HOW DO YOU MAKE BABIES WITH ANOTHER WOLF?

CHAPTER 002

HOW DO YOU MAKE BABIES WITH ANOTHER WOLF?

WILLA

I have no idea how to make a baby with another wolf.

I have seen the pack’s sheep breed, and watched the warriors celebrate victories with group sex. That wasn't a big deal in the Northern Pack; sex was seen as ordinary as eating and drinking.

If you even walk past a corner, you will find one or two couples going at it in broad daylight without a care in the world.

But I have never done it. Still, it can't be that difficult, right? I have seen enough to know that both males and females need to latch onto each other.

I've always wondered why they make all those sounds during mating. Is it from pain or pleasure?

As I approach the kitchen, I let the thought disappear until I find Brenda washing the dishes.

Brenda is an older she-wolf. She's had two children, one from her former husband who died in battle. She was married off to his younger brother and had a second child.

“Brenda, does childbearing hurt?” I ask without thinking, picking up one of the stools by the basin and sitting beside her. I dip my hand in the soapy water to assist her.

I don't realise my question until the silence becomes louder, raising my head to see the surprised look on her face.

Right. I'm never one for discussions like this; I barely even ask about anything.

Curiosity got people in trouble, so I don't even bother with anything that isn't relevant to me. It must be sure to hear me talk about childbirth of all things.

Brenda shakes the soapy water off her red, cracked hands, letting out a short, rough laugh.

“Childbirth?” She raises an eyebrow, wiping her wet palms on her canvas apron. “It hurts like hell, Willa. Feels like your hips are breaking in two and someone is ripping your insides out. Why are you suddenly asking about babies?”

I keep my eyes fixed on the bowl in my hands, scrubbing it hard with a coarse rag. My skin feels suddenly hot.

“I was just curious,” I mutter quietly.

Brenda snorts, leaning in a bit closer. “Curious, my ass. Word travels through the pack faster than a winter gale. I heard the Alpha King gave your brother a direct command this morning. He wants you to bear a child with that Southern prince locked up in the cells.”

I freeze, my fingers going still under the soapy water. I don't deny it. There is no point in lying when everyone in the pack house probably already knows.

Brenda sighs, her expression softening just a little.

“Look, the birthing part is terrible; I won't lie to you,” she says, picking up another plate.

"But making the child? That doesn't have to hurt. In fact, it can feel good if the male actually knows what he's doing, if he's skilled and considerate.”

I glance up at her, my heart doing a strange, nervous leap in my chest. “Considerate? He's a prisoner.”

“He's an Alpha Prince,” Brenda counters smoothly, scrubbing a grease stain off a mug.

“I heard that he's a powerful and fierce man on the battlefield. The warriors say he nearly cut off my husband's head. When the guards dragged him in, he was bleeding from a dozen cuts, but it took six warriors to pin him down with silver chains. Physically, he’s more than capable of handling a female.”

A bright flush creeps up my neck, burning all the way to my ears. I look away quickly, plunging the bowl back into the water to hide my face.

I want to believe her, but I can't completely bring myself to.

I've heard the noises that come from the outer chambers when our warriors return from raiding other packs and return with women.

Whenever our males bring back captured Southern females, the sounds echoing across the pack aren't soft.

The captive females sound miserable, crying out and pleading until their voices go hoarse in the middle of the night. It terrifies me.

If Southern females suffer so much under Northern males, will I suffer the same way with a Southern male?

Still, it doesn't matter how terrified I am. It is the Alpha King's command. Not even Miller, the strongest warrior in the North, can defy Alpha Varg without paying for it with his head.

Miller and I are orphans. We carry mixed blood in a pack that hates weaklings and outsiders. Our status was at the very bottom from the moment we were born.

My brother fought through pure hell to raise me, bleeding in battle after battle, trading his own flesh and bones so that we could have a spot in the upper quarters where I no longer have to fear dying of hunger or cold.

He bled for my life. I won't make things harder for him now. If my brother needs me to do this to keep us safe, I will do it without complaining.

The next day, the entire Northern Pack gathers in the pack hall for a massive victory feast.

The air is thick with the heavy stench of roasted meat, ale, and unwashed sweat. Torches blaze along the walls, casting long shadows over hundreds of roaring wolves celebrating the latest defeat of the Southern forces.

At the head of the hall, Alpha Varg sits high on his throne. He raises his heavy goblet, calling Miller up to the centre platform to honour him publicly for capturing the Southern Prince.

The crowd roars, slamming their tankards against the long tables. Alpha Varg rewards my brother heavily, handing over piles of thick bear pelts, heavy sacks of gold coins, and fine steel weapons stripped from the dead Southern commanders.

Miller accepts the spoils with a calm, stoic face, bowing his head respectfully before stepping down.

I sit at the bench beside my brother's seat, resting my hands tightly on my lap. I am completely restless.

I look around the hall, and a sickening feeling twists deep in my stomach.

At the surrounding tables, the other war leaders and senior warriors sit high on their benches, shouting and tearing into hunks of meat.

Beside them, on the cold floor, sit female wolves. They aren't given seats. They aren't even considered worthy of sitting beside their mates.

They huddle on the floor at their feet, reaching up only to refill empty wine horns or catch scraps of meat tossed down to them like dogs.

My throat feels tight. I stare down at the table, my knuckles turning white as I grip the edge of my tunic.

Miller sits back down beside me, taking a heavy draught from his cup. He glances sideways, his sharp eyes catching the way my jaw is locked and my shoulders are trembling slightly.

He leans in close to my ear, his deep voice barely audible over the roaring crowd.

“You look like you're about to throw up,” Miller says softly, his face unreadable. “We can just stop it here now if you can't do it…I will take any punishment the Alpha King gives.”

I look up at him, meeting his dark eyes.

I know what happens if I say no. Refusing means defying Alpha King Varg directly. If we break the King's order, our hard-won peace vanishes overnight.

Miller’s status won't protect us from treason, and our lives in this pack will instantly become a living nightmare again. We will be back to eating scraps in the dirt.

I swallow the lump in my throat and shake my head quickly.

“No,” I whisper back, trying to keep my voice steady.

“I'm just... nervous.”

Miller stares at me for a long beat, searching my face. Without another word, he grabs his mug, downs the rest of the ale, and stands up.

He catches my arm gently, pulling me up off the bench and leading me straight out of the roaring hall before anyone notices our departure.

We walk through the freezing night air in silence until we reach his private quarters at the edge of the warrior grounds. He pushes the heavy curtain aside and steps inside, reaching into the pouch tied to his belt.

He pulls out a small glass bottle and holds it out toward me.

I take it, and the sharp, metallic smell hits my nose instantly through the dark glass. It smells heavily of raw blood mixed with a strange, bitter, medicinal herb.

I know what this is. Every female in the North knows what this is.

After a successful hunt, Northern wolves collect fresh deer blood and hand it over to the pack witches, who brew it with wild herbs.

The potent mixture dramatically heightens a male wolf's sexual drive, driving his instincts into an uncontrollable frenzy.

I have seen the male warriors drink it plenty of times before heading into the outer chambers to torment the female captives.

My heart hammers wildly against my ribs as I stare at the dark bottle in my hand.

Miller steps closer, his heavy hand coming down on my shoulder with a grave, heavy grip.

“The peace and standing we earned did not come easy, Willa,” he says, his voice flat and deadly serious.

“I traded half my blood on the battlefield for us to stand where we are today. I know this whole thing is a trap to bring me down, but I won't allow it… so I will make sure you do this the easy way.”

I look up into my brother's eyes, listening closely.

“The silver chain binding Garrik's wolf has already been removed,” Miller continues, lowering his tone.

“He’s been moved out of the dungeons and placed in a secured room near the guard post. If you don't go to him tonight, the Alpha King will lose his patience and send another female wolf in your place.”

I look down at the glass bottle, my fingers tightening around my skirt. Taking a deep breath, I push my fears down and nod once.

“So make sure he takes this to weaken him and get him to want you himself. If it's difficult, come to me…we can just run away from the pack.”

My eyes widened at my brother's suggestion.

Runaway? He knows damn well nobody escapes Alpha King Varg.

“I understand,” I breathed, clutching the bottle tightly in my fist. “I'll go, so you don't bother doing anything stupid.”