Yesterday, when Rowan was still in the thick of his heat, panic gripped him the moment Dylan's voice echoed through the inn door.
For a fleeting second, he thought Zalyric was with him and his chest tightened as a shiver ran down his spine. His whole body trembled at the sound, a shudder that left him gasping. A whimper slipped past his lips before he clamped a hand over his mouth, biting back the sound, desperate to stay unnoticed.
Then, after a moment that felt impossibly long, Paul's voice carried through the door. Relief washed over him, mingling with the unbearable ache coiling inside his body. There was no time to linger or eavesdrop further—his body was betraying him in another way. The pressure in his bladder demanded immediate action; heat or not, he had to relieve himself.
Outside the door, the conversation continued, muffled but tense.
"Sir? What brings you here?" Paul's tone was polite, but tight with caution.
