Ghian
He could feel the Moon even in broad daylight inside his cave—where he and Aalyan had eventually returned to fall asleep among the few furs that had survived their night of passion. He’d need to scrub the rest himself, no way was he accepting help from any members of his pack with that—he couldn’t stand the thought of anyone else getting to smell his mate’s most intimate scent.
Aalyan still slept, face hidden against Ghian’s bicep, short hair messy. He wondered if the length was a matter of preference or practicality. In his pack letting your hair grow was natural, just like letting your Jaguar out or dancing—the body asked, you gave.
Ghian liked feeling the wind in his hair, just like he enjoyed it on his far more sensitive fur in his jaguar form.
And he liked running his finger
