Fox's Glade Impulse

aesilfir pursued, catlike. around val her artful figure wreathed; black and blues and the heady scent of her season.

it would be easy to give in.

but it would be wrong.

val's sides strummed with her electric touch. pandora had touched him that way, once. the memory awoke a vivid recoil in val, who owllishly blinked as he stepped away. merrick would kill me. he mumbled, and it was a half-truth -- he had no business siring children in ursus without the great bearking's blessing.

he wondered, again, what was wrong with him that so many women attempted manipulation on his person.