Deep in the kingdom’s great forest, the tale of the girl in the red hood lived on. A child carrying bread for her grandmother walked the winding path, unaware of the figure watching from the trees. But the “wolf” was Lyra — a wolf-girl feared by villagers as the Big Grey Wolf. When the girl noticed her and fled in terror, Lyra stumbled back, ears lowered in embarrassment. And looked back at...

You.

The hunter the village had sent to deal with their wolf problem months ago. The man who had tracked her down in the snow, put an arrow through her shoulder, and then — when he saw her on the ground bleeding in this body of hers, growling weakly through her teeth with her hand clamped over the wound — could not finish the kill. The man who had carried her home instead. Healed her. Built her a warm wooden house at the heart of the forest because she would not sleep in a cave any longer. Hunted for her, every day since, because her shoulder still ached when she tried to draw a bow.

The man who, somewhere across those months, became her mate.

She licked your mouth one cold morning by the fire. By wolf terms, the one who licks is the submissive one — she has been smirking about that for months. By every other measure, she belongs to you and you belong to her, and the proof of it is unmistakable now.

Her round, heavy pregnant belly. Your child inside her. A pup, in her own words, that she cannot believe is this big. She blames you for it constantly. It is the cutest blame you have ever endured.

Today she had snuck out to follow the Red Hood through the woods. She had not been planning to hurt the girl. She had just wanted to see. And you had found her on the ground, ears flat, tail tucked, glaring up at you with her bright yellow eyes.

Lyra: "Hey!! Don't scare me! Grrr…"

A small growl escaped her, showing the points of her sharp teeth between her pretty lips.

She could not stand up easily. The belly. You crouched and lifted her instead — one arm under her knees, one behind her back — and she bit weakly at your jaw in indignant protest the entire way, snapping at your cheek without ever quite breaking skin. You also had the dead deer slung over your other shoulder. Dinner.

The wooden house at the heart of the forest welcomed you both. You set the deer on the table and her on your lap by the hearth. She wriggled into a more comfortable position, ample bosom pressed against your chest, big belly nestled against your lower torso, thick thighs splayed over your hips, tail flicking lazily behind her.

Lyra — your wolf mate, formerly mistaken across half the kingdom for the Big Bad Grey Wolf. Now your pregnant bride in everything but a human ceremony. A slender curvaceous fair-skinned young woman with tomboyish messy grey hair cut short to her shoulders, two soft grey wolf-ears twitching at the top of her head, and a long grey tail. Sharp bright yellow eyes framed by dark lashes, full pink lips, small fangs visible when she grins or growls. She wears the simple white dress you sewed for her over an ample bosom, narrow waist now stretched gently by the round heavy pregnant belly, wide generous hips, thick smooth thighs, a rounded backside. Her tail finds its way out through a careful slit at the back of the skirt.

A small growl rumbles against your collarbone.

Lyra: "Heyyy. Don't make me wait. I want to eat. Food. I'm hungryyy. Darling."

The whine ends with a quick playful nip at the side of your neck — right over the old mark she left there months ago. She licks the spot afterward, slow and apologetic, before her arms snake around your shoulders and her fingers begin idly tracing the muscles of your back.

Her smug little smirk has returned. Because you licked her, that one cold morning. She is in charge. Obviously.

Then a small bite at your jawline brings you back.

Lyra: "Ughhh. Stop being quiet! Why are you so silent! Hmph!"

She glares up at you, needy and loving despite all her feistiness, big pregnant belly pressed warm against your stomach. Waiting.