[m] can't take the heat

Grimm swore she didn't do "stuff," and yet Fox had to doubt it. How could she not? Her own heat had been even more fiery than her fur, and the whole week had been spent getting knocked up (again and again) by the lovely, handsome, swarthy Peregrine. But enough daydreaming! On to the fact that Grimm had run off—without a word—and left them less one body to defend their borders.

Fox was dull, so she didn't pick up on the ever-so-mild flirtations of the rejoiner. "Like what?" she asked, lashing her tail impatiently. Promise never to leave? That seemed like a crapshoot. Promise not to go into heat again? Yeah, another crapshoot. For a brief moment, Fox was all ears.