The carriage ride back to the estate was entirely too loud.
Usually, when you cram four Warlords, a Sovereign, and a handful of hyperactive beast-cubs into a single enclosed space, the tension is palpable enough to cut with a knife. Today, however, the tension had been replaced by the overwhelming smell of wet dog, singed fur, and whatever chemical monstrosity Cassian had accidentally created.
I sat squished between Caspian and Rurik. Caspian was radiating a pleasant, cool dampness, his arm casually draped over the back of the seat behind my shoulders. On my other side, Rurik was practically vibrating with leftover adrenaline.
"PTA," Rurik muttered to himself, staring out the carriage window with a manic glint in his golden eyes. "Parent. Teacher. Association. A pack built entirely for the survival and dominance of the pups. It's brilliant. Why didn't I think of this sooner?"
