The air inside the yurt was thick with the scent of Viktor's arousal and the heavy, metallic tang of the "Midnight Debt" hanging between them. Viktor's hand was a hot, heavy weight on the curve of Andrea's waist, his blue eyes darkened by the proximity of the beast. But before the silence could shatter into something more visceral, the heavy canvas flap of the yurt was thrown back.
"Pakhan! It is Lev. The Severny scouts... they used something new."
Mikhail's voice was urgent, stripped of its usual tactical calm. Viktor's grip on Andrea tightened for a fraction of a second—a possessive reflex—before he released her, his face instantly hardening into a mask of command.
"Take me to him," Viktor barked, grabbing his parka. He looked at Andrea, his gaze sharp. "Bring the bag."
