Ankyra Sound And I'm not wearing trainers

"Good, good," she said, almost dismissively. "There aren't any beds anyway." Caiaphas was crustier than the sock stuffed hastily under a teenage boy's bed, Nyx was hoity-toity if you asked the oh-so-unbiased Wylla (and, more legitimately, she was Lycaon's plaything, though she didn't know it), and Wylla herself? Yeah, right.

Though she had to wonder momentarily what fucking yourself would feel like, and mused even more fleetingly that Mahler was an opportunity to figure it out. But perish the thought; she would never.

"Sure," said the waterlogged young Alpha as she stepped gingerly away from the frigid waves. "Gotta get out of all this stink." Although it plucked at all of her instincts and pressed all of her Wylla Rage buttons, she didn't understand it enough to know that she was as much at fault for it. She was still only new to noticing these things. "You sure it's not coming from you?" she asked, squinting sidelong at Mahler's rump. It was possible. She hadn't exactly bent down to sniff his ass or anything.