Page 9 of The Purrfect Rival

Instead, he picked up his phone and composed a text message to Kalyna. He’d obtained her number from the council contact list—a legitimate use of mayoral resources, he assured himself.

His first draft read: “Ms. Foxworthy, this is Mayor Leonid. I acquired your contact information from council records to discuss library renovation matters.”

He grimaced. Too formal. Too official. He deleted it and tried again.

“Kalyna, this is Rust Leonid. Hope you don’t mind me texting—got your number from the council directory. Could we meet tomorrow to discuss the renovation plans?”

Still not right. Too apologetic for a lion, yet not quite personal enough. After two more attempts, he growled in frustration and settled on:

Kalyna, this is Rust Leonid. The council provided your contact information for project coordination. Could we meet tomorrow at 8 AM at the library to discuss the renovation plans? -Rust

His finger hovered over the send button. Professional yet cordial. Direct without being demanding. Lion-typical, but with consideration for her fox sensibilities.

He hit send before he could overthink it further.

Seconds stretched into a minute as he watched the screen. A typing indicator appeared, disappeared, reappeared. Finally, her response arrived:

Hello, Rust. That works. I’ll bring the structural engineer’s report and the historical preservation guidelines. See you at 8. -Kalyna

Rust stared at the message, irrationally disappointed by its brevity. What had he expected? Flirtation? Eagerness? She was a professional responding to a professional request.

But his lion remembered the spark when their hands touched, the crimson flash in her eyes that betrayed her fox’s recognition. Whatever rational distance they maintained, something deeper had already connected them.

He gathered his things and drove home, the winding road taking him past ancient trees whose branches created dancing shadows in his headlights. The house sat on a small hill not far from town, its stone facade and wood columns helped it blend into the surrounding forest where his lion liked to run free.

Inside, the foyer echoed with his solitary footsteps. He thought of his childhood home with portraits of stern-faced Leonid ancestors lining the hallway leading to the master suite—generations of proud lions who had maintained the family’s position and prestige.

Had any of them ever experienced what he’d felt today? That instant, visceral connection to someone outside their pride?

Too restless for reading, too distracted for work, Rust prepared for bed. Sleep came fitfully, and when it did, dreams followed.

He prowled through moonlit woods, paws silent on damp earth, muscles bunching with predatory purpose. Ahead, a flash of red fur darted between shadows—a fox with not one but two flame-colored tails, leaving subtle trails of crimson magic in its wake.

The lion in him gave chase, not from hunger but from an inexplicable need to catch this particular prey. To claim. To keep.

Through misty clearings and beneath ancient pines, the pursuit continued. The fox always just beyond reach, glancingback occasionally with knowing eyes that glowed ruby-red in the darkness.

Finally, in a moonlit glade, the fox paused. Turned. Waited.

Rust approached slowly, power rippling beneath his golden coat. The fox watched without fear, twin tails swishing gracefully.

Just as he drew close enough to touch, the fox met his gaze directly—eyes shifting from animal to human awareness, holding intelligence and recognition that transcended their beast forms.

Rust jolted awake with a half-roar, sitting upright in bed. His heart hammered against his ribs, and golden sparks danced around his fingers—claws partially extended, the beginnings of a shift triggered by the intensity of the dream.

His lion had made its decision. Kalyna Foxworthy was his mate, regardless of pride traditions or rational objections. Tomorrow’s meeting would only confirm what his instincts already knew beyond doubt.

NINE

“So, it’s true? About you and the new mayor?”

Kalyna nearly dropped her phone. Of course, her mother would call at 5:30 in the morning. She fumbled with her teacup, setting it down before it could spill across her kitchen counter.

“Mother, what are you talking about?”

“Agatha Plumthorn stopped by yesterday with her special elderberry jam.” Marisol Foxworthy’s voice carried that particular blend of innocence and probing that had extracted confessions from Kalyna since childhood. “She mentioned something about red and gold sparks flying at the council meeting.”

Kalyna pinched the bridge of her nose. News traveled with supernatural speed in Enchanted Falls, especially when carried by a magpie shifter whose entire existence revolved around gossip.

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