“Would you like to meet the baby foxes?” He asks in that husky voice, still a half-smile playing on his lips. That certainly perks my ears up.
“Why do you have baby foxes?” I ask as I step up to the pen, my almost bare feet next to his booted ones. Nestled in a neat bed of straw and flannel shirt are three baby foxes. Complete with large ears, adorable whiskered snouts, and poofy tails. I let my vet tech training take over for a minute, inspecting them and their little nest. They’re all bright-eyed and healthy looking. Their bedding is clean. Sting is taking good care of them. With that satisfying thought, I let my normal animal loving self take over.
“They look like they popped straight out of a picture book!” It’s a struggle to keep my voice at a whisper. They’re so adorable. “Can I pet one?”
“You can feed one. They just started real food, but they still like milk at night, especially on the cooler nights.” He hands me a beer bottle filled with white liquid I assume is milk, and topped with a tiny nipple. Then grabs one of the kits and hands it to me.
“It’s so tiny! So light!” It takes a couple of tries for the fox to smell the milk, then latch onto the nipple. For being tiny, it’s ferocious. It’s tiny heart pounds against my hand as I hold it.
“This one is Cupcake. I’m not supposed to name them, but it’s hard to care for a creature without a name.” I nod, trying to keep my face focused on Cupcake, and not on the fact that this desert scorpion cowboy in actual cowboy boots named a baby foxCupcake.
“I was keeping an eye on them. Their mother was hit by a car. So rather than let them starve, I brought them here.”
“What will you do with them once their weaned?” Impressed with his attention and care.
He huffs out a breath and takes one of those classic cowboy postures, one boot out, thumbs in his belt, and I melt all over again. “Well, the wild animal rescue in Las Vegas yelled at me for bringing them in. So then I made contact with a rescue in the small town north of here, Westfang. It’s just a couple of orcs bumbling about, I think. But they agreed to take them once they’re weaned. Not too much longer now.” He reaches out a hand and scratches behind Cupcake’s ear as she chugs. His voice is sad as he talks.
Oh. My. Gods. He’s going to miss feeding baby foxes! Be still my heart and ovaries. My encounters with monsters and shiftersis minimal, but I certainly never imagined one having such a soft heart for wild baby animals. Is it hot in here or just me?
“Maybe you can visit them,” I say, cringing internally, my vet-tech self knowing that it doesn’t make sense to visit re-released wildlife as if they’re old friends. And yet, I don’t want him to be sad. He gives a one shouldered shrug, an attempt at nonchalance. Runs his fingers through his hair. “Fostering requires a golden soul.” The words come out, and I work hard not to tear up at them.
Lily and I had foster parents. Two sets, before we found a family that was willing to love us for us. I have huge admiration and respect for anyone who fosters—animals or humans. I thought we would never really know what family felt like again after our parents’ died in a car accident, but the Stearns showed us. Each and every day. They still do. In fact, we’ll need to call them once we get back to the hotel and let them know we are okay.
Bottle empty, the little fox yawns, nips my finger, then snuggles further into my arms. I can feel her full milk belly, so warm and fuzzy. Gosh, talk about a total serotonin hit. “Do any others need to be fed?” I ask as Sting carefully takes Cupcake from me and sets her down with her siblings. One of them sniffles, its tongue sticking out as it dreams. They’re all asleep.
“No, but you can feed them in a few hours, if you want. Not nearly as cuddly in the morning, though.” He turns off the light over their little bed. The moon is still overhead, lighting my way back toward the door.
“Thank you. That was really special.” Our feet crunch along the crushed rock path that leads to the adobe house. I yawn, grateful. Maybe I can fall back asleep.
“You know, those kits don’t just warm up to anyone. When the rescue folks came by, they growled and snarled and bit. It was adorable, because they’re babies, but they clearly weren’t having those orcs touch them. So when you walked in, and they stayed calm, I knew they would like you. You give off an aura of peace.”
One day, this man will not make me freeze and go idiotic at my lack of stringing coherent thoughts together. But that day is not today.
When I say nothing, he opens the front door, leaving space for me to enter first. “We’ll have breakfast in the morning. Then I’ll drive you two back to the city.” I step over the threshold and turn around to ask a question, but he’s already shut the door. Not hard; it was so gentle I didn’t hear it click. Looking out the window, he’s stalking off into the moonlit desert, his tail on full display.
I’d never thought of tails as sexy before. But that was before I met Sting.
Chapter 6
Sting
By the time I reach the top of the hill, there are less stars in the sky. It isn’t quite dawn twilight, but it’s headed in that direction. The moon is low in the opposite side of the sky. A moment of jealousy at werewolves pricks at me, I want to howl at the moon. Gnash my teeth. Rip my heart out.
I can’t get her out of my mind. Or her scent away from me. Or the touch of her delicate, warm skin off my fingertips.She’s leaving. She’s leaving. She’s not yours.I tell myself this over and over, a mantra to keep myself steady. I have my work. My solitude. All I have ever wanted.
So why do I want to taste her lips?
Leaving Westfang for my own private lair was exactly the solace I needed and craved. Even with orcs, minotaurs, and other monsters, I was “other.” And it was exhausting. Isolating. Lonely.
It’s stupid, this level of yearning for some idiotic human woman who got herself stranded in the desert. What were they thinking? I still don’t know. And I shouldn’t care. I’m not their, or her, protector.
As soon as that thought flies through my mind, the scabbed over mark over my heart burns. I know I’m wrong. And I know that my fate, her fate, is no longer our own.
Peeling away my shirt from my chest, I see the faint glow of the mate mark. A tattoo that shows I’ve found my mate, whether or not I want to believe and accept it. Her. Even as the scabs fall away, showing the intertwined hearts, the scorpion’s tail, and a spring of flower—a hyacinth, I know. Without a doubt.
I am her protector. I would burn down everything I’ve built to have just one day with her. I’d follow her to the ends of the Earth. And the acknowledgement makes my stomach roil.
At dawn, I start breakfast. Pancakes, bacon, fresh fruit salad, and a vegetable quiche. It’s calming to work in the kitchen and make something for my mate. Or it would be if I weren’t such a sap, debating whether to tell her or not. Perhaps somethings are better left to shrivel and die. How would a flower as delicate as a hyacinth survive in this desert environment? If the desert were sentient, it’s entire goal would be to burn every living thing that dared enter its domain. I could never wish that on her. It would be unfair to her.
