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“Yep. Not hard. Just enough to draw a little blood.”
I nod, as though my skin isn’t starting to prickle from the grandness of this situation. “That’s pretty standard,” I say, like a professional on the topic. (I’m not.) I manage a deep breath. “Good thing you aren’t a wolf. I imagine a wolf bite hurts more. The more needly the teeth, the less the pain.”
Ollie opens his mouth and freezes. Computes. Nods. “That…is an excellent point.” His brow furrows. “I was planning to opt for an inch of pride as a fox, but would you prefer a chihuahua?”
Laughing, I lift one hand and rustle his hair. “What’s most you?”
His eyes lower. “I…think I’m a fox.”
“Then a fox is perfect.”
Flushing, Ollie lifts his attention to the sky, and moonlight reflects in his irises. “Sorry.” He wets his lips. “I’m nervous.” His jaw clenches as his eyes close. “I don’t want to hurt you.” He lowers his face and kisses my fingers. “These are the last moments to stop this.”
“I’m beginning to think that putting yourself under oath was a bit extra.”
“Do not underestimate your allure. You are the sweetest torment I have ever endured.”
In the next moment, fur settles beneath my hand and a beautiful white-and-tan fox’s paws rest on my lap. Ollie nudges my fingers with his wet nose, and I bite my bottom lip to keep from smiling a little too wide.
This could hurt.
In just minutes, I’ll have the ability to become a Pomeranian.
But it could hurt.
Oh, but it would only hurt for a moment or whatever, right? We’ve absolutely not been hitting any plot points of high stakes or severe fantasy. We’ve been coasting along like this is a fanfiction. And nothing terrible ever happens in my fluffy fanfictions.
I cannot speak for all fanfiction.
Yeesh. Some corners of the fanfiction world are about a hundred times worse than the canon content.
But…this corner…this corner is completely safe. Not an alphahole in sight. No rejected mate stress. No looming pack wars. No love triangles or hunts or chosen one status. Heck, our big climactic event is a family dinner.
Everything so far has been just left of perfectly normal.
Alana would hate it. She’d be ready for adventure and grandeur. She’d have had enough of the softness and want a spectacle. Excitement. Magic. Intrigue.
Maybe Ollie was right before. Maybe this isn’t the exact place for her…
Maybe she’ll have to find that place on her own, just like I have.
Maybe everyone needs to without anyone else telling them exactly what it means to…be.
Utterly careful, Ollie bites the tip of my finger, quick. Before I can register whether or not I felt a thing, he’s shifted back. Clasping my hand firmly, he licks the pinprick, kisses it. “Okay,” he whispers with another kiss. “That’s it. That’s all. Are you well?”
Heat floods from my finger, stretching throughout all my veins. I blink. Lift my hand away from him. Look at the wound. If I can even call the tiny hole leeching a tiny beading droplet that. “Oh.” I shiver. “Um.”
Ollie’s beautiful eyes implore me.
“I’m fine. It’s a little…hot? Maybe?” I flex my fingers. “Is this the moment when the power of the moon takes hold and you growl a very concerning mine before knocking me off this rock and into the water? Where, inevitably, I will break the surface as a very pissed Pompom with a coat that is not optimal levels of fluffy due to the concerning levels of damp?”
Ollie’s throat bobs. “Um. No.” He searches my face. “The moon doesn’t hold any power. It’s a…cosmic clock that supervises werecanine impulse.”
I flippin’ knew it.
Ollie’s head tilts. “Were you hoping for theatrics? I can oblige. If you’d like.”
The crawl of heat reaches my toes. Then my heart thumps. “Wait…I think something’s happening…” I breathe deep to ground myself, and a hundred scents bombard me.
