Fakir woke up with a start; his heart felt like it was going to beat right out of his chest.
He lost her. He missed his little duck too much.
'I love her, don't I?' had plaqued his mind, nagging at him, until he woke up.
He startled when he felt a hand on his back; it was small, soft, and warm. It reminded him of his beloved duck's soft feathers.
"It's okay." Ahiru whispered to Fakir.
That simple sentence brought him back to the present.
Ahiru was his wife, his mate.
He would never let some strange duck take her away from him.
He turned around in bed, and caught Ahiru's lips in his own, and kissed her with a passion, a desperation, that the two of them had never knew.
Yes, she was his mate, and his alone, and they both liked it better that way.
