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

It still seemed every bit a fantasy when the woman did not turn away, but fell into him free and grateful. The weight of her grew both in and against his chest, and he was done for — he knew it.

What the hell is wrong with me?

There would be time later for questions. Like Eleuthera, he chose to linger in the healing peace of the moment, each heartbeat ticking by seeming to imprint her heavier on his heart. Later on, he would regret it, wonder why he let himself get so twisted up — but right then he reveled in it, pressing his black nose deep into the fur of her shoulder, and preening the fringe that led up the column of her graceful neck and into her velvet jaw.

Words had gotten them into this mess, but he could not help but speak still more: "Little darlin'," he crooned into her ear, knowing he might never again get to whisper endearments to her in the dark. The spell would have to break at some point, and she would figure out what every other woman in his life had — whatever it was that kept them looking elsewhere after getting a taste of him.

The male fell to his side, carrying Eleuthera with him if she was not quick enough to pick herself up. Here he wrapped both forelegs around her, drawing her close to his chest and burying his face in her sweet-smelling fur — cedar and rose and warmth and life. Soon, he would have to let her go and deal with the emotional fallout — but for now, for now, he would let his soul be soothed.