"You know, Voss..." Felicity trailed her fingers through the thick silver fur at his neck, her cheek pressed against the broad warmth of his back as he carried her through the forest. The smell of pine and cold stone clung to him, mixed with that particular clean musk that was just him. "I wonder what our cub will look like."
The massive wolf beneath her went absolutely still. Mid-stride. One paw suspended above the frozen ground like the world had stopped turning.
Felicity's fox ears flicked forward. She felt the shift in his breathing, the way his ribs expanded and held, the tremor that passed through muscle dense enough to crush bone. Her tail curled against his flank, and a grin tugged at her mouth.
She'd broken him.
The great strategic mind of Snow Team, the man who planned seven moves ahead in every fight, who could calculate enemy positions while half-asleep, was reduced to a statue by eight words.
