I stare at her throat where my bite is, another scar to add to her collection, the only scar that should exist on her body. It hits me as my knot deflates. I fed her my blood. I knotted her. I bred her. I’ve marked her. We are mated and nothing in this world can ever change that. And if we can only have our life when she is sleepwalking, then I will gladly live my nights filling her pretty cunt under the stars.
