Artless Beauty

"You don't seem sick."

He pulled his covering more tightly around him. "I've improved."

"Are you cold?"

"You brought in a draft."

Levity sniffed lightly and tried to understand. Embarrassment. Exasperation. And fear. Why was Murph afraid?

"It's always you," he grumbled. "You're fantastically good at your job. And you're ridiculously well read. You catch all my allusions. Nobody does that."

This was a familiar litany. But Murph wasn't drunk this time.

"And you're artlessly beautiful."

She shook her head. "Artless? You think I roll out of bed looking like this?"

"Oh, don't, don't, don't!" He covered his eyes and muttered, "I'm not so unseemly as to ponder those kinds of intimacies."

She knew he found her attractive, but he'd never flirted with her. Unless reworking her headlines was Murph's version of a courting game. However, since that one drunken kiss, there'd been a simmer. Levity would have sworn that Murph was more than a little in love with her. Flattering, but also inconvenient. She wasn't what he—or any man—was expecting in a partner.

And yet she'd eased into a receptive posture. Good thing Divinity wasn't here to see it. She'd definitely have called her out for encouraging chase.

"It's always you," Murph repeated, sounding put out.

He edged closer, and he was reaching. And … sniffing, which was definitely new. But thanks to the reaching, his swaddling slipped. The quilt hit the floor, and there was a flash of dark red fur. Levity's first thought was pleasure, because Murph might grumble and complain, but a tail always told the truth, and his was in high swing.

Which begged the question … since when did Murph have a tail?

But it was very difficult to ask probing questions if you were being kissed. So she pulled out of range, trying to preempt him. It earned her a growl.

Murph froze. "Was that me?"

"Yes."

"Dreadfully unsettling."

"Only if you don't have context. It means that you want me to stay where I am. And to pay heed to what you're telling me with your every touch."

Murph cleared his throat. "That sounds about right."

She tried shifting her stance, but he didn't react. Because Murph was human. Or at the very least, he'd been raised as a human. She wondered how far back his line had crossed with someone from the clans. With a wolf.

"Levity? I'm afraid. This … this isn't normal."

"It is. For some."

He reclaimed his fallen quilt and hugged it to his chest. "I sprouted a tail ."

"I can help."

"I sincerely doubt that. It's a proper tail. Quite firmly affixed."

"Will you trust me? We get along when we try."

"When you're not trying my patience."

"My methods are tried and true …?"

"In these trying times," he said with a sigh. "Oh, all right. I give up."

"Thank you." And showing her palms, she asked, "May I touch?"

"I'd rather you didn't."

"All right. That's fine." She stepped back.

He followed. "Changed my mind. But can we keep this off the record? I don't want to be a headline."

"Nobody is threatening you with exposure."

"Wish I could believe that."

Levity tried to think how to reassure him. "What are your instincts telling you?"

Murph frowned. "Strong. Beautiful. Ah … available?"

"Oh. I was hoping for trustworthy , but … uhh, Murph?"

He went very still, but he didn't move away, even though his lips were a whisper away from her own. "I can explain," he tried. "Actually, no, I can't. But if you would permit …? I find I want to know what you taste like."

"Entirely natural," she assured.

"Can't be." He whined, which was also new and clearly worrisome. "Oh, help."

"Breathe."

"But all I can smell is you. And it makes me want to …." His gaze pleaded with her. "Why is it always you?"

"Let me touch?"

"Yes. Please. Anything."

So she gently took his face in her hands and promised, "I can help. But for starters, come on in and get your taste. Truth be told, I want one, too."