Lord Jethro could not believe himself.
He could not believe that he- Lord Jethro, the enigma who ruled packs with absolute authority was currently crouched beneath a bed, pressed flat against the floor like a reckless teenager sneaking around with someone whose parents would have their head if they were discovered.
The absurdity of it burned almost as much as the humiliation would if he were found.
He didn't even want to imagine it.
If anyone saw him like this, if a guard bent down and caught sight of his boots beneath the bed frame, he was certain he would rather die than live another day carrying that memory.
Power, respect, fear… all of it would be stained forever by this single moment of ridiculous exposure.
When Grey had told the guards that no one had entered the room, Jethro had genuinely believed that would be the end of it. They would leave. He would slip out unseen. He would put distance between himself and this place, this room, this impossible situation.
