RoeVy was perfectly capable of understanding sarcasm—it’s just that he didn’t necessarily comprehend that others were trying to cut him down a notch when they used it on him. For whatever reason the black-furred boy was utterly immune to most forms of abuse; his ego was so incredibly healthy that it bordered on madness. He could not be insulted, embarrassed, or flustered . . . according to all of his experiences to date. He was RoeVy, a name synonymous with perfection itself. So when the gorgeous leggy vixen donned an expression of utmost annoyance and sent a flurry of barbed words through the air, Roe did nothing more than blink autumn-colored windows dreamily as her magenta voice licked bright across his vision. She was so pretty. Like . . . stunning. Even when her lyrics grew sharp and jagged, like miniature pink lightning bolts, Roe continued to nod along with a grin dashed across his debonair visage.

“I suppose you could say that,” the lanky lad answered to the woman’s caustic rabbit remark. He lifted his tassel proudly, words pouring like smooth sunlight from his elegantly tapered maw. “We’re both agile and sleek, for starters. I mean look at me. Speed machine.” To demonstrate his point, Roe struck a pose, long stilts braced as he thrust his skull forward in classic pointer hound style. When the russet wolfess began circling him, her saucily switching banner flicking uncomfortably close to Roe as she passed, he held his stance—drinking in her obvious attention. It didn’t matter that she practically exuded the maturity of a queen; she was female, she was studying him, and that was all RoeVy honestly cared about. Her multihued eyes might have scalded lesser brutes, but she was wasting her time on attempting to unsettle the King of Cool himself. “Like what you see?” chuckled the sooty soldier.

Suddenly she was leaning in. Toward him. A beautiful bloom of warmth opened its petals within Roe’s narrow chest. He felt certain he’d won her over at last. Nobody could resist his potent charm. Soon he’d be whispering sweet nothings into those large and wonderfully shaped sable ears of hers . . . Oh god oh god oh god—

“A-Astarte?” A few sparks of startled yellow peppered his tones, throwing Roe even more off guard. He liked his metallic gold voice; once it changed colors the skinny devil knew something was wrong. It was just that . . . well, he hadn’t been expecting that little show of flirtatiousness. She got closer to HIM. That meant something, didn’t it? The stocking-clad princess stepped away, giving RoeVy some space to breathe. He blinked pumpkin-hued lanterns rapidly, clearing his brain. What was she talking about? “Check my head . . . ?” Carefully, Roe lifted a delicate forepaw up to his cranium. His coal-coated toes came away bloody. When the fuck had that happened? It must have been the she-wolf’s fault—she was clearly a sneaky minx that RoeVy could not trust.

DAMN did that turn him on!

Unleashing a liquid growl, the onyx stag puffed out his skinny breast and narrowed those burning orange lanterns. So this ginger enchantress wanted to be sassy, did she? BRING IT. “How kind of you to worry about me, Astarte m’dear. If you must know, I was hunting.” Crap, now the wound on his head was starting to throb. Heat spread in sticky red droplets down Roe’s temple, down his flawlessly carved cheekbone, toward the corner of his smirking mouth. In fact, the lad was beginning to feel slightly dizzy . . . “Wh-why? What is a fine damsel such as yourself doing . . . doing . . . urgh . . .” Darkness threw a curtain over RoeVy’s consciousness and the limber creature lurched forward, limbs crumpling beneath him.