When the Duke’s minions dumped the “poison,” nothing happened. The pack drank deeply. Perdita, in her towering wolf form, lifted her head and sniffed the air. She caught Edmund’s scent—ancient, dusty, and laced with expensive cologne—lingering by the stream bank.
This last event caused Edmund a moment of profound horror. As her laugh—a genuine, warm, lupine roar—echoed off his granite walls, he felt something stir in the desiccated raisin of his chest. A thump. Then another.
She found him later, trying to scrub wolfbane rash off his fingertips with a pumice stone.
The problem was twofold. First, Perdita was a werewolf . Their clans had a truce, but a romance? It was taboo. The Vampire Council would have him exsanguinated. The Wolf Pack would have her de-tailed. Second—and far more terrifying—she didn’t seem to care about his status, his fortune, or his carefully cultivated aura of menace. She liked him for his wit . Blackadder Monster Sex 05
“Is it a crunchy one, my lord? I get those when I eat gravel.”
It was, as Edmund would never, ever admit out loud, the least inconvenient feeling he’d ever had.
She didn’t excuse him. She crossed the room, took his raw, reddened hands in her warm, calloused ones, and kissed him. It was not a gentle kiss. It was a kiss of teeth, of near-misses, of a werewolf and a vampire finding a surprisingly comfortable middle ground. For a moment, Edmund forgot to be cynical. His heart didn’t just lurch. It raced . When the Duke’s minions dumped the “poison,” nothing
“Wit is my armor!” Edmund wailed to a stuffed raven. “It’s not meant to be… appealing !”
“I saved you ,” Edmund corrected, wincing. “The rest of your flea-bitten family were a regrettable side effect. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have an appointment with a calamine lotion.”
Perdita grinned. “Knew it. You’re not a monster, Edmund. You’re just a grumpy cat who needs a good walk.” She caught Edmund’s scent—ancient, dusty, and laced with
Edmund recoiled, smoothing his lapels. “Madam, I am not glum. I am superior . There is a difference. And kindly refrain from touching. I bruise like a peach, and I’m worth more than your entire pack’s flea-ridden fortune.”
Baldrick, watching from the shadows, nodded sagely. “See?” he whispered to the stuffed raven. “Told you. Even monsters need a turnip.”
