Page 165 of The Knucker King

“Ooof!” Trewoofe exclaimed.

Their lips slotted easily together. Like they had always known each other. They may have only exchanged kisses once before, but their bodies remembered. Trewoofe licked a stripe over her lips, tracing the pattern of her knotty scar. She opened and eagerly welcomed him. He probed her mouth, and her teeth scraped against his fangs as the heat between them scorched. She was not just hungry for her King, she was starving.

Avice was very aware of his cock as it pressed, hard and urgent, against her belly. She wanted to touch it, taste it, and feel it as he pushed it inside her. This was her second regret, that she had not ‘rutted’ with Trewoofe yet, that she did not feel his weight on top of her, nor the feeling of his length thrusting in and out of her.

She was determined to live with no more regrets.

Just as she was about to slide her hands from his chest to encircle his cock, she recalled they had been interrupted the last time he was in human shape by… Bramble.

Bramble had interrupted them. Her brave and loyal familiar. She jolted, pulling back from their passionate embrace. She burnt with shame. She had been so intent on kissing and touching Trewoofe that she had not even thought to ask about him.

A line appeared between his eyebrows at her hesitation, and his arousal colours dimmed. “Little witch, are you well?”

“Bramble? Is he…?”

Trewoofe broke into a smile. “He is recovering well! The Wulver have been looking after him and Ashling. Would you like to see them?”

Relief dropped her shoulders. “Please, I need to know they are alright.”

Trewoofe insisted on shifting back into his Knucker body to carry her to Wulver-led. In return, Avice insisted on bringing him some clothing if he wished to be in his human shape while they visited Bramble and Ashling.

He pouted at this. “My Faeries do not care as much about clothing as humans do.”

Avice dropped her outer dress over her chemise. She then stuffed his breeches and tunic into her medical satchel, planning on taking them with her.

“Do the Wulver wear clothes?” she asked.

Trewoofe looked away. “…Yes.”

So, smug in her victory, she sat comfortably in her customary seat behind his horns. She gawked at the beautiful passageway her Knucker ambled into. The river flowed lethargically, shimmering and chiming, reminding her of the Sunlight on the sea. Embedded geodes in the tunnel walls glowed more brightly and upped their soothing hum as they passed. Then, there were the flowers. Trewoofe had mentioned that this was new for the Underneath. Everywhere they walked, they popped into existence; each one bright and vivid, like tiny Suns glowing in the gloom.

“Your Kingdom is beautiful,” Avice murmured, pressing her palm to his crest.

“Our Kingdom,” he asserted.

Her stomach swirled at that. “Our Kingdom, then.”

Trewoofe moved from the tunnel into a wide, tall cavern. Avice grinned as she studied the settlement of Wulver-led. It was wide and warm, with pelts and carvings adorning the crystal studded walls. Hide-walled tents circled a bonfire and a pink central geode. Avice squinted through the gloom, spotting a tall wolfish figure stepping out of a shelter and head towards the fire. The aroma of roasting meat wafted over to them, and her stomach growled.

“Hungry, little witch?” Trewoofe rumbled.

“Very.” She nodded. “I did not realise how starving I was until I smelt whatever they are cooking.”

Avice giggled as she watched her Knucker’s nose twitch, it reminded her of how Bramble sniffed for pasties back in the village. Trewoofe strode into the lively gathering area and lowered his head so she could dismount. She froze as she turned to face the Wulver, each one had paused their activities and watched her curiously.

Trewoofe cleared his throat. “Wulver, this is Avice. My soul-bound.”

Her heart galloped as he so boldly declared her in front of his subjects. Avice waved her hand at the Good Neighbours and swallowed the nerves at the back of her throat.

“Hello,” she squeaked.

The Good Neighbours looked happy to see her. All were bright eyed and wagging their tails. The tallest of them stepped forward. She had warm golden eyes, and the edges of her brown fur were silvered with age. Avice noted that the Wulver did indeed wear cloths; breeches covered their legs, and they wore tunics on their torsos.

The Wulver bowed. “My Lord, my Lady. Welcome to Wulver-led.”

To say Avice was bewildered would be an understatement. “My Lady?”

Trewoofe rested his chin on the top of her head. “Little witch, this is Queen Olwilla of the Wulver. Olwilla, this is Avice Gardener. My soul-bound and the reason the Underneath still has a Sidhe King.”