Marinah is in my arms, in my bed, and asleep with one leg thrown over mine and a pillow covering her head. The small fingers of her right hand lay possessively on my chest and it's been like this for hours. When I move, she uses me like a pillow and realigns herself for maximum comfort.
It's late, sometime around three in the morning.
"Marinah," I whisper. Her answering grumble makes me smile. "I want to go hunting."
Her lax body instantly goes rigid. "For hellhounds?" she asks huskily from beneath the pillow.
I pull it away and her mass of hair is covering half her face. Pushing the strands back, I kiss her nose. "For hellhounds."
She flies out of bed and shifts seamlessly before I remind her she should put her pants on first to avoid ripping her legs up with her claws that she's sti
