At first, Roe felt almost one-hundred-percent certain that he had knocked his own brains out. A distant ringing noise with no color whined in his ears, accompanying the disjointed puzzle pieces of vision his orange eyes were failing to comprehend like some sort of mosquito serenade. His poor skull throbbed with dull pain, yet the rest of his lithe body seemed strangely numb. Perhaps that was not a good thing. He tried to stretch his forelegs out—failed—checked to make sure his forelegs were still attached to his body—and tried again. They wobbled, but managed to sweep over the mashed carpet of vibrant wildflowers RoeVy had plowed into rather nicely. Awesome. So at least he hadn’t shattered any limbs . . .

“What the fuck was that?”

An incredibly irritated voice sizzled across RoeVy’s vision in a spurt of bright magenta. He blinked at the unexpected color—magenta? What the hell?—before casually swiveling his cranium around to peer at whoever he’d just tripped over. Pumpkin-colored lanterns first saw dark-stockings on shapely supermodel legs . . . and then more legs . . . and more legs. It took the young demon half the day (or so it felt) for his increasingly wide and disbelieving eyes to travel all the way up this woman’s impressive stilts and finally at long last reach the delicate sculpture of her face. And what a lovely face it was: carved like that of a fox, with huge ears and a dainty forehead and a pert vixen’s muzzle. Roe decided that this creature was probably one of the most beautiful femmes he’d ever had the pleasure of virtually slamming into. And was that really any wonder? After all, her bone structure was practically reflected in the varlot’s impish mask. And RoeVy was perfection itself.

“That, my dear, was a rabbit,” Roe drawled in reply. One wouldn’t think a male capable of sounding so suave and nonchalant while sprawled disjointedly in a tiny crop circle of destroyed daisies, but the black beast owned it. He even had the blinding arrogance to smirk, an expression curving the velvet curtains of his lip so that a few flawless pearly fangs glinted in the sunlight. It was as though RoeVy were unaware that the freakishly tall Amazonian princess was currently eyeing him like she’d enjoy spanking his backside with a bundle of dry twigs; however, that was classic Roe: he never gave a shit because he simply was the shit..

“Surely you’ve heard of them? Fluffy little bastards? Dumb poofy tails and all that?” When RoeVy thought he was being drop-dead attractive, he saw his own lyrics in a softer shade of sunlight, shimmering lightly on the very edges of his sharp peripheral vision. He retracted his lanky legs and then began to prop himself up, his skinny body and trembling limbs lending him the appearance of a devilish baby deer. It took him about three times (third time’s the charm, after all) but RoeVy eventually stood before the sheila with cocky smile intact and manliness turned up to maximum. She towered over him; her silky chin could have rested easily on the top of the young gentleman’s ebony crown—and that would only happen if Roe pointed his tiptoes like a ballerina. Was she even a wolf at all? And what a voice!

“You are really, really, honestly tall. My name’s RoeVy,” the jet-stained prince crooned, tossing out a saucy vermillion wink. It was hard to tell whether or not he was purposefully skirting around the fact he’d basically just tackled this random stranger, or if he’d truly forgotten the action. One thing was clear: Roe had absolutely no idea that the warmth kissing one temple was not the sun, but instead a steady trickle of blood that oozed out from a gash he’d opened when smashing into the earth. “Do you have a title, or can I just call you sweetheart?”