Chapter Nine
Bayne lunged from the bed, yanking on his sweats with such force the denim nearly tore. Whoever stood at that door had just signed their death warrant. If Vaughn had tracked them here, the promise he’d made to let the crows eat the son of a bitch would become reality.
Glancing back, he saw Clint scrambling into his scrubs, bare ass flashing as he flailed for balance. The sight sent heat curling through Bayne's belly despite his rage. Their time together had barely begun, but apparently murder needed to come first before he could worship his mate properly.
“Hang back,” Bayne said, dying to take Clint back to bed and forget the world existed outside their four walls.
He stalked down the hall as his wolf shot so close to the surface it blurred the edge of his vision.
The beast wanted blood. The urge to shift flickered in his bones, promising pain if things got ugly.
The floorboards creaked under his bare feet, followed by the hush of Clint’s steps behind him. A quick glance over his shoulder was all it took to remind Bayne what was at stake.
His mate, hastily dressed, came right along, despite the warning Bayne had given him. Even covered in sex sweat with a fresh bitemark on his shoulder, Clint was the most beautiful man Bayne had ever seen.
At the door, Bayne held up a warning hand. “Stay back,” he said, voice already rough. Apparently, the wolf was helping with the vocabulary now, too.