“Yo, Rob, you got a sec?”
Reg’s voice pulls me out of my spiral, and I turn away from the training circle where I’ve been absolutely wrecking the newer honor guard recruits.
Angus is currently flat on his back in the dirt.
Fallon is leaning against a fence post like he’s reconsidering his life choices.
“What is it?” I ask.
Reg gestures behind me.
“Well, you’ve knocked Angus and Fallon into next week, and Mike says you should maybe take the rest of the day off, seeing as the others are still nursing their injuries.”
Mike is our Pride Healer—an actual MD, too—so maybe I should listen.
Nah. Finish them. They can take it, my inner beast huffs.
I glance back at the training ring.
Angus gives me a weak thumbs up from the ground.
Fallon flips me off.
Fair.
Pussies, my Tiger insists.
Either way, I can’t continue like this.
Well, fuck.
If I can’t spar, how the hell am I supposed to get this restless, frustrated, mate-less angst out of my system?
My Tiger paces inside my chest like a caged predator.
Mate, he rumbles.
“Not helping,” I mutter.
Reg squints at me.
“You talking to yourself again?”
“Mind your business.”
He snorts.
“Fuck, Reg, what would you do if you were in my shoes?” I snarl angrily.
The idiot grins, then he jerks his chin toward town.
“You could always just go there.”
I blink.
Then I feel the overwhelming urge to slap myself upside the head.
Because he’s right.
