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Nobody moves for a moment as Shane stares the woman down, and he’s seconds away from sawing the damn thing off himself, when the woman nods to the men surrounding the hybrid. And then there’s a flurry of movement, a clicking sound and then the men stand back to reveal Ilya in his bare faced glory, unobstructed by the muzzle.
Shane takes him in, inhaling softly at the sharp cheekbones, the moles dusted over his face, the pillowy lips that are set in a firm, displeased line. Shane wonders how big his fangs are. If he was a fighter, they must have been sharpened regularly.
Shane doesn’t want to think about the damage this wall of a hybrid had inflicted on others, the damage he could inflict on Shane. The hybrid stares at him, expression hard to determine but the intensity of it has Shane holding back a shiver. He’s staring at Shane like he can see every thought inside of him, calculating. As if they were on opposing sides of a ring, ready for the bell to chime and for Ilya to go in for the kill.
Shane gets roped into fostering a troublesome hybrid with a bad track record. Except what begins as a cordial arrangement turns into something much more complicated.
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