Page 45 of The Purrfect Rival (Enchanted Falls #1)

FORTY-FIVE

D awn painted gold streaks across the worn floorboards of Kalyna’s apartment next to the library. Rust stood sentinel at the window, muscles coiled beneath his rumpled shirt, scanning the grounds below for any sign of threat. The third perimeter check in as many hours had revealed nothing, yet his lion remained restless.

From here, he could see the library’s side entrance across the street. Kalyna had the shortest commute he’d ever seen. But the short distance gave him some peace of mind that she didn’t have to go far at night to get home.

But he knew anyone wanting to get to her, still could. The thought made his animal emit a low growl.

Behind him, Kalyna’s dark hair spilled across the pillows of the antique four-poster bed. Her scent—old books and fox magic, now tinged with the bitter remnants of foxbane—filled the small room. Rust inhaled deeply, cataloging the subtle changes in her condition through the night. The poison’s sharp notes had faded, but not enough.

A soft murmur drew him to her side. Without hesitation, he sat on the edge of the bed, his weight causing the ancient frame to creak in protest. He brushed his knuckles across her cheek, allowing himself the luxury of this touch now that she slept. Her skin burned warm beneath his fingers, the sensation sending a surge of possessive pleasure through his core.

Kalyna’s eyelashes fluttered, then parted to reveal warm brown irises. “You’re here.”

“Where else would I be?” Rust kept his hand at her cheek, refusing to surrender this connection now that she’d awakened.

Her gaze traveled to the window where sunlight streamed fully into the room. “Running a town? Attending meetings? Mayoral... things?”

“All handled.” His thumb traced her jawline, gratified when she leaned into his touch rather than pulling away. The golden light caught the copper threads in her hair, and his fingers itched to bury themselves in it.

“You can’t cancel?—”

“Already done.” He scooted closer, deliberately invading her space. “The town will survive a day without me.”

“People will talk,” she whispered, but her pupils dilated as he leaned in, his face inches from hers.

“Let them.” A growl resonated beneath his words. “Someone tried to eliminate your magic.” His hand slid to cup the back of her neck, fingers threading through her hair exactly as he’d imagined. “That someone will answer to me.”

The intensity of his declaration hung between them. Kalyna’s pulse quickened beneath his palm—he could feel it, track it, his lion senses honing in on every physical response.

“I never thanked you properly,” she said, “for what you did at the festival.”

Instead of answering, Rust closed the remaining distance between them, capturing her lips with his. The kiss carried none of the hesitation of their previous encounters—this was a claiming, deliberate and unhurried. He angled her head, deepening the connection, his other hand moving to her waist to draw her closer.

Her magic sparked at the contact, crimson light dancing across his skin. He pulled back just enough to see the flare of red in her eyes, his lion purring at this visible evidence of her desire.

“That’s thanks enough,” he murmured against her mouth before reclaiming it.

When he finally released her, Kalyna’s cheeks flushed pink, her breathing uneven. “I should rest more.”

“You should.” He made no move to create distance between them. Instead, his fingers continued their exploration, tracing the delicate line of her collarbone exposed by her nightgown. “Elder Willow’s instructions.”

From the shelf beside the bed, he retrieved a worn leather volume. “Chronicles of the Great Division,” he explained as her eyebrow rose in question. “Research on the Concordance.”

A soft laugh escaped her. “Of course, you brought homework to my sickbed.”

“Would you prefer I read it to you?” The suggestion came with a predatory smile, one that exposed the sharp edge of his canines.

Her breath caught. “I would, actually.”

Rust considered the cramped armchair beside the bed, then ignored it. Instead, he moved beside her on the bed, his back against the headboard, one arm sliding behind her shoulders to draw her against his chest.

“Comfortable?” He pitched his voice low, direct evidence of what he’d already learned she responded to. The shiver that ran through her body confirmed his strategy’s success.

“Yes,” she admitted, settling against him.

The hours melted as his deep baritone filled the small apartment, transforming dry historical accounts into something vibrant. He altered his approach based on her reactions —lingering on sections that caught her interest, explaining obscure terminology, deliberately brushing his lips against her temple whenever her attention wavered.