“So grumpy.” He cuts me off as if he knows what troubles me. “Are you approaching a shed?” I make an annoyed sound that is much more hiss-like than I mean to. Our kind sheds our old skin a few times a year. It’s an unpleasant and itchy process. “You can’t say I’m grumpy just because I’m fighting you on something.” I should have said disagreeing, fighting between us holds significance. “But I love when you fight me,” Ari says, not one to ever miss out on saying something suggestive. His smile is wide and his fangs flash.
