Page 5 of The Purrfect Rival (Enchanted Falls #1)
FIVE
R ust slammed the mayoral office door behind him, his pulse still racing from the council meeting. The carved lion motifs along the wooden paneling seemed to watch him with judgmental eyes—generations of Leonid ancestors who’d never lost control in public.
He loosened his tie with an impatient tug. The scent of fox magic clung to him like an intoxicating perfume. Kalyna Foxworthy. Even thinking her name sent a surge of heat through his body.
Those eyes. Brown one moment, flashing crimson the next when their fingers had touched. The memory made his lion spirit pace restlessly beneath his skin.
“Well, that was quite a performance,” Hezron announced, pushing through the door without knocking. “Two hundred years of dignified restraint, and you nearly shifted in the middle of the council chamber.”
Rust dropped into the leather chair behind his grandfather’s mahogany desk. “I didn’t almost shift.”
“No? Because that growl-purr thing suggested otherwise.” Hezron perched on the edge of the desk, grinning. “What was it again?” He cleared his throat and produced an exaggerated rumbling sound.
“That sounds nothing like me.”
“Jinli’s face!” Hezron clutched his chest dramatically. “I thought she was going to fall right out of her chair. And old Lysander—did you see how his ears twitched? Classic fox suspicion response.”
Rust swiveled toward the window, hoping to hide the flush creeping up his neck. Outside, ancient trees framed a view of Enchanted Falls, the afternoon sun glinting off the mist-shrouded waterfall that gave the town its name.
“It was an involuntary reaction,” he muttered.
“Involuntary?” Hezron leaned forward. “Like breathing? Or like a lion responding to his mate?”
The word hit Rust like a physical blow. Mate. His lion roared in agreement, the sound echoing inside his head while memories of those moments with Kalyna flooded his senses.
Her scent—parchment and wild cherries with an undercurrent of fox magic that made his nostrils flare. The brush of her fingers against his, delicate yet strong, sending sparks dancing between them. The slight widening of her eyes when she’d felt it too—that electric recognition that had nothing to do with reason and everything to do with primal instinct.
“She’s not my mate,” Rust said, the words hollow even to his own ears.
“Your lion disagrees.” Hezron’s teasing tone softened. “I’ve known you since we were cubs, Rust. I’ve seen you with countless lionesses over the centuries—beautiful, powerful, perfectly suitable matches. Not once have I seen you react like that.”
Rust swiveled back, facing his oldest friend. “It complicates everything.”
“That’s putting it mildly.” Hezron picked up the library renovation folder. “The head librarian and the mayor—scandal enough without adding fox-lion politics to the mix.”
The ancient feud between their clans wasn’t active warfare anymore, but centuries of distrust didn’t disappear overnight. Lions valued strength, directness, and established hierarchies. Foxes thrived on cunning, adaptability, and fluid social structures. Their fundamental approaches to life remained at odds, even in peaceful times.
“The elders would never approve,” Rust said.
“Since when do you care about approval? You became an investment banker when the pride wanted you to study law. You built a financial empire instead of focusing solely on Enchanted Falls. You’ve never played by their rules.”
“This is different.” Rust stood, pacing between the bookshelves. “Taking the mayoral position was my concession to tradition. It’s what my father wanted, what my mother needed after he died.”
The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the room, illuminating a portrait of his father in formal mayoral regalia. Augustus Leonid had led Enchanted Falls for nearly a century before his death, continuing the unbroken line of Leonid leadership that stretched back to the town’s founding.
Hezron watched him pace. “So you’ll ignore what happened? Pretend your lion didn’t recognize her fox?”
Rust paused before a display case holding ceremonial artifacts from previous Leonid mayors—golden chains of office, ancient seals, the ceremonial key to the town. Symbols of duty and tradition.
“I need to focus on the library renovation,” he said firmly. “The west wing could collapse without immediate intervention. The entire town depends on that knowledge repository.”
“Convenient distraction.” Hezron straightened, his expression growing serious. “But I saw how you looked at her, Rust. How you couldn’t take your eyes off her during her presentation. The way you tracked her movements like...” He grinned suddenly. “Like a lion eyeing his favorite prey.”