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“You?” I repeat. Hunter’s so patient and gentle when he teaches me.
But his brown eyes glow with mischief, and I swallow.
I’m getting special treatment.
“Him,” Orion confirms. “He’s the only one who ever gets challenged from our pack.”
“Not…?” My gaze sweeps to Finn and Jett—but they both have the cold, coiled readiness of pro fighters. Even I’m tempted to see how I compare.
Jett shrugs. “I was challenged once.”
Finn covers his heart and gives a wistful sigh. “Someday.”
Never mind.
It wouldn’t be a challenge. They’d just slit your throat. Jett would do it surgically while Finn danced in the blood.
“Can’t you give the challenge?” I ask.
“Hypothetically,” Atlas answers. “Anyone can challenge anyone, but the goal’s to let the teams burn off steam. It’s not for us to flex on our subordinates.”
But I wanna see them flex.
I lick my lips.
A growl rumbles in Atlas’s chest, quickly echoed by the other Wyverns.
Oops.
“Invite the Sorensens.” Hunter clears his throat. “It’ll be a party.”
“I don’t think they want to watch MMA.”
“But you do,” Orion says.
Hell yes I do.
Preferably if Wyverns are shirtless and in cages. “It sounds fun.”
“Can they make tonight?” Hunter asks.
I text Catherine.
She passes the message to the Sorensens while the Wyverns explore the mysteries of pancake batter.
It’s a mess.
They tried to make blueberry happy faces and ended up with bloody-smiled nightmares that are lumpy and cute and kind of look like Finn.
So my heart’s already swollen when Atlas cuts up my short stack, drenches it in syrup and offers me the first bite direct from his thick fucking fingers.
I take the bite with an extra lick that leaves him rumbly and hot-eyed, and me questioning whether I shouldn’t just borrow his knot.
You know.
Just to see if I like it?
Then my phone vibrates.
