“Yueguang… I can feel you,” he rasped, as if overwhelmed. “Your heart, your body, your magic… everything. Gods, it’s too much—”
“It’s not enough,” she whispered, pulling him closer. “Mingxi, I want all of you.”
When he finally moved above her, when they came together in a slow, breathless joining, the foxfire in the lantern flared. She clutched his shoulders as warmth rushed through her, his mouth finding hers in a kiss that was both grounding and incendiary.
He held her like she was the center of the universe. She held him like she had finally found home.
Their breaths quickened. Their bodies moved together as though guided by something older than words, older than foxfire, older than the moonwell itself.
The crescendo hit her like a wave—her back arching, his breath breaking against her neck—and with a soft, glowing burst, a new tail unfurled behind him. His seventh. Silver bright. Newborn luminous.
Trembling with emotion, he froze, forehead pressed to her shoulder. “Yueguang,” he whispered, “I… this only happens when—”
She cupped his face, guiding him to look at her. “It’s because you love,” she murmured, kissing him softly.
His lips trembled against hers. “I do,” he whispered. “More than I knew I could.”
He held her through the aftershocks, tails wrapped around both of them like a cocoon of silver warmth. She traced his jaw with her fingers until his heartbeat steadied.
When they finally drifted to sleep, tangled in each other, the last thing she felt was his seventh tail curling protectively around her waist and a small, quiet warmth deep in her center answering it.
Chapter 93
Poppy woke slowly to actual warmth—not the gentle glow of foxfire, not the heated air of Huoyáo Jìng, but the heavy, overprotective, smothering warmth of approximately five to seven fox tails draped over her like a weighted blanket with opinions.
One was directly across her face.
She sputtered, pushing soft fur away as she blinked into the dim light of the private house. Mingxi was curled behind her, limbs tangled with hers, all seven tails wrapped around her like he was both shielding her from the world and ensuring she couldn’t escape if she tried.
He made a low noise—half groan, half fox-whine—and burrowed closer.
Poppy smiled, brushing hair from her face. “Mingxi… sweetheart…”
A miserable groan answered. She shifted to face him, and his eyes cracked open. Then immediately closed again.
“Everything hurts.”
Poppy bit back a laugh. “What hurts?”
“My soul.”
“That’s not specific.”
“I am dying,” he muttered into her collarbone. “It’s the only explanation.”
“Darling… you’re hungover.”
He went stiff with betrayal. “No. No. Fox spirits do not get hungover. Our metabolism is superior. We are built different.”
“You drank a whole bottle of plum wine.”
“Lysandra forced me.”
Poppy smoothed his hair. “I don’t think she forced you to take the fifth cup.”
He groaned again and flopped onto his back dramatically, an arm covering his eyes. “Oh, heavens, they are too bright.”
“It’s a window.”
