The air was so cold that my breath froze on my lips, and even the water coming out of my lungs turned chilly on my skin within a second. It was getting hard to keep my eyes open. My pretty silk wraps clung to my skin, frosted over, crackling with every breath and feeble movement.
I felt my horns instinctively emerge and I flung him off of me as I grew into the shape of the Horned Beast’s Wrath – nine full feet of ram horned muscle, a full mouth of flesh-tearing teeth, and a whole lot of angry. I saw red.
“The fact that I can see your pulse poundin’ in your throat, love,” he purred, and leaned down to give me a kiss. At the last moment, he jerked his head back and licked my nose instead before hopping backwards out of arm’s reach.
The sober-ish one was screaming, trying to reload his gun, dropping bullets in his fear, and the pungent scent of his terror was thick on the air. He managed to get one shot off, which was a mistake. The bullet didn’t even slow Seamus down – but it did piss the rest of them off.