Page 72 of Mane Rival in Store
“Your hair is vibrating.”
His voice came from somewhere in the vicinity of her collarbone, muffled and wrecked. “That’s a feline response to sustained physical—”
“Your hair is purring.”
“Hair does not purr.”
“Rune.” She ran her fingers through it, slowly. The vibration intensified. “Your hair is literally vibrating with a steady rhythmic frequency that is indistinguishable from a purr.”
“Lions don’t purr. That is a biological impossibility. What you’re experiencing is a post-shift autonomic—”
“Your hair is purring because you’re happy.”
A long silence. The vibration continued. His arms tightened around her.
“Maybe.”
She kissed the top of his head. His hair hummed against her lips.
“I’m adding this to the taxonomy. Category: Lion Tells, Previously Unclassified. Subcategory: post-coital purring.”
“I am formally requesting that you never use the phrase ‘post-coital purring’ in any context again.”
“Denied.” She stroked his hair. Watched it rise and settle under her touch like a living thing. Which, she supposed, it was. “Your Majesty.”
The nickname. He lifted his head. Looked at her. His hair was a disaster—standing in every direction, humming, post-sex chaos that made the normally immaculate Lion King of Scandinavia look like he’d lost a fight with a wind tunnel. His eyes were blue and open and unguarded in a way she’d never seen—the king gone, the alpha receded, just a man with nothing left to perform.
“Say it again.”
“Your Majesty.”
He kissed her. Slow. Smiling against her mouth—the rare smile, the one that transformed his entire face from monarch to mischief, the one he didn’t know he was making and she’d been waiting to see up close.
Her phone buzzed on the nightstand. She’d transferred it from her pocket at some point during the fifth stage—habit, survival instinct, the unshakeable millennial reflex.
The group chat.
Breezy: Status report. You went radio silent two hours ago. Should I activate the contingency plan?
Sybil: What’s the contingency plan?
Breezy: I drive to the den, assess the situation, and extract Lark if necessary.
Sybil: I think she’s fine, Breezy.
Oliver: She’s MORE than fine. Her location says Upper East Side. The den is on the Upper East Side. Math isn’t hard.
Breezy: I’m not speculating. I’m monitoring.
Oliver: SIS IS AT THE LION’S DEN. Literally. THE LION’S ACTUAL DEN. Someone tell Dad.
Sybil: Nobody is telling anyone’s father anything. Oliver Rafael Coleman, put down your phone.
Oliver: This is the greatest day of my life.
Lark turned the phone facedown. Looked at Rune, whose expression suggested he had heard enough of the notification sounds to form a hypothesis about the content.
“My brother knows I’m here.”
