Stavanger Bay Bikini body

The mouthful of hide and muscle in which Szymon’s fangs found purchase sent a thrill that was almost carnal whipping through the young wolf’s bloodstream. He and Mordecai were checkmated, deadlocked — neither wolf was willing to let go — and the renewed clench of the tawny trespasser’s jaws upon his haunch made Szymon vividly aware, not of Mordecai’s power, but of his own. Summoning the greatest reserves of his strength, the golden-eyed boy gripped the older, larger wolf by the juncture of nape and shoulder and shook him — trying to dislodge him, if he could. He did not adjust his grip even when the larger wolf pushed against him — he strained forward as well, again trying to shake the wolf as he simultaneously tried to rip his leg out of the wolf’s fangs, a litany of malice pouring from between his bloodied teeth. Szymon was the monster now, and Mordecai’s hesitation was his folly.

“No!”

The voice was Doe’s, and Szymon was as immune to her suffering as she was to his — i.e. not at all. She was untutored in fighting, he knew, being that she had mentioned Lagertha giving her lessons; fear for her welfare very nearly flicked off the safety that had held his trigger finger in check. “Hold” was the command Szymon had been given — and he had made every effort to detain the tawny wolf with as little injury as possible, keeping the monster at bay. Szymon had not attempted to break Mordecai’s legs or tear open his abdomen or go for his throat — only keep him immobile should Skellige require the wolf for information. Fortunately for Szymon, he was bred and raised for this line of work and required no reminder to keep one eye trained on his enemy — but he could not help the feeling of desperation that turned his blood to ice. In an attempt to keep Mordecai’s head away from Doe, Szymon flung the full weight of his body slightly to the side to try to either body check his Chosen One out of the way or at least avert the dangerous snap of Mordecai’s jaws.

A towering shadow alerted Szymon to his brother’s presence, and his golden-eyes flashed desperately, beseechingly toward the mahogany-eyed titan. Take her out of here, he thought to himself, though he could make no demands of the Leviathan. What he said instead, though a mouth of fur and blood, a spray of sanguine fanning from his lips as he snarled it out, was directed at the trespasser with a furious shake: “Yield!”