Felltree Marsh [m] alive!

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Will you?

A fleeting thought of Wildflower crossed his mind; of slender limbs wrapped around his own waist, a sharp coyote muzzle pressed into his ruff. Tybault almost put a stop to it then. He almost pulled himself away.

But such thoughts were a taint, were they not? The worst sort of sin.

Better to stain some stranger's soul than the only man who had ever chosen to stay by his side. So Tybault answered not in words but another simmering growl, adjusting his grip to pull the dark hips against his. He'd never done this before. It didn't matter right then.

All the while he felt the last of himself cracking and splintering to crimson shards.