As the raging impulse surged within him, Yves, driven by a turbulent mix of emotions, shed his own clothes and stepped into the steam-filled cubicle.
The air, already thick with tension, became saturated with the palpable energy of their unspoken history.
Clyde, seemingly unfazed by the intrusion, turned off the shower with calm deliberation.
He pivoted around to face Yves, water droplets trailing down his chiseled form.
The Alpha met the blond's gaze, locking onto a pair of brown foxy eyes that hinted at nothing but an incoming storm.
Clyde, acutely aware of the ticking clock and the pressing urgency of Morgan's condition, felt the weight of responsibility pressing down on him.
Earlier, the guards who sought him out in the forest had communicated through silent hand signs, indicating that Morgan, the little boy, had fallen suddenly ill. Clyde had to go and see him soon.
