Hyran Thornfell was stuck between two grown-ass men who were both making sounds that belonged in a bathing chamber with the water running.
To his left, Dexmon was grunting. Full constipated face. To his right, Gavriel was giving birth.
Hyran caught Hale's eye. Hale looked away so fast he nearly pulled a muscle. Seat swap denied. No take-backs. Someone had to be in between this testosterone sandwich and apparently that was him. Wonderful. Truly. A once-in-a-lifetime seating opportunity.
Both ends of the sandwich were having a moment.
Dexmon was mid-crisis when the pieces started snapping together. Realization bombs hit in sequence, each a middle finger. Realization. Worse realization. Another completely fucked one.
To start with, she was the only woman here. In a den of Alphas. At an emergency war summit. The last time she attended one of these, she almost died. Literally, Viremont had choked her. The memory hit him like a horse kick. What the hell was she thinking?
