Shit, how do I introduce him? He’s more than a friend, but is it poor taste to call him my beau or my lover when I’m engaged to her nephew?
“Monty,” he finishes for me, lowering his muzzle.
She makes a raspy chuckle. “You need to have a talk with Clyde.”
I shift from paw to paw. “Actually, I thought maybe I should talk to you first.”
“I won’t need to intervene, trust me. This is between the two of you.” With another raspy laugh, she pads off, leaving me to wonder what she’s so amused about.
I bare my teeth in my pine marten equivalent of a grimace. “I guess it’s now or never.”
Clyde’s residenceis at the edge of town, a small A-frame house painted red. I spot him just outside it, sitting at a picnic table set before his front door, polishing a wooden mug. He’s a woodworker and specializes in carving intricate mugs that he sells to the tavern and other villagers. I even caught sight of them at a boutique near the train station once. I’ve always envied his dexterity. I may not have ever succeeded at creating art without opposable thumbs, but others have, including Clyde. Since his is a practical art, it’s admired in Cypress Hollow, unlike my sexy paintings.
We approach the table. Clyde freezes when he sees me, nearly dropping his mug and cloth. He’s a honey badger just like his aunt with the same wide build, same black fur with a silver-gray stripe down his head and back. He is not, however, nearly as intimidating. “D-Daphne, I wasn’t expecting you.”
“Hello, Clyde,” I say, unable to hide the trepidation in my voice. I hope this conversation remains civil. While he must have been hurt by my abrupt departure after the ritual last year, he likely held out hope that I’d seal our mating this year. He has had a fierce crush on me for as long as I’ve known him.
“We need to talk,” he says, lowering his voice. His eyes dart anxiously between me and Monty. “Quickly.”
“Yes, we do,” I say, “and I have every intention of making this quick. Clyde, I’m so, so sorry but I cannot be your mate. You’ve been a good friend to me for so long, but that’s all we can ever be. Our handfasting was?—”
“Who the fuck is she?” I snap my muzzle shut as my eyes swivel toward the source of the female voice. A stocky gray-brown marmot hobbles out of Clyde’s front door on her hind legs, carrying a butcher knife in one of her front paws. She slams the blade point first onto the table, sinking it an inch deep as she stares at Clyde with a murderous glare. “You were goddamnedengaged?”
This time, Clyde fully drops his mug and cloth and holds out both paws. “I was drunk, baby. I didn’t even remember what happened until my aunt told me a month later.” He swivels toward me. “I was just about to tell you. I can’t go through with our handfasting either because I’m already mated.”
My jaw drops. “Mated.”
Clyde’s mate turns her enraged glare to me now, gripping the handle of her knife and tugging it free from where it was embedded in the table. “I will fucking cut you if you so much as make eyes at my Clyde-baby.”
“You should go,” Clyde rushes to say. “She really will cut you.”
His mate bares her teeth. “Oh, you’re taking her side?”
“No, baby, it’s just...”
I don’t wait to hear a word more, sharing a knowing look with Monty before we take off as fast as we can. We dart between trees, yelping when a butcher knife strikes a trunk just to the right of us, sending shards of bark flying.
We run until we’re out of breath, stopping only when we’ve put ample space between us and the village. Then we collapse at the base of a thick cedar, its wide draping branches shielding us from view. Soon our panting breaths turn to sounds of relief. Then laughter.
“What the hell was that?” Monty says, his furry figure suddenly spilling outward to take the shape of his seelie body. He leans against the trunk of the tree, throwing his head of messy waves back. “A marmot with a butcher knife? Is that kind of domestic dispute normal for your village?”
“Yeah,” I say with a shrug and shift back into my seelie form as well. I’m sprawled before him, my weight propped on my forearms as I recline halfway.
A snort of laughter has my gaze returning to Monty. “Your tits are still out, love.”
I glance down to see that he’s right. I’d forgotten about baring my breasts for him earlier. I lift a hand to tug my bralette back down but Monty’s palm stills my fingers. He’s crawled over to me and now hovers above me, one hand propped near my waist, the other removing my hand from my bralette to pin it overhead. I fall back on a bed of soil and cedar leaves.
“Don’t cover up on my account,” he says, lowering his lips to mine. “I’ll never deny a chance to worship these morsels.”
He moves his mouth down to my collar, then to my breast, where he flicks out his tongue and swirls it over my peaked nipple. I squirm at the pleasure that jolts through me, burning at the apex of my thighs. He moves to the other nipple, suckling until I release a whimper. Then he returns his lips to mine, kissing me deeply. As he pulls away, he bites my bottom lip. I let out another soft whine.
He cradles my cheek. “My friend. My lover. My partner in violence. Have I told you how much I love you today?”
“You can tell me again.”
His expression turns serious. “I love you, Daphne Heartcleaver.”
“I love you, Monty Phillips.”
