Kira dare not believe her eyes. As soon as her voice dropped back into silence, her ears perked to await Kahlan’s reply, a change swept over the earthen fae like a burst of lava crashing wave-like down a mountain. The heavy sadness clinging to her pelt evaporated beneath the ferocity of a sudden intense heat; when her sunlit lanterns opened again, something within them had ignited, hungry flames burning away all the heartache and darkness until sparks danced in her irises. It was more than Kahlan simply bucking up and commanding herself not to feel so low—this was a rebirth, a phoenix fighting to rise from the ashes that buried it. Whatever Kirastasia had just said, whatever magic spell she’d just uttered, had succeeded beyond the young princess’s wildest dreams. She had her lovely Kah back.

No—she had a new Kahlan now. For the glorious creature hot with yearning stepping closer to the snowbird was different than the quiet huntress that once occupied her daydreams. The need reaching out from Kah’s bruised soul had flared into a new being entirely. Kira recognized the lingering expression on her crush’s face after a few disbelieving heartbeats. And then the older fae erased the fraction of space between them, the bridge of her snout gently tracing the line of Kira’s jaw before burying her muzzle against the plushness of Kira’s ruff. Openly affectionate. Wanting. Choosing. Choosing her. At last. The girl’s maw parted in shock. Her maple windows flickered in delighted surprise. Unable to hold her tongue, too thirsty for affirmation of the thought she held, the brindled brutale tilted her head playfully at the other wolfess and spoke.

“My dear friend Kah,” she crooned, fluffy banner arching saucily over her spine, “do you really want to wait for me to take you home?”

With the fine cocoa-dusted waves of Kahlan’s nape layered so temptingly in front of her Kirastasia had to indulge. She nuzzled into the space between Kah’s triangular audits, tucking the other femme under her chin protectively, before running her jawbone down the silk of Kahlan’s pelt. Her dark fur was thick and luxe where it protected the flesh of her neck, so much so that the girl could hardly feel the subtle bump of vertebrae beneath the sumptuous canvas. The unruly heiress entertained herself with memorizing the complex notes of Kahlan’s scent, breathing deeply of the smooth ocean of chocolate and cinnamon and golden cream. And then it wasn’t enough. With Kira, it was never enough.

With a naughty, throaty giggle, the girl nipped at Kah’s scruff, hardly pulling at her locks enough to hurt but firmly enough that the healer would have to respond. The instant Kahlan retracted herself from Kira’s throat the ice damsel would lavish attention on her flawless visage, tongue peeking out to sip kisses over Kah’s silken brow, the elegant hills of her cheekbones, the corners of her maw. Once that failed to satisfy her, Kirastasia would move her focus exclusively toward the soft curtains that hid Kahlan’s daggers, fangs nipping playfully in a sassy effort to get Kah to respond. She followed each quick bite with the softest caress of her tongue, an agonizing play to tiny pains and miniature pleasures.

There was always the possibility that the ex-Saw Tooth woman would recoil. That Kira would step too far and push the object of her infatuation back into a shadow of confusion. But Kershov’s daughter had lived too long without realizing the starvation that lived within her as a descendent of Queens; her overflowing sensuality demanded release, and the girl had been patient for so long. How could she possibly resist an opportunity so delicious? So immediate? So simple? The white waif could no more hold herself back from Kahlan that she could take off her own pelt.