Lost Creek Hollow we'll be counting stars

His lips pursed at her words—his mind reeling at what he wished to speak, and how it would be taken. He had burned a bridge that hurt his heart entirely already, and the idea of insulting the she-wolf before him, and losing the friendship that stemmed between them… it felt insurmountable. He had enjoyed the woman from the moment he met her—but when had she become such an important fixation on his life?

And what would he do when somehow that, too, would crumble to nothing? The Mayfair curse seemed all too real, these days.

“Just so you know,” he offered quietly, an ear flicking at the mention of resting. “You’ve never been more beautiful to me than now, these past few days… You’re heart. Everything you do for others… Just... You.” He trailed off, suddenly finding his eyes glancing heavenward—cowardly, to not want to see if his words would be taken as insult. “And there’s no rest for the wicked, darling,” he drawled, bitter amusement finding its way to his tired voice.