel the same way–’

‘I’ve wanted to tell you for days–’ she sighs happily as he resumes his exploration, kissing and licking the slender column of her neck, nibbling gently with his short front teeth. 

The sensation makes Eilika tingle all over, goose pimples rising on her flesh.

‘–but I didn’t think the timing was very appropriate, and I wasn’t sure if–’

‘I wasn’t sure either,’ he tells her, pulling back to look her in the eyes, his hands smoothing down her hair, his tail beating the air behind him. ‘I knew you were fond of me, but I didn’t know if it was–’

‘It is,’ she insists, kissing all along his muzzle. ‘Oh it is. I’ve never felt this way and it’s a maddening delight.’

‘Isn’t it, though?’ he growls, tongue lashing at the soft hollow beneath her jaw.

He nips at her pulse point and Eilika shudders, her cunt throbbing. Sending a hand down to the crotch of his braies, she is pleased to find Frix’s rigid cock standing to attention. ‘Frix,’ she pleads, ‘I want you, now. Make love to me.’

Torn between acting on urgent, libidinous instinct and doing the right thing, Frix groans. He has a willing and eager female before him; one he loves and cherishes, it’s a full moon, and his inner beast just wants to fuck. But, his rational mind prevails. They need to talk.

Very reluctantly, he draws back from her. 

‘Meine liebe,’ he says, encircling her wrist with a clawed finger and thumb to stop her from pulling impatiently at the buckle of his belt and the laces of his braies, ‘I need to tell you something too.’

Her brows drop low, eyes narrowing with worry. ‘What?’

‘If we are intimate in that way, things will change between us–’

‘–I know–’

‘–no,’ he cautions, ‘what I mean is that wolfkin take sexual congress very seriously. If we make love, we will be mated. It is the equivalent of human marriage. Matehood is the ultimate union of two individuals, to the exclusion of all others, voluntarily entered into for life. It is a covenant that lasts for eternity. When we become one in flesh, we too will become one in spirit.’

Now, her eyes widen with surprise. ‘Does that mean that you’re a virgin?’

He nods. ‘I’ve never been physically intimate with another. But it is not just sex. Wolfkin can have sexual relations with others and not be mated. The mate-bond is fully established only when there is both the mutual acknowledgement of deep, unbreakable love, and the act of physical intercourse. And, I have never ever felt this way about anyone else.’

Frix is such an attractive, dashing wolfman, the fact that he is a virgin frankly astonishes Eilika. However, it makes her feel more comfortable in admitting her own inexperience. 

‘I’ve never lain with another, either. I have only ever kissed a boy behind the flour mill, and… touched myself…’ she confesses, her cheeks aflame.

As a child, she had been indoctrinated in religious teachings that had asserted it was a sin to engage in any form of sexual pleasure outside of the bounds of matrimony. Masturbation was gravely wrong. However, Eilika had disregarded this unreasonable dogma, and indulged in self-pleasure anyway. 

Still, she had been conditioned to feel shame about the act, and though she blushes while sharing this admission, she feels quite unabashed when telling Frix. He has awakened something within her; something unrestrained, sensual, primal.

The notion of Eilika touching herself only further provokes Frix’s ravenous inner beast. ‘Me too,’ he rumbles, swooping in for another kiss. ‘I have only ever pleasured myself.’

‘Well, when I say that I want you…’ Eilika continues, as Frix moves down to varnish her throat with more wet, dragging kisses. ‘I really mean it. I want you in every sense of the phrase; mind, body and soul. Nothing would make me happier than to be your wife, your mate. Now will you please take your braies off and lay out the bedding so we can make love?’

Frix chuckles, encouraged by Eilika’s eagerness, and filled with a boundless, effervescent joy at the news she wishes to be mated to him. He plies her with several more kisses before releasing her to arrange the bedding close to the fire. Expecting they may make rather a mess, he lays out the furs first, for padding, then places the bedroll on top, leaving it closed, protected by its nonabsorbent waxed outer coating. 

Then, he swiftly loosens his trou. The clink of his buckle and snap of his leather belt whipping through fabric loops precedes Eilika unlacing the closure of his braies with curious reverence. Despite her earlier enthusiasm, she works slowly now, intently, as if carefully unwrapping a treasured gift. He helps her to shove his pants down, stepping out of them and kicking them aside and Eilika inhales sharply. 

He is magnificent. Powerfully built and thickly muscled; a towering specimen of pure, bestial virility. Yet there is an elegance to his form. His graceful lines and sleek silhouette are a stark compliment to his lethal savagery. The white colouring down the centre of his torso extends beneath his waist. Between his legs, the fur covering his cock’s sheath and heavy scrotum is the same silvery hue.

Eilika’s tongue darts out to wet her lips when she sees his beautiful, big brutal cock for the first time. She is somewhat familiar with male human anatomy, but Frix is shaped quite differently. 

His cock is long, thick, curved upward, and networked with protuberant veins. It is a furious, florid pink and seems, amazingly, to be self-lubricating. The tapered, slightly flared tip is leaking copious clear beads of precum. There is so much, it is dripping steadily down his shaft. Still eyeing it greedily, Eilika grips his large cock, and, with some difficulty, starts pumping it in her small fists. 

‘Herrgott,’ he hisses, swaying forward, knees threatening to give way beneath him. 

‘Mmm,’ Eilika moans, filled with a strange, intoxicating sense of power at the sight of this enormous strong male becoming weak with pleasure by her very hands. ‘I want you inside me.’

‘Eilika,’ Frix pants in desperation, ‘liebe, I fear I won’t last long.’

‘What’s this?’ she asks, unheeding, fingers finding a thickened ring of tissue at the base of his shaft.

‘Th-that’s my knot.’

Her brows hike up. ‘Knot?’

‘It swells when I climax,’ he manages to grit out between clenched teeth, ‘and if it’s inside you, it will lock us together until long after I am… empty.’

The prospect is so thrilling to Eilika, her whole body quivers with arousal. 

She promptly loosens the rope at her waist, tugging the tunic off over her head, and laying back on the bedroll. ‘Come here,’ she orders. ‘Now.’

Awestruck, Frix gets down on his knees, hovering over Eilika in all her naked glory. Her little human body is so divinely different. She’s all lithe limbs, creamy curves, and soft, smooth skin. She is furless – except for a little between her thighs and her armpits. But, the finest, diaphanous hairs stand on end all over her skin, like her very own golden gossamer fur, barely visible and wispy as cobwebs. She is precious, perfect, and, by her own declaration; his.

Eilika watches, trembling with anticipation as his heated gaze rakes over every inch of her body from head to toe, burning with intensity. 

‘Please Frix,’ she urges him, ‘touch me.’

He starts by cupping her small white breasts in his huge hands. Dipping his head, he circles his tongue around each of her pert shell-pink nipples. The velvety friction sends a shockwave of pleasure down her spine, causing her to mewl and writhe beneath him. 

They roll around the bedding, hands and mouths moving slowly, all delight, decadent delectation and discovery. Eilika forces Frix onto his back so that she can climb atop him and have her way, running her hands all over him, traversing the landscape of his big body – his fur so soft, his muscles so hard – eager to learn the shape and feel of him.

She kisses her way across the wide span of his great chest, inspecting each of his well-healed scars and giggling when he flinches, sucking in a breath as her tongue dances over the flat, furless discs of his nipples. Her hands surf the deep groove between his pectorals, and she marvels at the way they bunch and flex as he reaches out to caress her. She skates her fingertips over the prominent corrugations of his taut abdomen, noticing, with relish, the way the muscles shiver as she dips her tongue into his navel.

He grips her arms, and in a flash, she finds herself beneath him again, returning to lavish her breasts with attention; licking and sucking and nibbling. His soaked cock bumps against her knee and all she can think about is how completely it will fill her, what a nice, solid, welcome invasion it will be. She shakes with need, but her mind catches up to her body and forces her to think rationally for a moment.

‘Frix…’ she starts. 

‘Mmm?’ he mumbles, head lifting up to look at her, eyes glazed over with lust. 

‘If you… release inside me, could I become pregnant?’

His expression immediately sobers, but he is glad she has considered this before they got too carried away. ‘Yes.’ He rolls off to one side, running a hand over his face. ‘In Giryn, there is a medicinal powder with contraceptive properties which can be dissolved in liquid. I’m afraid I have no such thing with me.’

Eilika is greatly interested in the fact that contraceptives exist in Giryn, but it is of no benefit to them presently. She wonders if this medicinal powder Frix speaks of is the same contraceptive elixir her grandmother had mentioned. Later, she will peruse the grimoire in the hopes of discovering a recipe for the concoction, but right now, they require an alternative solution.

Frix is frowning up at the firelight flickering on the striated rock ceiling of the cave.

She lifts his hand, which has been clenched into a fist in frustration, encouraging him to relax as her fingers lace with his. 

‘What could we do?’ she asks. 

‘I could… pull out,’ he suggests, ‘before I–’

‘Yes,’ she replies with a wicked grin. ‘Let’s do that.’

Arranging herself on the bedroll, she hastily spreads her legs and a deep, appreciative purr of pleasure vibrates in Frix’s throat. 

He’s thrilled to find that her cunt is blossoming, blooming, beckoning him. The strong scent of her arousal is a delicious assault on his system. His cock responds in ardour, bobbing and twitching between his thick thighs. 

‘But there’s no need to rush,’ he says, defying the beast, forcing his eyes away from the exquisite feast awaiting him between her legs. ‘I want to learn how to please you. I’m quite big and–’

‘That’s for sure,’ she interrupts, hungrily eyeing his tremendous endowment. 

‘–and,’ he persists in vain, ‘it will likely hurt when your maidenhead is broken, regardless of whether your first time is with a human or–’

‘I know,’ she contends, waving a dismissive hand at him. 

Her eyes stay fixed in place though. She cannot drag her attention away from the gorgeous big cock that’s pointed at her, as if it has marked her as its target, and is ready to claim her. 

When it had looked as if Eilika was set to marry Clewin Berchtold, her mother had sat her down and given her a talking to about what to expect on her wedding night. She knew that it would hurt, and that there would be blood. It was a terrifying prospect when she’d contemplated losing her virginity to Clewin. But, with Frix, even despite his larger size, it seems a mere triviality to overcome.

She wants his cock, and she wants it now.  

‘I don’t care,’ she insists. ‘I want you.’

‘I’m much larger than a human man–’ he goes on feebly.

‘–never mind any human man,’ she argues, sitting upright in outrage, knocking her knees together. ‘Yours is the only cock I want to take – I will ever take – so why can’t I have it now?’

‘I don't want to hurt you.’

‘It’s going to hurt anyway. Just do it.’

His engorged cock is so hard it’s almost painful, and she pouts so prettily, he feels sorely tempted to give her what she wants. The beast within him – raging under the influence of the full moon – agrees heartily. But, by some force of will, he is able to calm the beast, and a compromise occurs to him.

‘First, why don’t you show me how you touch yourself. I want you to teach me.’

The wicked grin returns to her face and she lays back, allowing her legs to fall open again. One hand travels down between her thighs, and her eyes stay locked with his as she begins to finger her folds. 

Fascinated and famished, Frix watches as she teases herself with a well practiced rhythm. 

His hand moves involuntarily, and he allows himself an ounce of relief, fisting his cock and pumping it to spread his precum up and down his shaft.

Eilika parts her folds and exposes a tumescent little nub, circling it with her forefinger. She is so wonderfully wet that her fingers slip and slide with ease. Rubbing in broad strokes, she gradually narrows her focus in on that nub and saliva pools in Frix’s mouth at the sight of the syrupy sap leaking from her slit. 

Her breath starts coming out in short pants and her body begins to shudder, her breasts swaying as her movements become harder and quicker, rubbing that little nub in earnest. 

She cries out. The sight of Frix idly stroking his cock as he watches her is so spectacularly erotic that it brings her to the precipice of orgasm, her fingers frantically strumming her slick clit. 

‘Wait,’ Frix interjects when he realises she is bringing herself perilously close to climax. ‘Let me.’

He cannot ready her with his clawed fingers, but he can lick her until she comes against his tongue, and he intends to do just that. He pounces on her, fingers digging into the plush swells of her buttocks, claws only lightly pricking her flesh as he bows his head to taste her. 

She yelps, bucking beneath him as he wastes no time honing in on that little nub, burrowing with the tip of his tongue to locate it.  

He lifts his head only briefly to check he’s found the right place. A lustre of her viscous wet serum coats his muzzle, and he licks his snout, savouring her tang. ‘That feels good, there?’ he asks.

She hitches her hips, tempting his clever tongue back to her clit. ‘So good.’

He hooks his hands under her knees and presses her legs back, opening her thighs further to gorge on her luscious cunt, glad the crescendoing storm – the squalling rain and splintering cracks of thunder – will muffle her shrill shouts of pleasure to anyone happening to pass by.

His wide, thick tongue laps at her so thoroughly, swiping over her in great sweeping strokes before circling back, paying special attention to her clit on each pass. She is nearly sobbing at the heavenly sensation, her body convulsing at the muscular press of that agile tongue.

He keeps at her, licking her clit with cunning dexterity, maintaining the perfect pace; tongue fluttering and flitting, swirling and swivelling until he brings her to a scintillating climax of the likes she has never experienced by her own hand. It curls her toes, arches her back, and wipes her mind blank of anything but the blissful, blinding pleasure. She calls out his name, clutching at his ears as he keeps on licking her through her orgasm.

Frix leans back on his heels, his ears flicking down, grinning, proud to see what a good job he’s done. Eilika lays before him, utterly wrecked yet incandescent with pleasure; cheeks suffused with colour, eyes shining bright.

‘Come,’ she says, opening her legs for him once more, curling a finger at him, ‘give me your cock, now.’

Frix wastes very little time positioning himself between her thighs. He takes his slathered cock in hand and guides it to her weeping slit.

At first, the pointed tip of his cock allows for deceptively easy entry. As he notches it into her cunt, they both groan at the sensation. 

The second he lowers himself and begins to inch forward though, the snap of her hymen tearing causes Eilika to wince and gasp.

Frix freezes, looking down at her, brow furrowed in concern. 

‘Don’t–’ she commands, snagging the pewter pendant dangling around his neck and tugging on it to prevent him from withdrawing any further. ‘Don’t you dare stop.’

‘All right,’ Frix says, ‘but I will, if it becomes too much. Tell me. One word and I stop.’

‘Just go slow,’ she says, fingernails digging into his biceps. 

Frix nods. He wouldn’t have it any other way, even if there is a beast within, screaming at him to rut her, to pound her into the dirt.

Frix had known it would feel good, but he is wholly unprepared for just how good it feels as he begins to slide into the sure, snug embrace of Eilika’s warm, wet cunt. It forces the air from his lungs in a rush. His whole body quakes, threatening to topple down onto her. Consciously, he locks his elbows into place and inhales deeply.

He eases out and presses back in a little further, assisted by the abundance of their combined fluids. She squeezes her eyes shut, letting her breath out unsteadily as she endures the initial, searing barbs of pain. Then he’s doing it again, gently rocking his hips, pulling out and pushing in, further still. 

There’s a further pinch and sting, then a brief, beautiful burn as his thick cock stretches her. She yields, her body relinquishing, relaxing, making room for him. Slowly, he dips into her, thrusting deliberately and steadily. Once, twice, three times – a little easier and a little deeper with each roll of his hips. 

Eilika keens as the pain gradually changes and becomes tinged with a pleasure that is altogether different to the kind Frix had brought about with his tongue. This is more of a satisfying sense of fullness and pressure; an indescribable sense of satiation at being breached, of being claimed, of joining with another in the most instinctive and essential way.

She props herself up on her elbows and looks down so she can witness the gratifyingly carnal image of his cock impaling her, spreading her wide. He is plunging in and gliding out with ease now, plunging and gliding, ever more assertively with each pump, his cock glistening, streaked with her blood and their plentiful natural lubrication. Frix smiles at her, pressing his wet snout to her lips and she admits his tongue, clashing hers languidly against it as his hands slip under her buttocks, tilting her hips to get a better angle. 

Despite their size difference, their bodies fit together well. Eilika is able to hook her ankles at the small of Frix’s back and she makes the sweetest sounds in his ear; soft sighs and tremulous whimpers. 

Holding on for dear life, her fingers tighten in the thick mane around Frix’s shoulders. She is overcome with a serene sense of elevation – as if she is floating, looking down on her body – yet she is fully present, experiencing every minute sensation with pin-sharp clarity. She attends to each of them equally; the way his large body surrounds hers completely, the tickle of his fur against her naked skin, the warm gust of his breath down her neck, the steady punch and drag of his cock driving high inside her. 

In a luminous moment of realisation, Eilika notices that she cannot seem to discern where she ends and he begins, and the universe may as well have come to a standstill outside the cave for all she cares, as the only thing that matters right now is this marvelous, miraculous way they are connecting. 

Frix feels it too. But he understands this on another level. He knows this is the mate-bond taking hold. He feels the very fibres of his being changing, interfusing, and melding with hers. This physical union is altering them irrevocably, rendering them down to their base elements like molten liquid metal poured into a mold and remade anew. Their souls are reformed together, matehood binding them as one forevermore.

His hips move reflexively now. He is transfixed; a slave to the rhythm, totally immersed in the sensations emanating from where his cock is buried deep in the sublime silken opulence of Eilika’s tight cunt.

‘Mein liebe,’ he mutters, eyes burning into hers, breath snatching at the way she looks at him, the way she lies, pinned beneath him in the ultimate show of trust and vulnerability, the way her body welcomes and accommodates his. ‘I am yours. Everything I am, everything I hope to be is yours, yours, yours–’

‘–and I’m yours,’ she babbles, tears spilling down her cheeks, ‘have been since the day you first held my hand.’

The sheer crushing intimacy of the moment brings him to a sudden, stunning climax, hips stuttering, testicles drawing up tightly. 

He pulls out just in time, howling as his orgasm tears through him as violently as the turbulent tempest rampaging outside the cave. His entire body tenses as his cock empties, spraying forth thick white ropes of cum. He remains in place, kneeling, body twitching and cock pulsing until his climax has wrung every last drop out of him and his spend coats her belly, pooling in her navel, and dripping down her thighs. 

Eventually, he collapses beside her, wheezing, body boneless and humming with ecstasy. 

‘Liebe,’ he says, pulling her close, cupping her jaw and angling her face up to his for a kiss. ‘Did it hurt?'

‘Yes,’ she laughs triumphantly, peppering kisses all over his snout. ‘But it was wonderful.’

The very talented artist PersonalAmi has some delicious images of her character Einarr (whom I see as very like Frix) naked...

Definitely NSFW

Merry Christmas ;)

PersonalAmi Image Einarr Naked 1

PersonalAmi Image Einarr Naked 2

PersonalAmi Image Einarr Naked 3

PersonalAmi Image Einarr Naked 4

Chapter Text

Frix warms a pot full of rainwater over the fire, and with dampened linen cloths, cleanses Eilika’s body with meticulous tenderness. 

‘I wish it would storm like this forever,’ she sighs, scratching behind his ears as he rubs his semen off her skin, ‘so that we can stay here in this cave making love for eternity.’

He pats her down with a dry cloth. ‘That would be nice. Although, I’d much rather take you home, and make love to you in my big soft bed.’

‘What is your house like?’ she asks, eyes bright with interest. ‘What sort of homes do wolfkin live in, in the Willulf Woodlands?’

Frix sets the cloths aside and lies beside her, rolling onto his back, folding his arms behind his head. ‘We have villages of wattle and daub cottages. Tall A-frames, generally. Ours is a four room dwelling, two rooms upstairs, two down.’

Eilika knows, not only by the sadness in his eyes when he speaks, but through the symbiotic bond they share – which seems, curiously, to have strengthened now that they’ve enjoyed a new level of intimacy with one another – that Frix had lived in this home with Herdegen. 

‘I think I shall sell it,’ he suggests. ‘We’ll buy another, what do you think? Slightly larger?’

The idea of a larger home has Eilika thinking about families, and how much she would like to have one with Frix one day. It makes her fear that he may have misunderstood her intentions when she had asked about the possibility of becoming pregnant by him. 

She drapes an arm over his chest, burrowing into his side. ‘Frix…’

‘Hmm?’

‘Mein shatz, I do want to have your pups–’

He looks down his muzzle at her. ‘You do?’

‘Yes. But maybe not… right away. Things are quite difficult for us at present and I wouldn’t want to be in that condition while–’

‘No. Of course. I understand. And I agree.’

‘But I do want to have our children,’ she reassures him. 

Overjoyed, Frix beams, drawing her closer, running his palms up and down her bare back, cresting the curves of her buttocks and hips, relishing the fact that they are finally lying naked together, his fur pressed against her skin. 

She giggles happily, but, thinking about his many, many siblings, she adds, ‘I can’t promise I can give you thirty of them, though.’

‘It would be a dream come true to one day have a family with you,’ he says. ‘However, I am content with just the two of us, all the same. Whether we have no pups, one pup, two, twelve, or thirty, I would feel the same about you regardless.’

She sits up so that she can smile down at him. ‘And will we be married?’

‘We already are, now, in the wolven way. But I would very much like to be your husband, in the human way, as well.’

‘Has it ever been done, in your pack? Marriage between humans and wolfkin? Matehood?’

‘No,’ he says, and, when he sees the trepidation in her eyes, he hastily adds, ‘but it has in neighbouring clans.’

She yawns, but he cannot mistake this for complacency, as the apprehension remains in her voice when she speaks again. ‘Will they accept me, your pack?’

Gently, he tugs on her arm, pulling her back to lie beside him. ‘I have no doubt whatsoever,’ he says, kissing her temple. 

‘Mmm,’ she mumbles, contemplating this, tracing lazy circles along his abdomen. Then, changing the subject, because she is suddenly aware of how hungry she is, she says, ‘I suppose we should eat something.’

‘Yes,’ Frix replies, though his eyes are roaming over her naked body, travelling down to the space between her thighs once more. 

‘Not that,’ she laughs, playfully punching his arm. 

‘Well,’ he says, because her hand is straying precariously close to his sheathed cock and scrotum, and because her own hungry eyes have barely left his naked form. ‘If you keep looking at me like that, and stroking my fur with your perfect little fingers, we’ll never get to eat, or sleep, or attend to any of our other basic functions again.’

‘C’mon,’ she says, sitting up, ‘let's have some Mettwurst and dried fruit.’

When Eilika wakes, her mementos of the evening are a full heart and a scrumptious soreness. She is neatly folded into the arc of Frix’s massive warm body and hums contentedly, feeling so safe, so adored. The storm had raged all throughout the night, and the rain continues still, giving them a convenient excuse for a late start, and a chance to lie in, luxuriating in one another. She turns in his arms, rubbing her cheek against the bulge of his hard pectoral muscle and is greeted by his morning erection. She shifts, lifting a leg over his, deliberately bumping her thigh against the head of his cock. 

His eye opens a crack and he grins at her. ‘Good morning, my mate. How do you fare after last night’s activities?’

‘Good morning, mein ehemann. I’m a little sore, but so, so happy.’

‘I’m glad,’ he says, squeezing her arm. ‘We shall give you a rest, then, before we put you through that again.’

She sits up, pushing the cover of the bedroll off them and the way she glares at him indignantly makes him chuckle. 

Though everything she has experienced with Frix so far has been immensely enjoyable, Eilika cannot help but feel that as he has been unable to spill his seed inside her womb, the consummation of their bond is somehow incomplete.

‘No. I want to take your knot. I want you to come inside me.’

Frix gulps, but his cock jerks with enthusiasm for the idea. ‘But we have no contraceptives–’

‘I have a plan,’ she says, looking toward the satchel where he keeps the grimoire. ‘But first, I want to suck on your cock,’ she announces, and with that, she dives down to take its tapered tip in between her plump wet lips. 

Frix grunts, his hips rising up reflexively to meet her mouth.

Eilika cannot take all of him, but she’s intensely keen to give him even a modicum of the blissful oral pleasure he’d lavished upon her the night prior. 

She swirls her tongue around the head of his cock, collecting its pearls of precum and pressing them up into the roof of her mouth, enjoying the flavour. It’s like nothing she’s ever tasted before. Earthy, like mushrooms, a little salty, and surprisingly sweet. 

She sucks him like she would a ripe red summer strawberry.

‘You taste good,’ she comments, popping his cockhead free of her lips and licking his shaft from base to tip. ‘If you can’t come in my cunt yet, I want you to at least come in my mouth.’

She closes her lips firmly around his cocktip again and sucks until her cheeks hollow.

‘Gott,’ Frix breathes, driven wild by the sight of his beautiful little mate, cock in her mouth, uttering the most fantastically filthy words. ‘You take me so well. I am the luckiest wolf in the world. But, give me something else to do. Please come here so I can lick your pretty pussy.’

Eilika pauses in the act of suckling his cockhead and wrinkles her brow at him questioningly. 

‘Like this,’ he says, coaxing her to turn around so that she’s on all fours with her knees and elbows planted either side of his body and her arse in the air, right in line with his muzzle. 

It causes Eilika’s mind to swarm, overwhelmed with the many physical possibilities – like a veritable buffet of delicacies – all the myriad ways they can learn to fit together, to pleasure one another. It adds another thrilling element to their already exciting adventure.

‘Very nice,’ he comments, as the pink folds of her cunt open for him. 

Softly, he grips her buttocks in his large paws and swipes his tongue over her, from clit to slit and back again.

Eilika shivers, instinctively rocking back to press into his face. Though it’s only early days, she’s quite certain his terrifically talented tongue will never fail to utterly devastate her within minutes. Her knees tremble and her head spins.   

‘Can you reach me?’ he asks, and she realises his ministrations have distracted her from her own ambitions. She’s simply quivering on the spot, mouth hanging open, stupefied with pleasure. 

‘Not really,’ she says. Stretching her hand out, she can barely grip his cock. 

‘Wait,’ Frix says, and she feels him moving beneath her, arranging a pile of the furs as pillows under his shoulders so that he can lean forward and eat her out in comfort. 

This allows her to move down his torso and bring his cock – swaying for lack of attention – back to her mouth. 

‘Perfect,’ Frix purrs, promptly engulfing her with his broad muzzle, ‘this way we can both enjoy a hearty breakfast.’

And he does exactly that. Nose nudging, thick tongue probing, snuffling and slurping, he feasts on her, enjoying it just as much as she is, maybe even more so. He’s completely immersed in her scent, and at this angle, she’s entirely exposed to him, giving him greater access so that he can lavish every niche of her cunt with attention. He presses his tongue deep into her, tasting and teasing, and she yips when he finds the most sensitive spot inside her. 

In this particular position, he can’t really do much about this discovery now, and, he’s had the most success focusing on her clit, he’s learned. But, he makes a mental note to return and explore this special little spongy spot further next time. 

Meanwhile, Eilika is a little frustrated that she can’t handle Frix as well as she’d liked from this angle. She’d really like to massage his balls with one hand while she grips the base of his cock with the other, to control just how far she takes him into her mouth. But she needs to use one hand to balance, so she focuses on working his cock, circling and pumping her fingers while drawing patterns over his glans with her tongue. He seems to be enjoying it, because he’s moaning against her cunt, the vibrations only pushing her ever closer to her own climax. 

Frix returns to using the very tip of his tongue to worry the hard little bud hiding under the hood of her clit, first gently, then more determinedly, and this way, he quickly detonates her release. 

Eilika is glad she’s the first to come, because she’s almost entirely useless with Frix lapping so expertly at her clit. Shouting and shuddering, she rides out her orgasm against the flat of his wide wet tongue, gives herself a moment to recover, then turns around so she can look him in the eyes as she takes him back into her mouth as far as she can, sucking his cock with renewed vigour. 

His big fingers slide into her hair as he looks down at her with an expression of absolute worship. 

‘Yes,’ he hisses in pleasure, ‘that’s it, kleine. Look at you, taking my big wolf cock so easily.’

Crouched before him, Eilika is much happier to now be able to toy with his silky soft scrotum, gently kneading the heavy sac in one hand while she experiments with different pressure and pace, stroking the length of his girth in the tight fist of her other. 

But, she longs to suck him again. The tapered tip of his cock glides so easily between her lips, fits so well in her mouth, feels so right on her tongue. Its shape is so conducive to her sup, sup, supping, everything he has to give, but she can barely keep up with swallowing the amount of precum rapidly seeping out of him. And, remembering the sheer volume he’d coated her with when he’d erupted all over her the night prior, she keeps her breathing steady and her pace even, because she knows there’s much, much more to come.

And, right on cue, it comes. 

‘Unf, liebling,’ Frix groans, hips bucking beneath her, ‘ich komme!’

Pulling and squeezing his scrotum, Eilika milks his big balls as his cock spurts its hot cream down her throat. Breathing deeply through her nose, she drinks his cum down in great gulps and Frix practically roars with pleasure as he throbs in her mouth. She can’t take it all though, and lets his thick shaft slip from her lips while it’s still pulsing, painting her chest with his seed. 

‘Beautiful,’ he manages to gasp, admiring the tendrils of his release decorating her lovely little breasts. 

The possessive beast within is greatly satisfied to note that, no matter how thoroughly his semen is cleaned off her, he has marked her now, indelibly, with his scent, so that any other wolf will be able to smell it on her a mile away.

She drags a finger through the blessed mess and sucks it clean. 

‘Right,’ she says, looking outside the cave to see that the rain is clearing, ‘time for a real breakfast, then?’

A/N

In case you were wondering if the 69 position is even possible with such a size difference, here's some visual inspiration by PersonalAmi (NSFW):

First breakfast

Chapter Text

Frix is able to fill all of their waterskins with fresh rainwater before the clouds have completely cleared. Shaking himself dry, he returns to the cave where Eilika is packing up their camp, and his heart swells with affection as he sets eyes on his mate.

It is now that he decides to test the reach of their newly consummated bond. Much to his joy, he finds that their relations the previous evening, as well as Eilika’s increasing acceptance of her latent abilities, have combined to certify their spiritual link, enabling them to experience a new phenomena he’d hoped and expected they would be able to. 

‘Yes,’ says Eilika, folding and shoving the woollen blankets into her sack one by one. ‘Good idea. A pheasant would be very nice for dinner. Or perhaps a quail or grouse?’

‘What’s that?’ Frix enquires with a hint of mischievousness, rocking back and forth on the balls of his big feet.

Eilika whips around, eyeing him with a quizzical expression. ‘I was only agreeing with you,’ she says, a little defensively.

He's grinning like the butcher’s dog. ‘I didn’t say anything.'

‘Yes you did,’ she insists, though the expression on her face indicates that she is beginning to doubt herself. ‘You said perhaps we could try our luck hunting fowl this evening, and I was just saying I think it’s a marvelous idea.’

‘Mine liebe,’ Frix says, crossing the distance to scoop her up in a tight hug. ‘I was thinking that in my mind. I did not speak it. But you could hear me as though I did?’

‘Yes…’ she says, bemused, ‘...yes, I… I could.’

‘That’s the mate-bond,’ he tells her, kissing the top of her head, before promptly releasing her to strap the small barrel and bedroll to the bottom of his pack. 

‘So, we can… communicate telepathically now?’ she asks. 

Rolling up the pelts and fitting them into his basket, Frix glances over his shoulder at her, smiling. ‘It seems so. Did my voice sound different? Did you not think it strange?’

‘Well, now that I think of it… it was a little quiet, and a little muffled…’ she says slowly. ‘But I just thought you were mumbling.’

‘It will become louder and clearer in time,’ he tells her.

Suddenly a little disconcerted by this revelation, she flushes hot with embarrassment. Frantically, she tries to recall whether she has thought anything she would not like Frix to know. Nothing is immediately apparent to her, but the idea he can read her mind is quite a shock nonetheless.

Gingerly, she asks, ‘will we be able to… hear all of each other’s thoughts?’

‘No,’ Frix chuckles, donning his sword-belt and baldric. ‘Even a couple as enamoured of one another as you and I are entitled to some privacy in their minds. Not that I would want to hide anything from you.’

‘Nor I you,’ she says, finding this to be entirely true.

Having pondered the matter, albeit briefly, Eilika has decided there really is nothing she would wish to conceal from Frix. He knows her more intimately than anyone else, and, it has just now occurred to her, that fact is actually immensely comforting.

‘You have to convey the message with intent,’ Frix explains.

‘Oh,’ she says. ‘How?’ 

‘You sort of… focus on the person you wish to communicate with until you feel you have attuned with their energy. That’s an unusual sensation you’ll get used to–’ he clarifies. ‘Then, you deliberately and clearly speak the words in your mind, projecting them forth until they touch the other’s mind.’

‘I see…’ she says hesitantly, as it is most difficult to imagine being able to achieve such a feat.

‘Not to worry,’ Frix declares, one of his large fingers tracing the halo braid encircling her crown. ‘We’ll practise.’

‘What is it, exactly, you’re planning to make?’ Frix asks, as, for the fifth time that morning, Eilika has caused them to draw to an abrupt halt on their journey. 

Yet again, she breaks away from his side, leaving their intended path to rustle around in the undergrowth.

First, it had been the roots of brake ferns. Next, it had been mugwort. Then, rue leaves, then, the young stems of a giant fennel. This time she returns with a handful of mentha pulegium flowers.

‘That’s it!’ she announces, gleefully waving them in his face. 

‘That’s what?’ Frix asks, amused and concerned in equal measures.

‘The final ingredient for the spermis barriera draught,’ she says, opening the flap of her satchel to add the bunch of tiny lilac flowers to her collection. 

‘Ah,’ he says, now feeling much more tolerant of the delays. ‘So you found the recipe for your grandmother’s contraceptive elixir?’

‘Yes,’ she answers, striding back onto the path with a very attractive newfound confidence. 

Having spent several hours studying the grimoire after Frix had fallen almost instantaneously into a deep sleep following their rigorous physical exertions the night prior, Eilika is fatigued. But, it had been well worth it, she realises. For now, she can brew this prophylactic potion. And, the writings within the spellbook, which had at first been utterly bizarre and baffling, had, miraculously, become easier and easier to understand with every sentence she had read. 

‘My clever little witch,’ Frix says, ducking down to kiss her lips. 

Eilika smiles. It is not something she thought she would ever accept, but she supposes she really is a witch. This is her first potion, after all.

‘Well,’ says Frix, enticed into the shade cast by the long drooping branches of a willow tree. ‘I think it’s time for a break, anyway. Shall we rest here?’

‘Yes,’ Eilika agrees, divesting herself of her sack and satchel while Frix does the same with his. 

He lays out a blanket and Eilika flops down. Propping her back against the crackled silver-brown bark of the willow’s trunk, she reaches for the barrel containing their rations. 

Only hungry for his mate, Frix merely guzzles from a waterskin then lies down with his head on her lap. 

She’s gnawing on pieces of dried apricot with one hand, stroking his brow with her other, entertaining herself by spelling out his surname – now her family name – with her fingers in his fur. 

‘Eilika Fredeward,’ she sighs. ‘It does have rather a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?’

‘It does,’ he agrees. ‘And, speaking of rings, I know just the one you shall have when we get to Giryn.’

‘A ring?’ she asks, intrigued.

She had thought the exchanging of rings during wedding ceremonies was an exclusively human custom, and that wolfkin would not bother with such a tradition. 

He nods, rubbing his cheek against her kirtle as he does so. It feels very nice, so he does it again. 

‘What kind of ring?’ 

‘You shall have to wait to find out,’ he informs her in reply.

‘But…’ she tries, ‘...do you mean a ring that I can wear on my finger?’

‘I do,’ he says teasingly. ‘As well as a necklace with a pendant the very same as mine – to symbolise your belonging to the Fredeward clan – you shall also have a wedding band. But I will tell you no more. I want there still to be some element of surprise, so you shall have to wait.’

‘Hmph,’ she grunts, finishing the last apricot and reaching back into the barrel for a handful of nuts.

But before she can eat them, Frix startles her by rolling over, gripping her by the ankles, opening out her legs, and tugging her downward on the blanket. 

She shrieks in delight as he settles himself between her legs and pushes up her skirts. 

The idea that Eilika is so eager to take his name and so keen to have him spill his seed inside of her rouses the fierce and rabid hunger within. That she is so determined to find a solution allowing him to do so and that it will not be long before he can only further incites him.

‘What do we have here…?’ he says, cock hardening at the flash of her bare thighs. 

There’s something so enticingly sinful about the small gap of naked flesh between the tops of her stockings held in place by leather garters above her knees, and the lace bands where her drawers taper just above them. 

Frix investigates the gusset of her white cotton knickers and finds a slit has intentionally been left open in the crotch. 

‘This is very convenient,’ he says, splaying the fabric slit wide with his claws so that the thatch of curls guarding her cunt peak through. He ventures a little further down and finds that she is already wet for him. ‘Very convenient indeed,’ he breathes, leaning in, deeply inhaling her intoxicating scent.

The soft gust of his breath against her folds makes her tremble even before he presses a kiss right there. 

‘It is rather convenient,’ she whimpers as he begins to mouth her, ‘if it gives you easy access to slip your cock into me any time you care.’

He pauses his gentle exploration to look up at her, crystalline eyes gone dark and stormy with desire. ‘I can’t wait to come inside you.’ 

Carefully, keeping his claws out of the way, he parts her folds as he had done the fabric, and licks at her clit. 

‘Oh, yes,’ she moans, squirming beneath him. ‘Mmm.’

His head pops up from between the valley of her legs for a brief moment to ask, ‘how long will it take?’

‘The potion works within eight hours of consumption, and must be taken once per moon cycle.’

‘Then we shall get a fire going, and the pot boiling, right here on this very spot. We shall not wait until we stop to camp for the night.’

She laughs. ‘Even before we catch our dinner?’ 

‘Even before,’ he confirms, returning to work his mouth on her at a leisurely pace, gliding his tongue through her folds agonizingly, indulgently slowly, circling her clit with deliberate languor.

This, Eilika thinks, is the very nearest to heaven she could possibly be. The sun shines brightly, birds sing sweetly, a breeze lifts the spiralling leaves of the willow tree, and her legs are spread wide while her beautiful wolfman laps lazily at her clit.

Remembering the way she had reacted this morning when his long tongue had found that spot inside of her, Frix shuffles around to collect the blanket in a heap under her hips, angling her pelvis upward. 

He is able to use just the plump pad of his thumb to stroke over the bud of her clit – so incredibly swollen it’s protruding between her folds – and she gasps, her legs kicking out around him. 

‘You like that?’ he asks, very glad to have found a way to pleasure her with his fingers.

Rendered speechless, she merely nods, biting her lower lip, and Frix’s thumb thrums unceasingly over her moistened clit while he lowers his head, delving into her cunt with his tongue to stimulate that secret sensitive bundle of nerves within. 

He knows when he has located it because he can feel its distinct, bumpy texture, but also, because she comes almost immediately, cunt clenching around his tongue and thighs clamping around his ears, her body shaking violently with the spectacular force of her orgasm. 

‘Very good,’ Frix says, sitting up to arrange her skirts back in place, licking his muzzle clean. ‘The next time you come, it will be on cock. I shall spill my seed inside you as the sun rises.’

Chapter Text

Eilika brews her potion, recites the incantation from the grimoire (well rehearsed after going over the lines in her head all morning), and drinks the strange tasting concoction. An unusual sensation – like a kind of fizzing through her blood – passes over her body in the time it takes her to blink, then the only thing that lingers are the bitter tannins on her tongue.

They pack up after this brief, but equally pleasant and productive sojourn, and continue on their journey. All day, they practice talking with their minds, and, by late afternoon, they are able to hold a clear yet concise running dialogue with one another. 

They set up camp by a sparkling lake and Eilika succeeds in catching a grouse for their dinner. After enjoying the bird pan fried with wild mushrooms and spruce needles, Eilika sighs, leaning back to rest her head against Frix’s shoulder. She is lying on his front as they stare up at the stars, and the moon, now in its waning gibbous phase.

‘That was very nice,’ she declares. 

Frix nods his head, furry chin tickling her temple. 

‘It was,’ he agrees. ‘Most delicious. And, most convenient…’

The way he says this word makes her wiggle, turning around so that she can look up at his face. ‘What do you mean, convenient?’

‘I mean that I think we have your psionic powers to thank for that magnificent feast.’

Her eyes become round with surprise. ‘What?’

‘Once you really focus, the universe seems to give you what you want. It’s your connection to the earth’s energy, and your growing ability to channel its forces.’

She laughs dismissively. ‘I don’t think–’

‘No, really,’ he interrupts. ‘When you wanted to make rabbit stew badly enough – to soothe my distress – one practically threw itself in front of your bolt. You told me so yourself. Then, today you craved grouse, and low and behold, within mere minutes of–’

‘–if you say so…’ she scoffs, settling back to lie against him once more. 

‘You’ll see,’ he says, hands trailing up her arms, claws scratching her pleasantly through the fabric of her sleeves. ‘It may seem like mere coincidence to you now, but you will start to notice it happening more and more. Eventually, you will no longer be able to deny it is true.’

‘Well,’ she says, rolling onto her side and burrowing her face into his chest, ‘if that is what’s happening, I hope it doesn’t absolutely wreck me. I’m so tired, I feel like I could sleep for weeks.’

‘You have taxed yourself all day, communicating with me in your mind,’ Frix replies, tightening his arms around her. ‘It is mentally exhausting. But only because you’re not used to it. It will get easier. Especially when we’re in Giryn. You will thrive there. I know it.’

‘How much longer will it take to reach the portal?’

‘We are close,’ he reassures her, ‘merely two day’s journey away now.’

She hums in relief, feeling her body go slack, barely able to keep her eyes open. 

‘Come,’ says Frix, sitting up and lifting her in a cradling hold, ‘let us tuck you into bed where you can get to sleep while I clean up here.’

Frix trusts that the rising sun will wake him early enough so that, as planned, when the potion has taken full effect, he can finally make love to Eilika properly before they set off on another long day of travel. And wake him, it does, but the delicious anticipation of sinking his cock into his precious mate is quickly replaced by a painful disquietude, as a familiar, foul scent catches his attention. Wafting on the wind, it is a warning, a harbinger of looming danger. 

He wakes Eilika with a firm kiss, and she stirs, stretching her limbs, flexing her fingers and toes, and smiling up at him in luxurious expectation.

‘Is it time to make love?’ she asks. 

‘No,’ he whispers, and the fear rasping his voice and darkening his eyes sobers her immediately. 

‘What is it?’ she asks, drawing back with a start, looking around them in the soft pink light of dawn. 

‘I fear it is time to move,’ he replies, sitting abruptly, throwing the cover of the bedroll off them. ‘Quickly. I scent the dämonbär on the wind.’

Though they decamp in record time, Frix suspects they are already too late. Shame is a lead weight in his gut. The heady scent of his dear mate had brought him so much pleasure and comfort that he’d indulged in sleeping with his snout buried in Eilika’s hair and this error of judgment may now cost them dearly. 

Normally, Frix’s acute olfactory sense would have alerted him to the scent of danger much sooner, giving them a longer grace period, a chance to flee earlier, but he’d allowed Eilika’s redolent fragrance to subsume all else, and it had masked the dämonbär’s odour. 

He has been foolhardy and complacent. The creature – no, creatures, he is sure now he can scent more than one, and human men too – are in steady pursuit, moving ever closer, and he will never be able to forgive himself if any harm comes to Eilika due to his failure. He is hardly a worthy mate if he cannot readily anticipate such an ambush, if he cannot protect and defend her. 

Loaded up with their chattels, Frix is unable to throw Eilika onto his back as they had done the last time they needed to make haste. Therefore, he carries her bridal style as he sprints, charging through the woods. It brings his inner beast some peace to hold his mate close to him – where she belongs – safe, for now, in his arms.

He runs, on and on, until they come to a clearing where the forest is preternaturally quiet. Frix stops. Panting, he lowers Eilika to her feet and his ears swivel at the sound of a twig snapping in the near distance. 

‘Ready yourself,’ he breathes, turning in that direction, drawing his sword. ‘They approach hither.’

And no sooner has Eilika raised her crossbow, and Frix bent his knees in a fighting stance, two dämonbär lunge out of the thicket. Behind them, thrashing through the woods, Ulfhard and his apprentice Burgold follow closely at their heels. 

Eilika watches in awe as Frix’s beautiful face contorts into a menacing flehmen grimace, his muzzle wrinkling and lips peeling back to bare his fangs. He is breathtaking. Terrifying. Roaring, he darts forth, swinging his blade in a wide arc as the dämonbär come for him. 

Frix swiftly dispatches the first, decapitating it with one, smooth, devastating blow. He slashes the second creature’s face, sending it reeling back, then rushes at it, slamming into its side with one broad shoulder. The dämonbär tumbles over in the dirt while Eilika fires her crossbow at Ulfhard and Burgold. They dodge her bolts with ease, loosing their own arrows as they advance ever forward, moving with a new and unnatural speed. 

Weaving and ducking, Eilika manages to evade their onslaught, but shrieks when an arrow soars by so close to her face that it rustles her hair before lodging in the trunk of the tree immediately behind her, the shaft quivering as if taunting her. 

Meanwhile, Frix is a snarling, howling blur of grey and white as he barrels into Ulfhard and Burgold, claws extended, teeth gnashing and sword slashing. He’d shown them mercy the last time they’d clashed, but now, he is mindless with rage, the inner beast possessing him with a blinding bloodlust, spurring him on to obliterate any threat to his mate. 

The full force of his fury unleashed, Frix fights with unbelievable speed and power, utterly fixated on maiming and marring, on tearing his opponents limb from limb. He strikes and stabs and pounds, battering them with sheer, inhuman force.

Blood sprays through the air, splattering the dirt, and Eilika can hear the cracking of bones, splitting of skin, and dull thudding of lifeless bodies hitting the ground as she leaps onto the remaining dämonbär’s back.

The creature bucks and thrashes as she holds on, thighs gripping its flanks for purchase and one hand tearing at its fur. She plunges the point of a bolt into its thick neck. Again, and again, and again, she gores the unearthly animal as it struggles and throws her about. Finally, it yowls pitifully, then buckles, sagging beneath her. But Eilika keeps on stabbing and stabbing at its limp body as tears blur her vision and her throat constricts. 

Gasping and wheezing, she is forced to stop when Frix’s hand comes down on her shoulder. He pulls her up into his arms, crushing her to him and purring soothing words.

‘Mein liebe, are you hurt?’

‘No,’ she sobs into his chest. Drying her eyes on his tunic, she draws back, frantically searching his body for signs of injury. ‘Are you?’

She finds several scratches and small gashes, but miraculously, nothing serious. The blood that soaks his fur is not his. 

‘No,’ he says. ‘Only livid.’

He turns her around to view the dismembered bodies of Ulfhard and Burgold. 

‘Why did Volknand not accompany them here?’ Eilika asks, coming back to her senses and assessing the scene as Frix kneels to retrieve a bloodied pendant from around the headless neck of Ulfhard’s torso. 

‘Because he is a coward,’ Frix says. ‘He is afraid of us, for some reason. Perhaps it is because he knows we have the grimoire, and therefore, power. So, he sent these men alone, to do his dirty work.’

Frix stands, dangling the pendant in front of Eilika’s face. It is a talisman engraved with intricate, circuitous symbols.

‘What is it?’ she asks. 

‘Medallion Magic,’ Frix tells her, looking toward the matching necklace on Burgold’s fallen body. ‘I noticed these pendants glowing around their necks before I killed them. Their light has gone out, so they are no longer charged, but the talismans are endowed with magic to give the wearer the ability of chronokinesis.’

Eilika flashes him a questioning look.

‘The power to distort time and space. That is how they were able to move with such speed.’

Eilika watches as Frix bends down again to inspect the bodies. ‘And this,’ he says, plucking a square of fabric from the inside of Ulfhard’s leather jerkin, ‘is your kerchief, I believe.’

He displays it for her and she flinches as she recognizes it. Though it is dotted with blood and graffitied with lettering in a language she does not understand, it is indeed her kerchief. It had been covering the provisions she’d carried in her basket – abandoned at the cottage – the day her grandmother had been killed. 

‘Wha–?’ she begins to say. 

‘This is how they tracked us,’ Frix says, crumpling the kerchief in his hand and using it to wipe the talisman clean of blood. ‘More dark magic. We will burn it when we camp tonight.’

He snatches the second pendant from Burgold’s body, cleans it, and pockets them both. 

Eilika spins around, peering into the woods, focusing, tuning in. 

‘There is no further imminent threat…’ 

She states this as a certainty rather than posing it as a question, and it is heartening for Frix to see his brave little mate beginning to embrace her powers. He is floored by how fierce and competent she is, how artfully she’d slayed the dämonbär, and what a formidable team they make. 

‘No,’ he agrees, big hand splaying at the base of her neck, squeezing gently in reassurance. ‘We’ll leave the bodies for Volknand to find. But we should move on from here. We need to clean up, and find a suitable camp for the night.’

Bringing her gaze away from the dead bodies, Eilika smiles ruefully at Frix. ‘You were fantastic. And quite frightening.’

He stiffens with concern. ‘Did I scare you?’

‘No,’ she says quickly, then adds, ‘well, maybe a little. You seemed… out of control.’

‘I felt out of control at first,’ he admits. ‘Berserkirwut. It’s a kind of frenzied state, a trance-like fury Wolfkin have been known to go into. But I was aware of you, the whole time, and you kept me tethered to reality.’

‘And that has never happened to you before?’ she asks.

He slips an arm around her waist. ‘No. But then, I have never before had a mate to protect.’

‘I felt protected,’ she says. ‘I was terrified, but somehow, I just knew we would be safe.’

He kisses the top of her head and tries to allow the tension to ease out of his muscles. But dread clutches at Frix’s heart. Volknand seems to have a disturbingly wide array of magical tools at his disposal. Frix is filled with unease at the idea that the man may know the location of the portal, and may somehow be able to seal it, trapping them in this land forever. 

He won’t reveal this to Eilika though, not yet. He must allow her to hold onto hope, for them both. This is merely supposition, after all, and they must deal only with facts.

And, even if they had to stay, he is confident they would cope, and would find another way to get the grimoire back to Giryn. But most importantly, wherever they are, they have everything they need. 

They have each other.

Chapter Text

Frix and Eilika find a burbling, crystal clear stream in which to clean themselves. The chilly water is invigorating and calming and they use Frix’s lye soap to scrub themselves. But, they only get as far as washing their hands and faces, and Frix strips off his tattered, bloodied tunic, before Eilika pounces on him. 

Reaching up to wrap her arms around his neck, she pulls his face down to hers and kisses him hard. Stumbling, Frix backs her up against a tree. The sack draped across her back shields her from the rough bark and acts as a cushion, buffering the impact. Eilika’s tongue teases along the seam of his lips, pleading for entry. Frix grants it. Succumbing to desire, he flicks his tongue against hers a few times before coming to his senses again and breaking the kiss in an attempt to reason with her. 

‘Eilika…’ he starts.

‘Please Frix,’ she mumbles against his mouth, pressing her lips to his again, climbing him, twining her legs around his waist, ‘I need this.’

They have just survived a very close call and come out victorious. It had been terrifying and exhilarating in equal measures, and Frix's brutal ferocity had been incredibly attractive. A rush of relief has extinguished any remaining fear, and adrenaline has now left Eilika with the sultry throb of arousal. Her pulse quickens anew, her breath hitching as she fondles Frix’s hardening cock through his braies. 

Frix groans in surrender, tugging open the laces of his pants to take out his erect cock and Eilika looks down between them, gasping with excitement.

‘Yes,’ she breathes, ‘give it to me.’

Frix relinquishes control to his mate. She takes his cock in her small hands, working it rather deftly for such a short acquaintance with it. He rests one hand on the trunk above her head to steady himself, and holds her up with the other hand beneath her buttocks. Panting, he watches as she strokes him quickly. 

The image is perfectly filthy. Eilika, the ripe young maiden, pinned against the tree with her legs wide open, hose and soft creamy thighs exposed, layers of skirts in pure white cotton and lace, the barest glimpse of a swollen pink cunt through the open slit in her knickers, and a huge, hard wolf cock aiming for a bullseye.

His body is responding eagerly to her attention, cock throbbing and lubricating itself. Her ministrations are drawing thick fluid through the pores of his florid flesh, thoroughly coating his shaft and her hands, making everything silkily slick. 

‘Unf,’ she grunts, reaching between them to try and tug her skirt out of the way and hold open the slit in her knickers. ‘Fuck me Frix, now. I want to feel you come inside me.’

He huffs out a laugh. ‘Oh no. You first.’

A soft sound of pleasure and surprise gurgles in her throat when Frix takes his cock in hand and uses the swollen head of it to push through the slit in the gusset of her knickers. He rubs it against her engorged pussy. Dragging it down, he gets it even more wet by pressing it just inside her cunt, then sliding it back up to find the little bud of her clit. 

‘Such a pretty pussy,’ he murmurs, slipping and sliding, slipping and sliding. ‘So wet for me. All mine. All mine.’

He’s grinding against her firmly, relentlessly rubbing the soft bulging head of his cock against her clit. It’s weeping thick droplets of precum and the viscous friction is just perfect. Red-faced, she’s quivering and whimpering, clutching his strong, muscled arms, fingernails digging into his fur. 

‘That’s it,’ he purrs, ‘be a good girl and come for your mate.’

Her climax is startling in its strength and suddenness. The slippery glide of his glans against her clit triggers a sharp burst of pleasure that makes her thighs tremble and a shrill cry of ecstasy escape her lips. Frix bends to stifle her shout with a smothering wet kiss. 

‘Shh, liebling,’ he whispers in her ear as he grips his cock at its base and slides its head down to her dripping entrance. ‘We’re nowhere near done. I’m going to make you come on my cock, yet, but I need you to stay quiet, can you do that?’

Eilika bites her lip, nodding sheepishly. 

‘Good,’ says Frix, thrusting into her with a forceful jerk of his hips.  

Eilika balls her hand into a fist and puts it against her mouth to stop herself from crying out again. Her body is still adjusting to his size, and at first, there’s a brief flare of pain melding with pleasure upon his entry. 

Frix eases out, before gliding back into her, and it only takes several strokes of his well lubricated cock before the pain dissipates completely and all that she feels is a satisfying sense of pressure and fullness. 

He holds her firmly by the hips, impaling her, easily bouncing her on his cock. The squelching sounds of their joining are deliciously obscene. It was a risk to indulge like this, out in the open, while on the run, but, through the fog of his arousal, Frix appreciates that is precisely what they both had needed; frantic, feral life-affirming sex. 

Eilika moans as his hips roll fluidly, his slick cock rapidly pumping in and out of her.

‘Yes, yes,’ she gasps, ‘harder, harder.’

He hooks one of her legs over his elbow, angling higher, hips snapping faster.

They are finally fulfilling Eilika’s longstanding fantasy of being fucked senseless by her big, beastly wolfman out in the bare wilderness, up against a tree, and she is utterly overcome with elation. Her entire body thrums with sensation, every nerve alight, and each of his thrusts sends a keener bolt of pleasure swirling through her.

Nothing matters right now but the way they are connecting; their breath intermingling, their heartbeats synchronising, enshrouded in a passionate inferno of heat as the pungent, loamy aroma of sex permeates the forest air. 

With great difficulty focusing her lust-clouded senses, she manages to pant, ‘are you going to come?’ and to her dismay, he pulls out of her. 

She yelps in protest but he drags her down to the ground and guides her to get on her hands and knees.

Mounting her from behind, he forces his cock back into the tight clench of her hot wet cunt, tearing a wider slit in her knickers in the process, and the raw, rapturous sensation of her welcoming him again makes his spine bow. 

Hunched over her, he growls in her ear as he continues to fuck her mercilessly. ‘Yes, I’m going to come. I’m going to come so hard in your tight little pussy.’

‘Yes! Come inside me, Frix.’

He resumes his punishing rhythm, thrusting so deep into her pussy that his heavy balls slap against her clit with each steady, blunt punch of his thick cock. It’s stoking a fluttering heat within her core, edging her closer and closer to another orgasm. 

With each of her muffled cries, the pleasure builds higher and higher within Frix, too, starting at the base of his spine and coiling tight within him, drawing his balls up, and swelling his knot in readiness. 

He reaches around to use the pad of his index finger to agitate her clit and she seizes, shuddering and shaking as she comes again. He can feel the spongy walls of her greedy cunt contracting around him, coaxing his cock to unload inside of her, and it does just that. The glorious sensation triggers his climax and his hips judder as impossibly intense waves of pleasure spiral through him.

‘Ich werde blasen,’ he rasps.

‘Yes,’ she pleads, feeling the tumescent ring of tissue at the base of his cock pressing insistently at her opening, ‘yes, give me your knot.’

‘I can’t,’ he grinds out as his cock pulses its hot seed into her. Spurt after spurt, he releases, grunting with each throb, his whole body tensing as he floods her womb with his cum. 

‘Please,’ she mutters ‘please, I can take it.’

‘Not now,’ he stutters, and her pussy keeps on milking him.

She moans, the feeling of fullness intensifying as his cock gushes and gushes, emptying the last of its load into her.

Wrapping his arms around her middle, he sags onto his side, taking her down with him. They are still joined, and his body shivers as little aftershocks of his orgasm ripple through him. Her cunt is so full that his cum is dribbling out of her around his still hard cock. The beast within him roars in objection, not wanting a drop of it to be wasted.

It had taken a colossal effort to resist knotting her, especially when she’d begged so sweetly. Even now, the swelling remains, and his whole body is screaming, primal instinct urging him to shove it inside her, to lock them together, to breed her, to keep on filling her with his cum, over and over until her belly grows rounded with his pups. 

Reluctantly, he draws back, hissing. There’s a twinge of pleasure-pain when his oversensitive cock slips from her, releasing a torrent of his seed along with it. 

‘I’m afraid I’ve made rather a mess of your knickers,’ he says, and she giggles contentedly, turning around to face him, pressing herself back up against him, relishing in the warm, tickling sensation of his thick, claggy cum trickling out of her gaping cunt. It continues to clench intermittently, as if it misses his fullness.  

‘A beautiful mess,’ she comments, kissing his nose. 

‘Leibling,’ he says, his tone becoming serious. ‘I can’t knot you, yet. When I do, we’ll be joined together for quite a while afterwards, and it isn’t safe while we’re travelling.’

She frowns, but her body begins to tingle anew at the thrilling idea of being helplessly conjoined with Frix. ‘I know. I just… in the moment I got so excited, and I want that so badly...’

He presses a kiss to her forehead. ‘I know. I do too. And we will do that soon. When we are safe. When we are home.’

‘I hope it is soon,’ she says, nuzzling against his chest. 

Frix sighs, holding her tightly to him as they lay on the soft damp grass of the stream bank. ‘It will be,’ he tells her, and convinces himself to believe it.