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Summary
"Wouldn’t get too close if I was you,” Riggs says as Jesse edges up towards them, just on the other side of a streak of red spray paint on the concrete.
As if on cue the shifter with green scales moves like lightning, faster than Jesse can follow with his eyes. He snarls at the end of his chain, claws swiping at empty air scarcely an inch from Jesse’s face. His bares his teeth, hissing. He’s furious.
He’s beautiful. Another inch and he’d have slit Jesse’s throat. Arousal surges through him unbidden, all twisted up with shame; these two have been through enough already without Jesse ogling them, but he can’t help himself. His wires have always been crossed like that.
Fear comes, as it often should, but it rarely comes alone.