Kira’s pretty muzzle scrunched up in a childlike pout at Rom’s dismissive words, gilded tongue preparing to lash out at his pinned-back ears—but then her firehawk paused, his tense posture slackening, and he turned about to walk back into her space. Closer. Very close. Kershov’s daughter gulped in a breath and held it. Her greedy amber gaze raked down the long expanse of Rom’s throat and drank in the gorgeous tapestry of colors that made up his fur: deep bloody russet, lurid scarlet, vague threads of warm chocolate and highlights of gold. She felt as if she could spend an entire day dissecting the flame-rainbow this arrogant knight wore. With a tiny exhalation, Kirastasia flicked her stare upward toward the fascinating spider-web of scars on Rom’s mask. Even these ugly lines seemed alluring in their mystery. Damn him for being so disgustingly, perfectly beautiful.

His voice was hot coffee that poured into her and sent and electric spark through her veins. Kira bit the side of her mouth, reveling in the delicious jump her pulse took. The roll of his sharp shoulder blades did amazing things to the long mane of fur running down his spine. “Mister Rom, that’s not the sort of talk that’s appropriate in front of a young lady . . .” If only he could see the dreamy heaviness of her eyelids half-shading the glow of her irises, or the languid ease of her body as she leaned closer to his heat. At least the lanky soldier would be able to hear the smoky quality of her voice . . . like incense weaving threadlike sweetness in the air between them. She felt like a starving waif, and Rom was waving a choice plate of meat before her salivating mouth. She could see the fresh blood dripping from his sensual promise. It tugged at every dark instinct in her gut.

But too soon the lazy grin curving his kissers thinned into a cruel smirk, and he backed off. Kira nearly whimpered. Instead, a level of fury only possible to obtain by a spoiled princess turned her words into razorblades as she barked back. “Oh DID you?” she spat, not caring that a snarl turned her expression vicious. LIKE ROM WOULD EVEN NOTICE, RIGHT? What could a bunch of other bitches have that made them SOOO fun to be around? Rom had HER! She was more interesting than any group of females combined! Her snowy feathers ruffled all up and down her back. Her fluffy plume lashed ferociously at her flank and then flew high as a flag, as if asserting her dominance would somehow force Rom back into his appropriate puppet role. “So what? You’re awfully distracted for somebody who’s spent time with the fairer sex.”

Yes, that was the word—distracted. Even shallow Kira caught the wavering emotions tossing her phoenix back and forth. She didn’t enjoy him like this, all distant one moment, then exuding sex appeal, then sinking under this odd and unexplainable melancholy. Despite his lack of expressive windows, Kirastasia sensed the darkness that suddenly shrouded Rom’s aura. The ice queen preferred him snarky and untouchable to this pathetic display. And she also preferred being the one responsible for tweaking his emotions—she wanted control over his varying states and hated how he cycled through performances without her say-so. Were the ladies he’d purportedly met up with the cause of his distress? Kira tilted her head. She understood at a deep level the maddening appeal of femmes . . . but surely that wasn’t the real reason Rom wasn’t playing right today.

“Rom . . .” she murmured sympathetically. One striped paw lurched forward to follow when he turned away from her, an abrupt need to comfort him spearing into her guts. The girl didn’t even feel the ache of him shoving past her as if she were an annoying bush in his way. “Are you all—Rom?!”

A demon had pounced upon the firebird and gripped him in a vice of agony. Kirastasia stood frozen in shock, stunned honey lanterns following every twitch of Rom’s shockingly stiff frame, each shudder of pain as it rippled through his muscles, her paws unable to rush forward to help him, her voice unable to cry out for help. She’d rushed to Kavik’s rescue countless times when the skull-faced boy had broken down into violence—yet Rom’s writhing was of an entirely different species the punkette had no experience to help. His savage snarls ripped right into her empty heart. What was happening?

Eventually the tortuous moment expended itself—or it did to the point where Rom could sit without falling over. Kirastasia immediately rushed to his side, nose hovering inches from his fur, attempting to sniff out any fever that might be responsible. Nothing. Except Rom looked ready to pass out, and there had to be a reason for it. “What the hell is going on?” Kira whispered, more to herself than the raggedly breathing warhound. Without warning her tongue began running quick, light strokes over Rom’s neck and face, trying to keep him conscious, trying to keep him here while her mind worked frantically to come up with a true solution.