Fox's Glade [M]Macchiato

Anselm had meant the other thing — but as always, communication was not his strong suit. What had she meant by saying he was here to ruin her happiness too? Had she spoken to Etienne — had she seen him since he’d left abruptly, seemingly without a word?

His anger faltered for a moment as she thrust herself back in his face, enunciating with perfect crispness a rhetorical question Anselm didn’t know the real answer to. He wanted, in that moment, to not let someone else have her — as selfish as it was — but there was an altruistic side of him too, that worried for her safety with a strange male. It was not that she wasn’t capable - her breath was probably enough to fend off most — but he’d seen what men could do.

He couldn’t ignore the challenge in her burning gaze any longer. And even though she pulled away, and even though a tiny voice in his head told him it was unwise, Anselm closed the gap.

Vhat if I do? It was Anselm’s turn to issue a steely challenge, his tail swaying proudly over his hips. It only singed him a little to learn she could barely stand him — he pushed it aside, feeling his pulse start to hammer.