Perdita only grinned, her canines lengthening. “Ooh, prickly. I like it. Want to go howl at the moon? I promise not to chase you too hard.”
He thought of Perdita’s laugh. Her terrible table manners. The way she’d nuzzled his cold hand once, her wolf form’s rough tongue surprisingly gentle.
Edmund learned of the plot during a tedious card game. He had a choice: do nothing, preserve his social standing, and watch Perdita suffer a slow, agonizing transformation into a very expensive paperweight. Or intervene, make a mortal enemy of Duke Malvolio, and potentially get his own head mounted on a pike. Blackadder Monster Sex 05
“Count Blackadder!” Perdita boomed, clapping him on the back so hard a century of dust puffed from his velvet coat. “Heard you’ve been moping in that crypt for a generation. Cheer up! Eternal damnation doesn’t have to be so glum.”
But every evening, just before dawn, Perdita would curl up at the foot of his coffin, her wolf form a warm, heavy weight against his cold feet. And Edmund, the cynic, the sneerer, the Lord of the Carpathian Vale, would allow himself one small, secret smile before the sun rose. Perdita only grinned, her canines lengthening
Part One: A Most Unwelcome Throb
“I don’t howl,” Edmund said, aghast. “I intone .” Want to go howl at the moon
When they broke apart, he was dizzy. “Well,” he said, straightening his cravat. “That was… deeply unsanitary. And yet. I find myself not entirely opposed to a repeat performance.”
Baldrick looked alarmed. “Shall I fetch the priest, my lord? Or the vet?”