Page 17 of Foxin' Around

Syrix hummed under his breath and brushed the tip of his nose affectionately along her brow. “Nonetheless, her tongue is as sharp as her wit, and she stands here with me even when fear would have her flee and barricade herself in the cabin.”

Her lips twitched. “I’m that obvious, am I?”

“Just a little,” he teased. “But it is unnecessary, and as to your plan as to how to proceed, I have a better one.”

Her brows inched upward. “A better one. I hope it’s not to just shove his corpse into a bush and let nature take care of him. He deserves at least some respect.”

Syrix wrinkled his nose but did his best not to look too guilty. That had indeed been his plan. Spirit foxes typically were set afire by their kin and mourned properly on the rare occasion that they ascended to places beyond the immediate spirit world. Generally, with anyone else, he would return them to nature as discreetly as possible and leave things to properly sort themselves out as matter decayed and returned to the earth. Out of sight, out of mind.

“Not exactly,” he lied, thinking quickly on his feet. She squinted at him skeptically and he sighed. “Okay, yes that was what I was going to do but only after returning you to the cabin. You do not need to witness this any further, and as long as the door remains shut, the enchantments on the cabin will keep out anything short of a god.”

“And then?” she prompted.

“And then I will return to bury him,” he replied sourly as he glanced down at the hard earth. That was really going to dull his claws. He would need to file them for weeks to get them reasonably sharpened again.

Krystal gave him a doubtful look. “You are going to dig out a grave… by yourself? There are two shovels, you know. With my help it would take half the time.”

Lips twisting in a grimace, he shook his head. If he was going to dig, he was not about to make it even more laborious by using human tools. Not when his magic and his two hands with all ten claws would be far more effective.

“I can take care of it easily enough on my own,” he quietly assured her as he herded back toward the cabin. “Quicker in fact, as I have my own ways.”

She peered up at him, her brow puckering. “If you are certain…” she said slowly. “You are going to actually properly bury him, right?”

“I swear it,” he replied gravely.

She did not look entirely convinced, but she nodded and allowed him to escort her back to the cabin without any further protests. It was only when the door was open and she had stepped through the entrance that she turned to him, a look of worry on her face.

“You will be okay out there by yourself, right?”

“I will be fine, you will see,” he assured her.

She nodded again in reply. “Then return to me quickly.”

A flirtatious smile spread across his face, and he inclined his head, lifting her small hand that was still entwined within his fingers to his lips and brushed a kiss against the back of it. He felt the tiny tremor of awareness through her where his lips were pressed to her skin, and he lifted his head with an expression of satisfaction.

“I shall,” he promised. “Now, remain safely inside. And do not come out no matter what you see and hear. Understand?”

Krystal muttered an agreement as he released her hand and immediately wrapped her arms around her waist to hug herself. “The lamia can deceive me, I imagine.”

“Yes, and will do so without hesitation if she believes it to be to her advantage. Now, go in and warm yourself. Throw an extra log or two on the fire, change your clothing to something of mine—I have plenty to spare, though soon I will be supplying you with new clothing of your own. And wrap in the blanket,” he added authoritatively.

Her lips quirked. “Gods forbid I catch a cold, huh?”

“Absolutely,” he replied and shooed her farther inside before gently closing the door between them, the sound of her quiet laughter filling his ears in a very pleasing way.

It was almost enough to make him forget the unpleasantness of his task. Unfortunately, grim reality set back in swiftly when he returned to the lamia’s hunting spot. The remains were still there where she had scattered them and there were no new impressions of her scent nearby. She had not returned, it seemed. He half suspected that she would in order to retrieve some portions of her meal that she had been forced to hastily abandon.

Unless she had never intended to eat him, which potentially made it even worse. Lamia were cruel creatures, but they worked off a certain sort of logic set into their existence. Like most predators, they killed chiefly due to their necessity to feed, no matter how horrific and repugnant others found it and no matter how it might result in her death or those sisters she might nest with.

What manner of madness infected this creature?

He shuddered, uncomfortable with the thought, and quickly reached for his four-legged form before he could get too caught up going down mental rabbit holes, assuming the true size of his four-legged form, rather than the more compact miniature version that he usually adopted around his mate in an attempt to disguise himself. Stretching leisurely to work out all the kinks from his muscles, he immediately bent to his task and began to dig into the forest floor, sending out huge showers of dirt. As he dug into the earth, he wondered what his mate might think of his other form. He was a fox that was as large as some of the larger horses ridden among the fae—he had little doubt that she would find him absolutely terrifying.

Unsurprisingly, that did not make him feel any better. Still, he made quick work of burying every bit of the human male hecould find, and returned quickly among the game trails back to the cabin.

Normally he would luxuriate in running through the woods in his true form, but not when his entire being called for his mate. There would be time enough for running later and by then, he hoped he would have his mate perched upon his back and running with him.

Chapter

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