Emberwood I got years of livin' by and how I choose

When she rose, Kincaid felt his heart fly up with her, the way it did when he startled his prey and lost it to the wind, and akin also to the way it'd sank down into his gut that day he'd walked away from Nine. He had misstepped, and the dream was over, and then suddenly her breath was too-warm in his ear. It flicked back as her nose touched the sensetive fringe of protective fur, batting over her velvet muzzle and then returning just as quickly to press forward in surprise.

Heart kicking out of rhythm, he turned to her with a look of flattered bemusement writ across his ruddy features. But the wide-eyed look soon gentled into one of quiet conspiration, and he let out a breath like a laugh and moved to tuck his muzzle against hers, allowing the moment to sweep him up.

"You're a troublemaker," he told her, sounding somehow both resigned and self-satisfied. Apparently he did still have it in him, even if he wasn't sure quite how he'd managed it, this time. The truth was, Kin had never landed a woman who didn't have some biological motive driving her. And every time, he had been beat out at the end by some larger, stronger (and often, steadier) male.

"C'mere, then," he said, gentle and teasing all at once as he dropped his hindquarters once more and lifted a paw to invite her closer.