Page 94 of Red Ruin

Another cool function of my badge?

I can unlock doors around the base. I let myself into the pair’s room and instantly cover my nose.

Musky bunny sex.

The basement room is laid out the same as the one I barely slept in last night. I stride past the weapon rack and bathroom, into a suite that’s dark except for the subtle, green glow rising from two entwined bodies.

A Guide rides his Sentinel on the stripped bed.

Instead of two twisting auras, they give off the single, united glow of an imprinted pair.

I can’t read the Sentinel’s emotions or needs. He’s locked on his Guide’s own special wavelength.

The rest of us don’t need to exist.

“Baby,” Simms grunts.

I open my mouth, assuming he notices he has company.

He does not.

Simms flips the smaller man and pins his knees to the headboard.

“So tight for me.” His thick ass cheeks flex as he thrusts. “I can’t— Can’t. Stop.Fuck. You like that, sweet boy?”

“Hnnglnlnggg!” the Guide moans like a dying balloon.

He should be able to see us from that angle, but his green-glowing eyes are glazed.

He’s lost in the magic of their connected souls.

I’d be jealous, but I can count his ribs.

They’re so out of their minds for each other, they haven’t been eating.

Let alone using lube.

“Will they chafe to death if we leave them?” I ask, not bothering to lower my voice.

“Disgusting.” Remy snags my hand and uses my cupped palm as an oxygen mask.

Forget punishing them for abandoning their posts. They’re going to need rehab just to take fluids.

Lifting two fingers at my lips, I whistle loud enough to resurrect a kobold.

Simms finally reacts.

He rolls across the rumpled bed, casting a wall of sand to shield his Guide. “Who the fu?—”

Remy’s shadows choke him out as they bind him. His half-cast magic crumbles.

“M-m-m—” He splutters, spotting Remy at my shoulder.

He can’tsayMajor, but his at-attention dick takes care of the salute.

I wince. “Can you conjure him some pants?”

“Absolutely not,” Remy answers, still breathing through my fingers. Rather than touching the bottom half of the Sentinel who hasn’t washed in—ugh, let’s not do that math—Remy conjures a shadowy privacy wall.

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