6

Deya grimaced in displeasure, for some reason her nose and forehead were itching. The girl opened her eyes and found two red shadows above her, felt her head with her hand, stumbled upon someone's ... skull ?! With a yelp, she jumped out of bed very quickly, managing by some miracle to wrap herself in one of the soft skins. Some beads, feathers and leaves fell down. The werewolves on the bed froze with long faces, and the girl tried to feel herself and understand what was happening in general. Bery grinned impudently, holding a clay bowl with paint and a brush in his hands. Deamara looked at Aznar, but she did not find sympathy there either - the man could hardly restrain himself from laughing:

"Deya, honey... just don't panic," he said softly, raising his hands in a reassuring gesture.

-What's happening? the girl exhaled nervously, wrapping herself more tightly in the skin and noticing some strange red and blue stripes on her arms. - What's that?

The princess turned around in search of a mirror. She didn't have a chance to look around here yesterday. The room is large, unlike the one in which Deya lived before. The walls are finished with fresh wood, one has a large bed, the other has a massive light chest of drawers, soft carpets with long pile on the floor, behind the fireplace, in front of which there are flat and wide pillows, and on the left there is an exit to the balcony - the morning sun illuminates translucent light curtains.

There was no mirror. Deamara tried to feel what was wrong with her face, looking warily at the werewolves. Aznar explained, carefully picking up a small skull of some animal from the floor:

-Don't be afraid, we have such an old rite. The wife must be introduced to the ancestors.

Deya watched him tensely with her eyes, and she rubbed her face with her hand - there was also red and blue paint, which was almost dry.

Beria looked at her mockingly. The princess rubbed her face angrily. The skin strove to slip out of his hands and fall, and Aznar also got out of bed and slowly approached, like a hunter to prey.

-Don't come! - quickly warned his girl and backed away to the balcony.

-Deya...

-Stand! she almost growled.

-Girl...

-I'm not your girl!

- Well... not anymore.

Aznar didn't say that. This is Bery. He got up too, stretched slowly and lazily like a cat, narrowed his green eyes. Her pupils gleamed in the sun, and Deamara shuddered. Bery, obviously showing off, threw his long red hair behind his back and headed for the exit:

- I'll go and get us some breakfast. And you...have fun for now.

It's him, I wonder what? Thinking, the girl missed the moment when Aznar got very close, grabbed her in an armful and carried her to the balcony. Deamara gasped for fresh air and grimaced at the light in her eyes.

Last warm days. It will soon get colder, the rains will begin and the trees will shed their leaves. Suddenly, Deya realized that Markat's hands were suspiciously gently stroking her ass. The girl fidgeted in his arms, Aznar grinned and let her go.

- So you will walk in the skin? - he leaned on the wide railing and, smiling, looked at the sun. So the princess felt relatively safe with him. She turned around and looked around the surroundings: there was a large yard below, people were scurrying about, someone was carrying a tray of bread, fresh from the bakery, washerwomen were hurrying somewhere with baskets, the boy was sitting on the very wall and picking the damp earth with a stick. Everyone's hair was cast with copper, some more, some less. A little further on the stable was located, Deamara saw two horses: a white and a bay. The gates of the castle are ajar, behind them you can see the bridge and a small clearing, then a dense forest. And on the right... The girl caught her breath.

There's a break. The wall of the forest goes further and you can see through the haze a chain of mountains and blue hills covered with fir trees. What is below, you can’t see, fog has risen in the morning. Probably water. Maybe a lake or a river.

Aznar slowly and gently touched the girl's disheveled hair, carefully removed a strand that stuck to her cheek. Deamara recoiled from his touch. Despite what happened between them yesterday, she was still afraid. Yes, and in the daylight on a clear head, everything is seen quite differently.

Deya suddenly thought of home and her father, and felt herself begin to vomit at the realization that something irreversible had happened. Aznar, as if he understood her mood, picked up the girl in his arms, completely ignoring the displeased exclamation, and carried her back to the room.

“Come on, we need to wash you,” he said, like a child.

All the way to the baths, he imperceptibly sniffed at her hair and grunted a little audibly. A couple of times the servants met, but they disappeared so quickly that Deamara did not have time to examine them. It seems that they tried to be invisible to the owners of the castle.

The usual smell of mineral springs. Aznar lowered the girl to the damp floor, next to the pool of white water. Deamara looked at the man warily, not moving.

“Come on,” he smiled slyly and pulled the skin over.

Deamara shook her head frantically, clinging to the piece of fur with all her might. The werewolf was obviously amused by this game. An elusive movement - and the girl began to fall, falling back. She awkwardly waved her arms and fell into the pool with a loud splash, miraculously not hitting the stone sides. The skin remained in the hands of the man.

Deja realized that it was deeper than she thought. The girl did not reach the bottom, and the water below was much hotter. There was a quiet splash behind him, and Dey was immediately grabbed by strong male hands, pulled down to the bottom.

-No need! she yelped, trying to pull away when the water touched her chin. An unpleasant nervous trembling ran through my body. Aznar immediately turned the princess around, carefully looking into her eyes.

- Scared?

"A little," Deamara admitted, looking away. And unexpectedly for herself she said, - As a child, I almost drowned. I'm afraid of water.

"I'm sorry," whispered the werewolf. His bright green eyes were very close. So amazing, so beautiful. And lips. The girl involuntarily glanced at them. The man chuckled, pulled her closer and kissed her gently.

That simple touch made Deamaru feel hot. She hugged Aznar tighter and reached for his lips herself. A light laugh was heard.

The man's hands slid down the girl's back, washing off the remaining paint, causing a strange feeling of languor and desire. And as if leaving invisible, but sensitive traces. The man leaned over, inhaling the scent of his mate again, rubbed his cheek, and then suddenly bit his earlobe lightly. Deamara flinched as a warm wave pierced her body.

Markat laughed softly.

- Bery will kill me.

His hand slipped between the girl's thighs, causing a slight moan. Everything around suddenly became unimportant, except for the man, his shoulders, which she held on to, and the confident, quick movement of her hand. Forgetting how to breathe, Deya almost hung on the werewolf, clasping her torso with her legs, leaning forward and feeling his desire. Thrills covered unexpectedly quickly. She screamed, digging her nails into the naked male shoulders and leaving marks on the golden skin. And almost immediately it became terribly hot. So that everything blurred and swam before my eyes.

-Deya!

In an instant, Aznar pulled the girl out of the hot water and carefully lowered her onto the cool floor. She took a deep breath, gasping for air.

-What happened to you? Aznar looked flustered. He quickly examined the girl, gently touched her temples. It got easier right there.

-So good?

“Yes,” it cleared before my eyes. Markat loomed over her, so Deja could see the red tattoos that curled across her strong shoulders and chest. The wet hair also became a reddish hue, merging with the patterns.

-Interesting reaction, - the man grinned, and helped the girl to rise. - Is your head spinning? Not sick?

Dea shook her head. She felt great, as if nothing had happened. Aznar walked away and returned with jars in his hands. He sat Deamaru in a cooler pool of clear water and began gently washing her hair. His fingers slowly ran through the strands and gently massaged the head. The girl even closed her eyes at the pleasant touch.

Finally, the water procedures were over. Aznar personally wiped his wife, ignoring her embarrassment.

Then she was allowed to dress. The thinnest white shirt, over a denser dress, light gray, embroidered with small river pearls on the chest and sleeves. Markat ran his hand through his silvery hair in a familiar motion, and it scattered down his back in a silky wave, dry.

In the room they were waiting for breakfast and a disgruntled Bery. The werewolf lay on the bed with his arms folded under his head. At the sight of Aznar and Deamara, he narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

- What did you do there for so long?

Deja involuntarily blushed under his gaze. The smile that immediately appeared on the face of the werewolf did not please her at all.

There was a small table in the room for breakfast. They put it right next to the fireplace. Aznar had already taken a seat on one of the large flat cushions.

"Come here," he called, patting the spot next to him.

It took Deamare one look at the food to realize that she was insanely hungry. On the table was hot fresh bread, butter, cheese, pieces of ham. Separately lingonberry and blueberry jam and a stack of thin translucent pancakes, each no larger than a palm. 

- Mmm, - the girl involuntarily escaped when she tried pancakes with lingonberries. - So tasty!

She reached for the second one and froze, bumping into Aznar's darkened gaze. Like an animal about to jump.

- Am I doing something wrong? Dey asked in fear. It was not enough to break any custom.

- That's right, - the man blinked and the obsession was gone. His eyes were green and cheerful again. - You eat, do not be distracted.

- Yes, yes, gain strength, - came a mocking from Beria. - You'll still need them.

Deya almost dropped her pancake, blushing. And why is there a double meaning in every phrase of Beria?