![]() ![]() ![]() “Edwood always has that second cup of coffee in the morning!” “Edwood,” he hissed, turning the hated name into one long syllable that might have become a howl if he wasn’t hissing. “Edwood!” Jakob snarled, feeling a sudden, inexplicable and curiously deep-seated urge to take the entire pile of potatoes, peel them, cook them, mash them and turn them into a giant sculpture of Devil’s Tower, Wyoming. “I don’t,” she replied, waving a little less delicately. Bela waved a delicate hand delicately before her face. “Your heat,” she whispered throatily, and then she emitted a small, delicate cough that made him tremble in places he had never known could tremble, at least outside of tremors in the earth and a mouthful of a particularly rank kind of Jimson weed that werewolves would eat when they needed to get more into their werewolfish spaces, or purge to maintain their slim, muscled shapes. With a gasp, he dragged his thoughts away from his desires – that similarity to the hated name! He growled and hunched and drew closer to Bela again. “Your heat,” she said, and he swore she was panting now, like an overeager werewolf cub after too much rough and tumble – no, he thought, don’t think tumble, don’t think, but I am thinking it! he thought dramatically, a tumble amongst the King Edwards with– ![]() “Handle you?” Bela’s eyes seemed then to mist over, and he stared at her, puzzled. ![]()
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