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Summary
"What about Rudo?" He said, urgent, just a hint of a snarl. He took an aborted step forward and stopped, settling for resting his weight on one leg and jiggling the other to let out his restless energy.
"He's, shit, get BACK from him Zanka! I'm not joking!" Another indiscriminate yell, a pained sound followed by cursing. "I think he's presenting!"
He let out a sigh through clenched teeth. Well, fuck. This wasn't exactly a common occurance among the Cleaners but it wasn't exactly rare. Corvus was never picky about recruiting young, after all, and he knew Bro lived in fear of the day Dear and Gita hit that particular milestone and was hoping against hope it wouldn't happen when they were out in the field.
Like he said: he always got the shittiest luck.
"You know the procedure, Gris." He grunted, regretting putting out his cig. He should've known Rudo would turn out to be an aggressive alpha on rut-brain. He was aggressive enough when he was completely sober-minded.
"He's not an alpha!" Gris all but hollered, and Enjin's entire body locked up.
"He's-" He started to say, but Gris cut him off.
"I think he's a Prime, Enjin!"
Fuck.