When she requested a safe place to stay, calm and professional as ever, Kershov had to suppress a wide grin of satisfaction. Inwardly, he had worried that the incredible she-wolf might amble on her way, never to be seen again—or worse, get snatched up by another pack, a faction that would learn her secrets before Ker had enjoyed the chance to pick her brain. If anyone were to have the privilege of conversing with Atakask and discovering her wisdom, it was himself and Uyaraut. Now that he had made up his mind, the ivory warrior would have been loath to allow the green-eyed goddess to leave him . . . in fact, he might have already devised a plan to ensure she somehow made her way back to his beaches, even if she hadn’t just asked a space for herself in his territory. Thankfully the frigid emperor would not be forced to employ such extreme measures. He nodded gently to her, moonlight sliding over his brow like a gossamer crown. “I would be more than happy to offer a den in my kingdom—provided it become your home, and not merely a camping site for a night.” His words left his mouth in as amicable a murmur as he could muster, though a certain hardness lingered in those fathomless black eyes. Kershov had never, ever been one to casually offer access to his pack. When wolves joined, he expected them to stay. Or else face terrible punishment. This was only fair, considering the generosity he bestowed upon his subjects when they pleased him.

She shuffled closer to the alabaster gangster, her steps so small and graceful he did not fear an imminent attack—though his dark gaze remained fixated upon her form. “Brushing one another?” Not a custom Ker had ever heard of . . . and as she reached out to delicately run the tool through his own pelt, the Ice King could not stop himself from shivering. The sensation was a hundred times more pleasurable that he would have expected from such an odd device; it’s many tines swam through his thick white hairs with ease, their small points drawing lovely lines of sensation over his skin. Once more Kershov had to pull himself back after accidentally leaning in too close, betraying his mounting interest. He cleared his throat as politely as he could, drawing away as if to erase the embarrassment of liking her ministrations too much. “That was . . . ah . . . not quite dreadful. I can see why your people would use such a practice to maintain positive relationships.” He felt more than anxious to lead her into Uyaraut now. Imagine the power move of using an ambassador with a comb like this on a member of another pack! Why, the stranger would melt into the touch. Uyaraut would become known as a place of elegance, beauty . . . “I believe the wolves in my territory would appreciate this comb very much. The salt sometimes hangs in their fur, and this might do just the trick to remove it.”

He prepared to offer more reasons for Atakask to accompany him across the border—but suddenly the gorgeous woman was on the ground, a howl of pain leaping from her parted jaws. Kershov immediately jumped to all fours. “Lady Atakask? What ails you?” It was only then he noticed the telltale ripple of muscles along her abdomen . . . the way she clenched around her stomach in what could only be birthing contractions. A cunning light sparked in Ker’s black eyes. He rushed to the damsel’s side, offering his shoulder for her to lean on. “Come, Madame. The open beach is no place for a lady to suffer through labor. We have plenty of safe, warm dens for you to rest and welcome your little ones into, and those that would assist you should you require it.”