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Sparky yowls.

“Rude.”

Then—

“GET OUT OF MY YARD!”

I nearly drop the cat.

The roar comes from the property next door. And I mean roar.

Not yell.

Not shout.

Roar.

Deep. Furious. Definitely male. And followed by something that sounds like a crash.

“You and your ectoplasm-dripping pals are not welcome here!”

My eyebrows shoot up.

Ectoplasm?

I move toward the fence. Because apparently self-preservation isn't one of my magical gifts either.

Something green and glowing sails through the air. I duck. It splatters against a tree.

Sparky hisses.

“What the⁠—”

A man storms around the side of the neighboring house, carrying a bucket overflowing with glowing green slime.

At least, I think he’s a man.

Then I see the wings. Huge, leathery things rise from his broad back, flexing with every angry step. His skin has a reddish tint.A long tail whips behind him.

And—oh.

Oh my.

He’s half naked.

And ripped.

Not gym-bro ripped either. More like someone took an anatomy textbook, added a dangerous amount of testosterone, then asked a sculptor with questionable morals to improve upon it.

Broad shoulders.

Thick arms.

Ridiculous chest.

Abs.

So. Many. Abs.