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A dimple pulls free as he chuckles. “Darn that emotional damage.”
“Dishonor on it. And all the moose.”
“I assure you. The moose are very dishonored. And tasty.”
My nose scrunches. “Please tell me you’ve not eaten raw carcasses like an animal.”
“I have never once successfully hunted a moose, nor have I ever feasted on the raw remains of what my brothers secure.”
“Delightful information.”
We continue deeper through the trees for several paces, old leaves and sticks crunching underfoot.
“Hey,” I say.
“Hm?”
I fiddle with the hem of my shirt. “Can you show me your arctic fox? Or is that an inappropriate request?”
“Depends. Are you planning to boop my little arctic fox nose?”
“My ulterior motives cannot be that transparent.”
“You’re figuratively about as opaque as plastic wrap.”
I scoff and lay my free hand against my chest. “Why, I’ve half a mind to be offended.”
“Let me know when you get a full one.”
“Is this deflection? Are you adverse to showing me your arctic fox form? Are you just being nice to avoid telling me that asking for you to shift breaks a huge werecanine social rule? Don’t you think you should educate me on the rules of fae etiquette if that’s the case? I’d hate to be rude.”
His thumb taps against mine. “That was a lot to take in. I think I only registered half of it.” Lips pursing, he says, “I don’t mind shifting for you.”
Gasping, I let go of his hand, take a step back, and lock my fingers in front of my skirt, waiting patiently.
He stares at me, oblivious.
I make a proceed motion with my hand.
Rocking his shoulders, he lets his head fall back and whispers a curse. “It’s been a minute.”
“Think boopable thoughts.”
He frees a long-suffering sigh. “My love for you is quite boundless.”
I wait a moment. “…but?”
“Nope. That’s it.” Stretching, he exhales, and his body morphs, giving way to pure white fur painted with tan brushstrokes. Curling his bushy tail around his legs, he sits, peering up at me with eyes illuminated by sunlight.
He is the most beautiful, most precious, most adorable, most regal little creature I have ever seen. It takes all my strength to refrain from collapsing to my knees and fawning over him.
This precious baby angel is a grown man. A full-grown adult man. With impressive muscles. And the capacity for both cooking and cleaning. Not only that, he also sings. He’s, like, an entire specimen. And— And— Dimples. I forgot to mention the dimples. He has dimples, too.
I crumple and digress, crouching. “You are so cute.” I lift my hand and pet his soft, soft head. My toes curl in my shoes. “You look like a prince.”
His sweet little fox eyes roll.
“I mean it.” I pet his fluffy ears, boop his squat snoot. “Precious.”
