Page 47 of The Purrfect Rival

“Whoops! Clumsy me,” she announced with exaggerated dismay. “Oh, Mayor Leonid! What a surprise to find you here. In our tent. Standing suspiciously close to my best friend.”

Kalyna shot her a warning glare, but Rust merely raised an eyebrow. “Miss Wilmot. Your talent for dramatic entrances remains unparalleled.”

“It’s a gift,” Lucella agreed cheerfully. “Speaking of gifts, Hezron’s organizing some ridiculous strength contest at the north end. He specifically requested, and I quote, ‘His Royal Lionship and Foxy Librarian Lady’ to witness his probable humiliation.”

“That sounds like Hezron’s phrasing,” Rust sighed, though amusement tugged at his lips.

FORTY-TWO

Kalyna found herself captivated by those lips—the perfect curve of the upper, the fuller lower that she suddenly wanted to trace with her fingertip... or her tongue. The direction of her thoughts sent heat coursing through her body.

“We should probably rescue him from himself,” she suggested, desperate for fresh air and distance from these dangerous impulses.

The strength competition was in full swing when they arrived. A traditional carnival game had been modified for shifter participants—a mallet strike that measured both physical strength and magical energy.

“Finally!” Hezron exclaimed upon spotting them. “Boss, show these amateurs how it’s done.”

Rust shook his head but approached the platform. With minimal wind-up, he swung the mallet down with controlled power. The bell not only rang but visibly vibrated, threatening to detach from its moorings.

Kalyna’s breath caught at the fluid display of strength. The casual power in that single movement, the way his muscles bunched and released beneath his shirt—her fox practically whimpered with approval.

“Your turn, Foxy,” Hezron declared, gesturing her forward.

Kalyna assessed the challenge. Fox shifters weren’t known for brute strength. A direct display would inevitably fall short against lion or bear competitors. But who said she had to play by their rules?

Meeting Rust’s eyes—finding amusement and curiosity there—she winked before stepping onto the platform. She created an illusion duplicate that appeared to strike the hammer with great ceremony. Meanwhile, her actual form—temporarily obscured by minor magic—darted behind the mechanism. Using fox precision rather than raw strength, she struck the exact point needed to trigger the bell.

The crowd gasped as the bell rang almost as loudly as after Rust’s attempt.

“That’s cheating!” Hezron protested good-naturedly.

“That’s fox ingenuity,” Kalyna corrected with mock haughtiness.

Rust laughed—a deep, genuine sound that sent ripples of pleasure through her body. The richness of it, the rare freedom in his expression, made her heart stutter. She wanted to catalog this sound too, to learn what triggered it, to hear it again and again in various contexts... including some decidedly private ones.

“Creative problem-solving,” he commented, the golden flecks in his eyes catching sunlight. “Exactly what makes your clan unique.”

The admiration in his voice—not condescension, not indulgence, but genuine appreciation for fox cleverness—warmed her from within. So many cat-shifters dismissed fox methods as trickery or deception. Rust saw the value in her approach, different as it was from lion tactics.

As they moved between festival attractions, Lucella materialized at Kalyna’s side, pressing cotton candy into her hand.

“The betting pool for when you two officially announce your courtship just hit record numbers,” she whispered with gleeful indiscretion. “I’ve got good money on before sunset, so if you could make some dramatic declaration soon...”

“Lucella!” Kalyna hissed, glancing anxiously toward Rust. He stood out of earshot, greeting an elderly tiger shifter.

“What? The entire town saw him go full protective alpha. Subtle, he is not.”

Kalyna’s cheeks flushed as she recalled the raw possessiveness in Rust’s eyes during the attack. Her fox had recognized that look instantly—a claim, a declaration. The thought should have offended her modern sensibilities, yet her body thrummed with excitement instead. Decades of independence, and suddenly she found primitive possessiveness appealing? Her logical mind protested even as her fox purred approval.

Before she could sort through these contradictory reactions, Hezron joined their conversation. “Talking about our favorite repressed lion?” he asked, pitching his voice low. “Did I ever tell you about Barcelona?”

“No,” Lucella breathed, instantly entranced. “Spill.”

“He tried impressing this flamenco dancer with his Spanish and accidentally proposed to her grandmother instead,” Hezron revealed, eyes twinkling. “The old lady accepted before he realized his mistake.”

The mental image of poised, precise Rust caught in such a linguistic mishap made Kalyna bite her lip to suppress laughter. She treasured this glimpse into his imperfect past—a reminder that beneath the authority and control lay a man capable of endearing mistakes.

Lucella’s delighted cackle drew Rust’s attention. He rejoined their group, eyeing Hezron suspiciously.

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