“Oh, Jesus,” Ezra muttered under his breath quietly, then more loudly, “Just behave.”
Clyde’s chest heaved as he hopped to Bonnie. He flat out threw himself on top of her, lying on her haphazardly and nuzzling his head against hers when she grunted. He kept this up until she quieted, lying her paw on top of his head, their noses together. When her eyes closed, Clyde’s gaze left her face for a heartbeat to narrow at West before it found her face again, and closed peacefully.
“What in the world?” Pearl muttered in awe.
Ezra sat down slowly, reaching across the table to pet their now sleeping forms. “Our lions don’t hate each other. Or us.” He ran a finger over Bonnie’s small head. “They’re friends.” He paused, then said quickly, “I think Clyde was afraid West was going to hurt her.”
Um, yeah. I didn’t need to scent the air to know that was a blatant lie.
That was Clyde jealous.
“Well, at least the male’s…” King Nelson’s jaw gently shut as West bounded forward and butted his head against Ezra’s face.
Ezra froze, but all the cub did was nuzzle his head against Ezra’s cheek twice before bouncing to me and rubbing his furry back under my chin where I had leaned over to pet Clyde and Bonnie, then bounce to Pearl and flop down in front of her, again staring at Buttercup.
Jack blinked. Blinked again. Then snatched West off the table, saying, “I’m going to take him to the bathroom to clean his ear off.” I was pretty sure I had never seen him move so quickly without actually running.
Into the silence I cleared my throat. “Why didn’t the current Kings get an animal as Prodigies?”
Cahal answered, “Because it means you four will be the Rulers before the war technically begins.” His gaze traveled to King Venclaire as he raised a questioning eyebrow.
I swallowed hard. War wasn’t that far off.
King Venclaire stood and glanced at King Fergus. “Should we wait for Jack to return?”
King Fergus nodded.
King Venclaire began pacing at the far end of the table, ignoring how Buttercup growled at his movement, as he waited for Jack to return.
A quick peek at Ezra didn’t help, because his gaze was hooded and not on my face. He had rocked back onto two legs of his chair and was balancing effortlessly with his arms crossed as he stared covertly at my cleavage, my leaning position over the table giving him an excellent view. Too bad I hadn’t planned it that way, but maybe I should have. Well, at least right now I had gotten the outfit right.
“Is that a new dress?” King Kincaid asked skeptically into the somewhat hush, as the Elders and Kings had begun talking quietly amongst themselves.
My gaze snapped to him. “Yep, you like?” It wasn’t normal Shifter wear. He may not approve.
He eyed it. “Can you shift easily?”
Ah. The main concern. “Yes, it’s more functional than my normal clothes.” I pulled back the coat, showing my side. “It has a side zipper so I can remove it easily, and I’m not wearing anything under it.” I shrugged. Easy shifting.
Thump.
King Kincaid had been in the process of nodding in approval, but everyone went quiet as their attention turned to the Vampire across from me.
Ezra had toppled back in his chair to the floor.
I couldn’t see him because of the table, but from the ground I heard him mutter, “Fucking shit.” He blurred, and he was on his feet, brushing off his clothes. He waved a negligent hand, not looking at anyone. “Just lost my balance. I’m fine.” He sat his chair to rights.
“You sure, son?” his dad drawled lazily.
Ezra did glance at him. His gaze was blank. It would have been perfect if his cheeks weren’t flushed. “Yes. I’m fine.”
King Venclaire’s lips twitched. “Perhaps you should sit in your seat correctly from now on.”
Ezra grunted, his fingers tight on the back of his chair.
“So, what have we heard…,” King Kincaid began asking, and I tuned him out.
‘Cause Ezra was beginning to agitatedly remove his robe with movements that were just a touch too quick. I barely withheld my grin, watching him. I knew exactly what he was doing. The man had just fallen out of his chair at my words, and now he was trying to even the score, since he had embarrassed himself. It wasn’t my fault that saying I was wearing no underwear had made his concentration falter.
But his body still had its normal impact on me. He wore a thermal white shirt, a pair of holey blue jeans that hugged his hips, and a belt with a black buckle. Simple, and quickly thrown together since he had been working that morning, the combination hugged his hard body to perfection, his mocha skin gleaming. Lord, have mercy.
And the fucker went and turned around, sauntering to the bar to grab a drink. And the back half of his clothes molded just as perfectly as the front did. His back muscles moved under his white thermal like a cat’s — the Vampire’s Vizoac was a great representation — and his ass tightened with the movement, those long, defined legs hardening with each step.