Emberflame Ridge oh wrap the ground around

mona could have kicked herself for her ineptitude; the mud was thick and dragged at her soaked limbs. in the next moment, the stranger was upon her, and the mayfair stared up in the glint of distant lightning at the marble hues of his coat, the vivid eyes that burned in his skull, though one was marred —
belatedly, the nuro realized she was staring; ears cupped back against her skull and she obeyed his command, grimacing somewhat as the heavy scent of wet dirt clung to her senses. what had she gotten herself into?
the man did not touch her; his broad paws caught mona's interest, but she scolded herself for the rage of her imagination, and fell into step beside the stranger. the storm would return, she knew, and this naked, scarred place was no sanctuary to either of them. through wet lashes she glanced just once more toward the man's fierce features, unable to help herself — curiosity was mona's birthright.