13
Juniper
Tas clearly didn’t know how to share a bed but he liked to snuggle. He sprawled in the center, on his stomach, with one arm tossed over her hip and his tail around her ankle in a possessive grip. Juniper kept inching closer to the edge, trying to make herself small, but he’d drag her back. For a guy who claimed he didn’t want attachments, he was a cuddler.
Her bladder woke her before dawn. She tried to slip away but his arm weighed heavy on her hip. Too heavy.
“Tas? I need to get up,” she muttered, sleepily. She pushed at his arm; it did not budge and was cool to the touch. Alert now, she twisted around.
With his face perfectly composed, Tas was a deep granite gray, completely made of stone, and asleep.
Her fingers skated down his nose and tapped his lips.
No response. Th
