Shay Sheridan - Dark Side of the Moon

It was nearly dawn before they finally made it to bed. Wolf lay watching Virginia close the drapes against the gray-streaking sky. She crawled into bed next to her mate and Wolf felt more contented than he had in days. As Virginia settled herself against him, he suddenly turned and tenderly put his hand on her cheek. “I just realized...”

“What?”

He stroked her face. “You rescued ME this time.”

“I guess I did. Good for me!”

“I like it better the other way around.”

She poked him in the ribs. “Sexist.”

He gave her a puzzled look, which they both knew was a sham, as he understood perfectly what she meant. “Did you say ‘sexy?’ That’s one of my good points, as someone recently informed me.” She laughed. Then he grew serious. “You were very brave to come after me.”

She scoffed. “I was terrified. You have no idea.”

“But you came anyway. That’s what makes you brave.”

Wolf looked at the gray rectangle of the window and thought about the night, the park, the treacherous moon. Virginia studied his face, and softly asked, “So...is it all over now, until next full moon?”

“Yes.” He heard her sigh with relief. “Well...almost...”

He’d let the velvet tone back into his voice. “Wolf...?”

“Mmmmm...?” He moved until he was leaning over her, gave her a lingering look, and then began to kiss softly down her throat. She sighed, and he kissed back up to her mouth.

Sleep was forgotten.

But the moon, which had tortured Wolf mercilessly, suddenly relented, and granted him a parting gift, for suddenly all of his senses expanded to their limits. He felt Virginia’s skin, softer than the finest silk, yet it burned him like a thousand suns; colors that had never existed exploded before his eyes; his nose was filled with infinite variations of Virginia’s scent, and he could hear her breath and his and the cub’s heartbeat as they combined to form a perfect song of love and joy and ever after.

They lay quietly in the bed watching the dawn. It had been a long, arduous night, and it had ended as it had begun, in passion.

But Virginia was not quite ready for sleep.

“Wolf?”

“Mmm?”

“I have to know.”

“What?” His eyes flicked open.

She sat up and looked at him. “Back in prison --”

Uh oh. What was coming? “Um, yes?”

“When you took that sleeping potion and were up on that parapet --” a glimmer of amusement played on her lips “-- what exactly we’re you singing?”

“Oh.” He sat up against the headboard and looked at her, relieved that her question had avoided other uncomfortable aspects of his imprisonment. “Just a little wolfie song. We all know it.”

“I’m waiting...”

He cleared his throat and began to sing, in a lusty and slightly off-key voice,

“100 tasty and succulent sheep,
100 bundles of fleece --
If while you are dining, one happens to bleat,
99 sheepies are left now to eat!

“99 tasty and succulent sheep,
99 bundles of fleece --
If while you are dining, one happens to bleat,
98 sheepies are left now to eat!

“98 — “

By the time he reached 90, her stomach hurt from laughing.

By 85 she had started hitting him with her pillow.

By 80 she was singing with him.

And so the day began.