A flash of yellow streaks overhead. I look up, whipping my head around so that I can track the yellow dart as it shoots out over the Chaparral.
I blink. Was that a War-nary?
The undergrowth around us explodes with charging War-wolves. Gary rushes forward, pushing Howie, Bianca, and I toward a tree. This close to the Chaparral, the trunk is not as massive as the ones deep in the forest. But as a makeshift shelter, it’ll do.
“Luna?” Howie cries.
All I can do is shake my head as I watch about two dozen War-wolves sprint past us, shaking the ground with their pounding strides. They streak out into the Chaparral, traveling the same direction as the War-nary.
I look at Gary. He looks at me. And we’re totally on the same page.
Something bigger and badder than a mega-sized pack of War-wolves is coming.
A low, deep growl—more menacing than the War-wolves’—rumbles all around us…
“I don’t like it, either.” Pyx shrugs as he releases me and goes to the door. He starts ripping away the crushed metal edges of the door and jab that have served as a decent, low-tech lock for us. “If I could, I’d stay here rather than patrol.” He glances over at me and his eyes brighten with excitement. “Later, we could work on the drill together!”
We could, but I’ve lived with Jo for the past decade. I know her.
She’s up to something.
Grumbling, I shoo Pyx away from the now-irreparable door. “Step back, Pyx. You don’t want Gary to see you like this.”
I don’t want Gary, or anyone else, to see my mate like this.
Pyx is dressed in his ‘When Hidden Within The Bale’ flow-y pants that ride so deliciously low on his hips…
Seriously. The waistband clings to that perfect spot. You know, it’s that place where his lower abs meet his hipbones and form one hell of an Akuparian Adonis belt. His appearance is so casually comfortable yet unintentionally revealing that it’s achingly intimate.
And, apparently, my primal she-alpha-bits have pounced ahead a stage or two of our relationship—er, mateship with Pyx. We’re now at the stage where we’re so comfortable and familiar with one another that he can lounge around, half dressed with his ripped and drool-worthy torso exposed…
…While my feral, foaming-at-the-mouth she-alpha-bits prowl around him, snarling MINE. MINE. MINE.
So yeah. You better look elsewhere, Gary! This magnificent view is for my eyes only—
“Oh,” I yank the door open and there’s Gary. Blindfold on and everything…