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“Do you think he’s coming back?”
“Huh?”
“Wake up. I’m talking to you.”
I deliver a light shove to Curt’s rib cage which has no effect at all.
“Wha ur yu torkin abut?”
I think that was a reply, but since he’s got his face buried in his pillow, I can’t understand a word of it.
“Gulid. Do you think he’s coming back?” I ask, nervously twisting my new wolf’s head wedding ring.
“Don’t care,” Curt grumbles, his wine laden breath blowing a tatty grey strand of hair in the air, before it settles back into the unruly mess.
He actually started the evening in fairly tidy shape. Granted, the wedding suit was a tad weird, but once it got replaced by his birthday suit, things moved along swimmingly. Once safely inside our mansion bedroom, our beautiful coiffeurs went the way of grasping fingers and being rubbed against all manner of floor, furniture and sweaty limbs. Exhausted and worse for wear from culinary and sexual overindulgence, we flaked out on the unused bed, which creaked like my knees, and let the warmth from the shrinking fire play over our disintegrating, but well sated old bodies.
“That’s not very nice,” I remark, giving his naked backside a good slap.
A pink face reappears from the pillow. “What’s the matter with my bottom?” he asks, rather primly, making me snort.
“I was referring to your comment about Gulid,” I point out, laying a gentle kiss on my handprint. “Your bottom’s perfectly fit for purpose.”
He flips over to allow his squashed tackle an airing. “Give me a moment and I’ll be up for it,” he growls, despite said tackle belying his enthusiasm.
“Gulid,” I say, with a sigh.
“He’s not joining us,” Curt states, with considerable emphasis on the not. “Nor is anyone else, before you ask. Especially not a certain snake.”
“When have I ever given you reason to think that...”
“You left with him, as I recall.”
“We’re not going over this again,” I announce. “And you’re changing the subject. Gulid.”
Curt raises both arms, resting his head on linked palms. “I’ve no idea where he flew off to, but I don’t think he’ll like being on his own for long. I know I didn’t.” He gives me a wry smile and I lay my head on one of those glorious biceps.
The freakish look on Gulid’s face as he took off flashes into my mind’s eye. “He seemed terrified. Shouldn’t we look for him?”
“He’ll come back, once he calms down.” Curt turns his head to glance down at me. “Since when are you his best friend, beak breaker?”
“He came through for us, though,” I point out, wrapping my leg around his. “Flying us back here.”
“And?”
“And I want to be sure he’s fine.”
“Uh huh. And?”
“Alright, I want to hear more about this mage cat.”
“Ah, there you are,” Curt replies, sliding a hand from under his head and clamping it on my bum cheek. “That’s my meddling Big Bum.”
“Edith Breaker-Smith Furtletooth to you, Mister Mangy Wolf.” I walk my fingers down his torso.
“Still need more time,” he says, staring at his unresponsive nether regions. “And I don’t have mange. Are you sure it’s a cat he heard? They’ve been gone hundreds of years. They’re just legend.”
“He heard meeeeoooowww,” I demonstrate. “Sounds like one to me. Nothing unusual about cats where I come from. Big ones, small ones, spotty ones, stripy ones, sweet little kittens. And hulking great man eaters with huge teeth.”
“It’ll be that one,” he groans. “Great, something else that wants to kill me.”
“Maybe it’s a nice cat.” I tuck my head beneath his chin. “Anyway if it’s meowing, not roaring, it must be a small one. Besides, you said you didn’t believe in magic.”
“Hmmm,” he rumbles.
“Meaning?”
“I don’t. I didn’t. Except that book and you being here. I could do without more surprises. We don’t need anything else to upset things.”
My head rises to peer into his eyes. “I’m not going anywhere, Curt. We burnt the book. You’re my mate. I’m not leaving your limping, threadbare side.”
“You better not. Whenever you leave, someone tries to poison me.” He coughs and rubs his stomach, wincing.
“The mould’s gone, you big pup. Unless you feel sick.” I sit up as though about to leave. “I’ll get Mama to make up more Mould Throttler.”
“Don’t you dare, Furtletooth.” He hooks an arm around my chest and pulls me back down, taking the opportunity to grope a breast.
“Still not ready?” I ask, giving his worn out tackle a pointed stare.
“Not long now,” he replies, with a chuckle. “Come here.”
I wind my body around his, taking care not to put pressure on his damaged hip.
“What are we going to do?” I whisper into his neck. “About the serpents.”
“We’ll think of something.” He kisses my forehead, then my lips. “Tomorrow. Alpha has called a meeting. But not tonight. It’s our mating day. Our wedding day. Tonight it’s about us.”
“And your tackle.”
“Which proves to be resilient, as promised. Here I come.”
“Give it your best shot, Mange.”
A couple of minutes and some calisthenics later, we both nod off from exhaustion.
