"Looks like the cat kicked your butt again." He knew he'd face capital punishment for the remark. If the death-rays powering up behind her near-colorless blue eyes were any indication, his end would be clean and swift. Emboldened by the inevitable, Marques embraced his executioner and sought reprieve in the crook of her neck.

Mercy help me, Loewyn thought. Auburn hair styled by low hanging branches, jacket and khakis grass stained, and goodness only knew what she'd stepped into that made her running shoes reek, yet in her husband's arms she felt like a newly crowned Miss Universe, whose wish for world peace suddenly became reality. As she savored the not-so-gentle nips to her neck, Loewyn tenderly cupped the side of his face, and whispered, "Bastard."

In no rush to leave the tranquility that was Marques, Loewyn contented herself to stand in the open doorway until exhaustion won out. She and a team of elected peacekeepers had been in pursuit of a rogue were-saber who'd been harassing the elderly residents of their mixed community. Though the Tepes Conflict ended well over a hundred years ago, many humans and weres still clung to the old ways. Their community was only one in a slow growing number of such places, that humans and were-animals lived for the most part peacefully. It was one reason she and Marques decided to settle here. The saber had to be caught, and by the book. Loewyn doubted anyone would survive another war.

Loewyn wasn't sure how long she stood with her head rested on Marques shoulder; before Chico's familiar yaps caught her attention. Nor was it easy for her to hide the wicked delight she felt, as her husband's chest began to rumble with the beginnings of a low growl. As beta male of the largest werewolf pack in the country, he wasn't accustomed to having his dominance challenged so unceremoniously. Of course, the fact that her six-foot three, two hundred-thirty pound, big bad wolf felt the rights to his female weren't being respected wasn't lost on her. 

  "You have no rival, love," she whispered into his chest, then slowly through the fabric of his tee shirt, pulled his nipple into her mouth, for a quick nip of her own. While still in his arms, Loewyn took a reluctant step back in order to look into his face, and was pleased with the effects wrought by a little reassurance. His bittersweet cocoa hue took on a subtle glow, as his rust colored eyes became ringed with amber and heavily lidded. A smirk--tinted by something primal--shaped his full and slightly parted lips, a signal Loewyn knew well, as she backed out of his embrace to shut the front door. Somehow she didn't think the neighborhood would appreciate the eminent performance.

Determined not to be outdone by the interloping wolf, Chico, their Miniature Schnauzer, sprinted past Marques, head first into his master's ankle. Incessantly his tail wagged with spiteful glee, when his master's posture shifted as she regarded her mate. Marques’ resentment toward all dogs was apparent. He considered canines to be nothing more than very distant and dimwitted cousins, who debased themselves for handouts and belly rubs. He particularly took great pleasure in what he deemed Chico's humiliation. Fixated with the idea the family pet was affecting a coup for her affections, Marques sought ever creative ways to prove the dog's inferiority.

Eyes wide with disbelief, Loewyn was ready to accept her husband had lost his mind. Chico clambered at her leg dressed in a full leather bondage outfit and matching mask. The pullover was studded, as were the matching crotchless pants, and the mask, she noted, had cutouts for the dog's eyes, ears, and muzzle.                                                  

                                                                           


Loewyn thought her eyes must have been deceiving her; as she stooped down to better inspect what dangled from the dog's throat. Attached on either side by thin leather straps was a small red ball, which made an effective gag when placed in the dog's mouth.

                                                                             

Having sensed his victory snatched from the jaws of his rival, Chico spared a defiant glance at Marques, before rolling over and presenting his belly, ready to receive his much anticipated reward.  

"You do know this is a mood buster, right," Loewyn remarked, as she scooped Chico into her arms, and started toward the living room. She'd spent most of the day following leads that she believed pointed to a juvenile saber tooth were-lion, attempting to take over a local pride. Now she wondered if the rogue juvenile hadn't been closer to home.

Marques watched with some concern as his wife slumped onto the sofa, and fumbled with the closures on Chico's outfit. While her disapproval was expected, the resigned tone he detected in her voice gave him pause. He knew this particular case could be troublesome, and suspected Loewyn had taken the fate of their community on as her personal responsibility. Too much heart, in too little a frame, Marques thought, as he started for the living room to comfort his wife.

***

To say Chico didn't take advantage of Marques' sudden change in mood would have been a bald-faced lie. The bedroom was their sanctuary. It was also the only room in the house; where the dog was absolutely not allowed. The fact that Chico ran in sporadic circles all over the place, while Marques went about preparing a bath for her without so much as a nasty look, made Loewyn appreciate her husband all the more.
                                                                       

Even if the master bath hadn’t been adjoined to their bedroom, Marques' keen hearing would have still alerted him to the fact that Chico was now under their bed. No doubt the mutt was scrounging for a pair of his shoes. An almost lethal sensuality radiated through his groin, as he thought of new games to play with the little darling. One way or another that mutt was going to respect his rank in their home.

As he leaned against the doorway of their adjoining bath, Marques considered the lack of progress her patrol was having locating the saber. What they needed was a tracker, someone who could spot the signs her patrol obviously missed. "I know my status in the pack worries you, Loe, but you really need my help on this one. I wish you'd reconsider letting me go out on patrol with you."

"Don't you have enough problems being married to a human; must you add beast-basher to the list as well?" Marques would be pack leader already, if he'd been practical and accepted his Uncle's offer. All things considered, it was a livable compromise. Marques would take an older female as his mate, one who was well past child-bearing years. In this way, the pack could keep face and Loewyn, as well as any children they had, would gain full acceptance from the pack. In truth she'd still be Marques’s only wife, except in title. While she was willing to swallow her pride for his benefit, Marques surprised everyone and walked away from his pack. He'd told his Uncle in the presence of the full council, that he'd rather go rogue, than disrespect his wife in such a manner.

"I'm not totally ostracized, Loe. I can challenge my Uncle for leadership. I'd win too, and he knows it."

"And how many challenges would you face from those who think as he does?" Loewyn felt the old regrets threaten to overtake her exhaustion, and overwhelm her completely. All she wanted was to soak in a hot bath, secured in her husband's embrace. But Marques had clearly shifted into protect mode, and she could think of only one thing that would distract him.

Marques’ eyes bled to pure amber as he watched his wife's slow and methodical striptease. He knew it was a blatant attempt to sidetrack their discussion, not that he minded. As he examined every inch of her lush, full figured frame, he hoped for nothing less than a lifetime together. He loved his mate more than his next breath, and her wellbeing, both mentally and physically, was his first priority. Since she was determined to table the discussion for now, he'd force himself to indulge her for the moment.

Loewyn watched in amazement at the speed in which her husband disposed of his clothes. His body was poetic without being overdone, and she loved the predatory grace of his movements. Loewyn offered him a tender smile as she took his hand and followed him into the bathroom. Marques stepped into the tub first, then lifted Loewyn into his arms, and settled them both into the water.

Just as her eyes were about to close in much appreciated bliss, Chico burst into the room proudly dragging along his latest trophy. Loewyn sighed as she reached for the pink shopping bag emblazed with the brand 'Perfect Pooch'. Marques' chest trembled uncontrollably as he attempted to stifle his laughter. Unwilling to ruin her mood, Loewyn tossed the bag on top of the nearest cabinet, and issued a low growl of her own. "Don't you dare put doggie fashions on Chico!"