JACK-EYE
Waves of dominance brush against the SUV as we roll up to the boondocking spot. I kill the engine, but don't move right away. I'm in no rush to jump into the shitstorm brewing outside.
Lyre and Caine stand about ten feet apart, locked in some kind of standoff. Her rainbow hair seems to catch non-existent wind while he's rigid and ready to attack.
The pressure wave of their combined power crashes against the car windows.
"This is gonna be great," Andrew mutters. He's getting pretty mouthy.
I grunt in response. The question is whose side I'm taking when things go nuclear. Loyalty says Caine, but my dick has other ideas, especially with Lyre's ass so perfectly molded by her jeans.
Owen doesn't hesitate. The car's barely stopped when he flings the door open and takes off toward the RV, not even glancing at the supernatural pissing contest. His stride is long, purposeful—a man with his mind on one thing only.
