Bramblepoint The shape of brat pop to come

peregrine spoke, but it was not at all what lasher had expected to hear. beneath his dark fur he flushed, but his eyes darkened with lust, and also for the words to be so brazen, the panther's want clearly depicted in his verdant eyes. birdsong trilled overhead, and as a breeze rose, lasher pressed his mouth against the prideful curve of the panther's neck, inhaling the scent there, flooded breathlessly by the aroma of forest and blood, of desire and savagery that was peregrine.

presently he looked into the other's eyes and motioned toward a soft patch of clover near unto them. "lie down," he whispered, unable to keep the throatiness from his tones, nor the delicious thrum of his own rising want.