The fox's tongue sliding across his shells was ticklish, especially with his body so hypersensitive from its active recovery.
He tried to get the little creature to stop, but it wouldn't. It was impressively stubborn, almost absurdly obstinate.
What was even stranger was that the more of his blood it licked off and drank, the larger it became, growing from the size of a little dog and rapidly reaching that of a hound.
And then growing more.
Its bones lengthened and thickened, layers of flesh multiplying as its blood surged without end. Its aura swelled by the second, rising from a flickering spark to a burning flame to an all-consuming brazier.
Uriel was once again taken aback.
It felt as if he'd blinked and suddenly a massive beast was standing over him, gnawing at him as though he were nothing more than a snack.
But the fox wasn't threatening—not yet, at least—and there wasn't much he could do either way, so he simply waited, doing his best to ignore the creature.
