Twice.
Try to process what I'm seeing.
"IS THAT A MOOSE?!" I squeal, pointing at the massive creature blocking our path like that's not completely obvious.
She's enormous.
Taller than Nash's truck by at least a foot, maybe more. Her shoulders are massive, muscled beneath dark brown fur that's matted in places with bits of frost and what might be dried mud. Antlers spread wide like bare tree branches, intricate and beautiful and probably capable of goring someone if she felt inclined.
Her eyes are watching us with what can only be described as complete and utter boredom. Not fear. Not aggression. Just this flat, unimpressed stare that suggests she's seen this scene play out a hundred times and found it tedious every single time.
She looks like she's judging us.
This moose is standing in the middle of the road, judging our life choices.
I love her already.
"Ohmygosh she's beautiful!" I'm already unbuckling my seatbelt with fumbling fingers, camera still clutched in one hand because content waits for no one. "Can we go touch her?! Please? I want to pet her! Look how majestic she is!"
"Reverie, absolutely not?—"
But I'm already out of the truck before he can finish that sentence, my boots hitting the cold pavement with enthusiasm that probably isn't warranted,given we're standing in front of a wild animal that weighs approximately one thousand pounds.
The November air is even colder out here without the truck's heater. It smells like pine forests and winter and moose—which apparently has a distinct earthy, musky scent I've never noticed before.
"You don't go touching wild moose, dammit!" Nash's voice comes from behind me, sharp with genuine alarm that cuts through my excitement.
Then suddenly, my feet leave the ground.
Nash has literally picked me up off the pavement—one arm around my waist in a grip that's both gentle and completely immovable—hauling me back toward the truck like I weigh absolutely nothing. Which is flattering and annoying in equal measure.
The motor oil and leather scent of him surrounds me completely now, mixed with a sharp edge of Alpha alarm pheromones that my Omega hindbrain recognizes as protective instinct. He's worried. Genuinely worried I'm about to get myself trampled.
Which is sweet, but also, I wasn't going to get trampled. Probably. Miss Moose looks chill.
I manage to keep hold of my phone despite the sudden elevation change, flipping it around to capture the moose who'sstill watching our antics with that same profoundly bored expression. She hasn't moved an inch.
Just standing there like a furry statue.
"Wait!" I protest, squirming in his grip, which does absolutely nothing except make him hold me tighter. "Nash! Put me down! I’m still broadcasting and everyone can see?—"
SMACK.
The sound of his hand connecting with my ass echoes in the quiet winter air like a gunshot.
I squeak—a high-pitched, undignified sound that I'll be mortified about later when I remember that twelve hundred people just witnessed this.
"And I'll spank this ass in front of all your followers," Nash growls close to my ear, his voice dark with promise and possessiveness, "if you put yourself in danger like that again! Wild animals aren't pets, Reverie!"
Oh my god. Oh my god. I'm still live. This is all being broadcast. Twelve hundred people just watched an Alpha spank me for trying to pet a moose. The comments are going to be absolutely unhinged.
This is either the best or worst content I've ever created, and I can't tell which.
My face burns even hotter than it was from the kiss.
"I can defend myself! I'm flexible, and I took two self-defense classes! I know moves!"
Nash pauses in his march back to the truck, looking down at me with an expression that's half exasperation, half amusement, and entirely skeptical.
