Kael let out a long sigh, rubbing the bridge of his muzzle before looking back at her. His violet eyes met her crimson gaze, reflections mingling like sparks of opposing fire. For a wolf, he was tall and broad-shouldered, his frame cut with disciplined strength. His pelt was mostly black but shifted into brown at the roots, with gray tips that gave him a striking countershaded look across his torso. When he smiled, his sharp canines made the expression both disarming and dangerous.

“They don’t mean that kind of playing, Nanuq,” he said gently.

The fox leaned closer, studying the subtle changes in his face as though they were puzzles. Kael’s discomfort, she knew, stemmed not only from her behavior but her form — a deliberate paradox. Though her body emulated a female anthro, it lacked defining sexual traits: no nipples, no pubic mound, nothing but smooth, featureless fur over small, round breasts and a seamless pelvis. Kael had begged her more than once to wear clothes. She almost never did. “Why should I?” she’d argue. “There is nothing to hide.”

Privately, she found his unease entertaining. He was brilliant, her creator, but endlessly predictable in this one way.

“What do you mean?” she asked now, ears flicking as her lips curved in a sly approximation of a smile. “What other meaning is there, Kael?”