Aza crouched, folding her arms on the edge of the tub and setting her chin upon them, gazing up from beside Dean's elbow. "Bitten? Cursed? I was<em> born.</em>From a mother, with a sister," she told him with a blink, as if she found his speculation on the origin of fox-shifters to be amusingly preposterous. When he reached for her ear she tilted her cheek to his hand obligingly, eyes half-closed.<br/><br/>"Donovan," she repeated, each syllable carefully enunciated. "Donovan has done no thing<em> nice</em>," she disagreed. "Helping to steal a happy fox from her lofty home, not nice. Bringing her here to this place, less nice. What 'nice' things Donovan might do next, I fear to think. And you are worse, you claim?" She stretched out an arm to drift her knuckles across his chest, studying the difference in the tones of their flesh before looking back up at his black-again eyes. Like his coloring and the quality of his smile, his scent varied. It was always pleasing, but to Aza's keen animal senses, it was of an entirely different person than had begun this little expedition. Again, whatever changed about him was not illusory but very physical. No,<em>elemental.</em>Her hand dipped into the water, taking up bubbles to let lazily drip down her fingers, and as she watched the droplets bead and run over his rugged body, he could probably tell that, should he reply, she was no longer listening.<br/><br/>She was up and into the tub with hardly a splash, straddling his thighs with her hands splayed along the hard ridges of his abdomen, and she leaned up, nuzzling the bridge of her nose against the rough line of his jaw until her soft lips met his throat. For being something supposedly once dead, his pulse was strong beneath her open mouth, and his warm breath raised gooseflesh as it fell upon her exposed skin. Her teeth were on him, small and sharp and no longer exactly<em> friendly</em>, and as her wet fingertips slid over his smoothed hair and reached beyond him, her spine arched to press her breasts to the solidity of his heavily muscled torso. "I want you..."<br/><br/>She sank back to sit over his knees, dropping the comb from the nearby table onto his chest. "To brush me," she concluded. One simply could not braid hair of her length whilst it was mussed.