Thank God
“I’ll kill the shifter.”
Fox lost his temper and did a little growling himself. He leaped to his feet and punched his lover in the jaw so hard Warrick’s feet shot out from under him and he landed on his arse.
Warrick cupped his jaw. “What did you do that for?”
Fox glared down at him, then put his shirt back on, stepped into his boots, and took a pistol from the cupboard where he kept it.
“Where are you going?” Warrick finally had the sense to sound uneasy.
Fox paused in the doorway. “To the surgery.” He glanced over his shoulder. “This pistol is loaded with silver bullets.” It wasn’t, really, but Warrick didn’t need to know that. “If you try to enter, I’ll shoot you.”
“You wouldn’t.” The expression on his lover’s face—a combination of outrage and confusion—would have been laughable if the situation wasn’t so dire.
“Don’t test me, Warrick, because I assure you I wouldn’t hesitate, not for an instant.”