Page 108 of Spar of Hearts

“And you found a wolf,” she murmured, burying her face in his chest. “Oh stars, I’m so embarrassed…”

“About what?”

“At the hot springs,” said Anya. “My invitation. You were repulsed. I understand. You must see me as an animal.”

“You are gravely mistaken.” He pulled away just enough to meet her gaze, tipping her chin up. “First, you’re not an animal. You’re Anya. Get that through your gorgeous, thick skull. Second, with what I longed to do to you, the entire hot springs would have heard you cry my name.”

Anya gasped, cheeks flushing a fiery red. “Oh.”

“Oh indeed. You have no idea what you do to me, do you?” He dipped her low. “I am weak of heart—so, so weak for you. Your howling laugh and fiery spirit, the way you hugged Mabel and Emmaline close without a second thought, how your eyes glimmer when you map the stars…” His hands matched his trembling voice as he guided her back up. “You’ve clawed your way into my heart, Anya. I can’t imagine life without you.”

“Roderick, there’s something I have to tell—”

“Hey!”

Roderick stumbled back a step, tightening his hold on Anya against his chest. The bottle of Rhodias cracked as she squished against him. He winced but didn’t loosen his hold.

A bearded Were scowled at a velvet-antlered Elf a few paces away from them.

“You bumped my mate!” the Were shouted. An expectant woman in a cream linen dress hid behind him. Her shirt was dark with a stain and the floor in front of her was puddled with ale.

“Oi! I was nowhere near ya mate!”

“Oh, suppose the ale floated out of ya mug then?” the Were countered. “She’s not drinkin’, genius!”

The shouts escalated, snuffing out the mirthful dance around them. The Elf slammed his horns into the Were’s chest. The air rushed from his lungs, but he recovered quickly and swung at the Elf’s face.

“You bloody cur!” The Elf spat blood from his mouth, landing just shy of Anya’s still-bare foot. The two men locked in a fierce grapple of fists, with no regard to the patrons around them. Tables tipped and votives shattered as they tussled further from the clearing of the dance.

“Cut it out! Both of you!” the barkeep barked. The wolfish tilt to her voice only fueled the fight. The Were’s muscles rippled beneath his shirt, thick fur and claws sprouting from his hands.

“Don’t flex your shift at me!”

“No shifting inside!”

“Apologize to my mate! You nearly knocked her over!” the Were roared, slamming the Elf against a tabletop. The Elf struggled and squirmed, but he was no match for the partially shifted Were.

“Someone stop him!” the Were’s mate cried.

Anya darted toward the fray. Roderick’s blood went cold as he ran after her, reaching desperately to pull her back. Anya couldn’t possibly match up to—

“What the hell?!” the Were barked.

By the time Roderick blinked, Anya already had the two men ripped apart, keeping a choke hold on the Were as the Elf scrambled away, only to be restrained from behind by Roderick.

Anya’s pearly teeth glistened as she growled low in her chest. She was elegantly terrifying and beautifully brutish, with the warm glow of the tavern lights reflecting her pearly snarl.

It drew him in like a moth to a flame.

Or a knight to a princess.

Either could end badly, but he wasn’t feeling particularly cautious anymore.

Roderick tipped his head back to avoid the Elf’s antlers as he squirmed under his grip. “Let me go! You saw what he did!”

“I saw the both of you destroy a perfectly fine establishment,” Roderick hissed.

“That stupid stag spilled ale on my mate!” the Were protested. “He could’ve—”