The sun was gone, its warm light buried beneath thick winter clouds that blanketed the forest in cold darkness. 

Briar stood on the snowy path in front of a small house surrounded by hawthorn, then glanced over his shoulder. Behind him, Holly and Pip hopped through mounds of shimmering snow with baskets full of wild plums and mushrooms—an excuse he’d given them when they left the house this morning. And while they were distracted, Briar walked up to his neighbor’s home. 

There wasn’t a sound nor stir behind the undecorated door: no laughter to be heard or smoke from the chimney. 

Briar couldn’t see past the curtains in the windows, and the familiar smell of honey shortbread had been replaced with the water of wilted flowers and wood left to rot. 

Not wood, but…

“Mama! Is Bramble home? I wanna show her my snow princess!” Holly said after Pip helped her up off the ground. 

“I’m sorry, little love, but I don’t think they’re home.” Briar turned with the calmest smile he could gather. 

Dread hung thick in the air. The same feeling that followed him to every neighbor’s door, where he found nothing but dark windows and empty homes. And he stood on each doorstep hoping someone would answer—but no one did. 

He exhaled an icy sigh and looked down after feeling a tug on his scarf. 

“Mama, I’m hungry. Can we go home?” Pip asked, his little nose and cheeks bitten by the cold. 

Briar swallowed a small breath of fear. 

Home was something grim now, something frightening—but he submitted to it. Always. Whenever daylight faded behind the shoulders of a beast who carried the moon’s malevolence within his gaze. 

“Mama?” Holly wrapped her hand around his frostbit fingers and rubbed them in between the soft wool of her gloves. 

And Briar smiled softly. 

“Yes, let’s go home now,” He said and lifted Pip into his arms.

Holly gathered the baskets then took her mother’s hand, and together, the three of them walked the snowy path toward home. 

On their way, Holly chatted about acorn pancakes for dinner while Pip had fallen asleep after a long afternoon of walking. 

Briar didn’t intend on keeping them out so late, but he couldn’t stop asking questions he was too afraid to speak out loud. However, after standing on several empty houses’ doorsteps, perhaps he was too afraid of the answers. 

Eventually, they approached the back of their home. Snow sat layered on a wooden fence, clouds of smoke rose from the chimney, and a newly built shed stood tucked away in the trees. A forbidden place that always smelled of blood and charred ashes. 

“Papa Alastair!” Holly’s morning-bright voice echoed down the path where a dark figure waited for them.

She left Briar’s side in a storm of periwinkle skirts and ran into Alastair’s waiting embrace. He held her close and stroked her hair as she hugged him tightly. 

“Have you been good for your mother?” His voice softened, deprived of its deviousness, and pouring out like warm cream. 

She nodded, loosening a flowered pin from her curls. “Yeah-huh! Mama has been teaching me how to bake, and I can make the cookie batter all by myself.” 

“My, what a big girl I’ve come home to,” The wolf tapped her nose with the tip of his claw, then it slid across her apple-blossom cheeks until she giggled at the tickle on her skin. “Could you take your brother inside for me? Put away your coats neatly, and I’ll show you all the presents I’ve brought home.” 

Alastair reached into his coat pocket and opened his hand in front of her, revealing chocolate candies wrapped in shining paper. 

Holly’s eyes sparkled like fresh snow-kissed by sunlight. She watched each piece fall into her basket like stars from the sky, then looked up at her wolf papa with a worrisome pout. “Are you going to go away again?” 

Briar approached them, smelling fresh plums and meat in the air. 

For a brief moment, a heartbeat or two, Alastair glanced over at Briar with a look caught in between a husband yearning to kiss his wife or a master savoring the thought of punishment. 

“No, my dear,” His gaze remained firmly on Briar. “Not for a while.”

Holly looked relieved, so much that she hugged Alastair until her feet touched the ground. He fixed the pin in her hair, and Holly frolicked over to her mother, her skirts bouncing around in layers of lace and silk. 

They weren’t spoiled children; sadly, Briar didn’t have much to spoil them with. They were raised with very little, and Holly and Pip appreciated everything they had. Yet, seeing the happiness in their faces when Alastair began showering them with toys, clothes and treats they’d never known made him both grateful and sad. 

Pip sleepily rubbed his eyes as Briar put him down next to Holly, who took his hand and led him toward the house. His ears then perked when he caught sight of Alastair standing with them, and Pip smiled big.

The wolf returned his smile. He gently patted Pip on the head after they passed him on their way to the house, and soon, both children disappeared inside. 

The air became so quiet and still that Briar could hear snowflakes falling around them, and he didn’t dare look away from the nobleman waiting patiently to be welcomed home. 

Alastair had come to his door some months ago as an unkempt traveler looking for shelter—now, he stood in a crisp white shirt embroidered with gold thread and a vest that latched tightly around his broad torso. Despite the scars swallowing his face, his eyes always flickered with dim light, like terrible storms in the distance or an ember’s final glow. He left for days, sometimes weeks, and returned more refined each time, clothed in jewels and secrecy. As to where he went or what he did, that was all a mystery. Briar had yet to gather the courage to ask, and Alastair never spoke of his travels. Yet, whenever he returned, he’d fuck Briar until dawn and kept him in bed the next day so he’d be wet and ready that night after the children went to bed. 

Briar realized he was staring too long and quickly composed himself by standing up straight with his basket gripped close. “W-Welcome home…husband.”

Alastair was pleased, and Briar felt his heart skip when the wolf smiled at him. A different smile than those given to Holly and Pip. This one was full of points and promised the pain would always feel good.

A sound came from behind Briar—the faint laughter of someone he’d forgotten.

He turned to the now evening-dark path, and his heart suddenly ached. 

“What are you looking for?” Alastair swallowed Briar under his shadow, and the ends of his cloak danced against the wind. His expression was impossibly gentle, yet so cunning as if he already knew the answers to unspoken questions.

He always does.

“Nothing, I thought—” 

Alastair didn’t allow him to finish. 

He embraced Briar in a way that lifted him off the ground, so their kiss was as deep as he intended. His tongue went for Briar’s throat, licking every tender muscle that made him flinch and weak in the nobleman’s embrace. 

Briar wrapped his arms around Alastair's neck, feeling cold pricks falling down his throat and gathering at the tips of his nipples. He tried not to plead for Alastair to play with them and lick his hole as he did every night they were together, and the thought of both almost made him cum.

He’d grown used to these frighteningly passionate kisses that left him forgetting how to breathe, but this one felt threatening. 

It was Alastair reminding him to whom he belonged. 

Their kiss broke in a disappointing pop, and Briar almost fainted from the rush, but Alastair kept him standing and draped something over his shoulders. A warm, beautiful cloak sewn from a ruby-red fabric and fastened with a rose pin. Briar traced a gold lining similar to Alastair's, adorned with jeweled beads he’d only ever seen in paintings and picture books. 

Alastair took Briar’s hand, caging his frostbitten fingers then placing a kiss on his knuckles. 

“You shouldn’t wander so far from home,” He said. “Not in your condition.” 

Alastair touched Briar’s stomach and caressed the back of his ears. “I want you at home and safe. Always.” 

Briar looked up, staring into his eyes and wondering why he wasn’t afraid as he once was. He still worried, but fear was something Alastair ate up like a long-awaited meal. 

Better fear than flesh. 

“Briar.” Alastair tilted his chin, and their gazes met again. 

“Yes,” His words trembled under the claws that caressed each lip. “My husband.” 

Alastair grinned. He stepped back, opening his cloak and Briar joined him at his side.

And together, they walked toward the house where his children—their children—waited, and there, Briar would properly welcome his husband home.