Sleepy Fox Hollow Gave up on it, but honey, you got my hopes up

No, she chanted in the vacuum of her mind. No, no, no, don't do this, you don't want this. And it was true, in part. She'd had provocative dreams about this very moment, but those dreams involved him choosing her above all others, affirming his declaration of love with actions to back it up, and this was far removed from her fantasy. This was primal hunger at its worst and she knew she should not succumb to it, lest she become just one of many women and not the singular object of his affection.

But no matter how loudly the pragmatic part of her screamed, Wylla was reduced to pure wolf, and her nerves and body would not heed her aching heart. She whined a soft whistle when his mouth met her collar and she craned her neck, granting him access to the thrumming of her heartbeat beneath the thin skin. Fire rushed to consume her.

Wylla rubbed the side of her muzzle heatedly against the crown of Mahler's head with a jittery one-two stomp of her hind legs, and there she found the peak of his ear with impatiently clipping teeth. She sought only to snatch it playfully before moving, rubbing past him, pressing her shoulder to his and reaching on the tips of her toes to hungrily consume the thick fur of his ruff in an urgent preen.