…he was going to rip her face off, he realized dimly. Clean off her skull. Who did this punk as yearling think she was, shoving herself up in Askan’s space like…
El frío te está llegando, Reyes, he muttered to himself, ears pressed flat against his skull. He stared back at those baby blues, brows furrowed deeply. He was tempted to snap back, something about territory, or damn right she was a little piece of hell, but other wolves seemed to have had the same idea and seemed to be flooding into the pack den. (No wonder he didn’t generally like this place.)
Remington was regarded warily, as was Adelayde – but neither made any effort to curl up against him, and some of the bristling seemed to stop. At least they weren’t all super squishy, he realized with some relief, and allowed his ears to relax before the tension headache grew any more. He might have made a remark about snowbanks, but Askan was pushing further into his space. It should have been relaxing, but—
“Oi, güey! No mames!” Who the fuck did this guy think he was, spraying snow all over everyone? Didn’t he realize they were trying to get out of the goddamn storm? “We ain’t tryin’ to catch our death, yeah? Don’t be stupid. Keep the snow outside.”