Scott had been pacing the length of Clhoe's room for the better part of an hour, and Clhoe was fairly certain he was going to wear a hole clean through the expensive rug.
"The nerve of her," he snarled, spinning on his heel to march the other way. "You needed to hear how she spoke to me in front of everyone? 'You're not my problem, Scott.' As if she's someone now. As if putting a crown on her head suddenly makes her better than me."
Clhoe said nothing. She sat in bed, the blanket pulled over her naked chest, watching him stomp back and forth with a flat, unreadable expression.
They had just finished having sex, and his attention was barely there, and now he was back to Kira's matter again.
"She thinks she's untouchable because she's got that overgrown mutt of a Lycan king standing behind her," Scott went. "Well, she's not. I swear on the moon, Clhoe, I'll kill him. I'll rip that smug king apart with my bare hands, and then we'll see how special little Kira feels."
