When Clay didn’t join us, I figured he was avoiding how he was on Team Dad in the fight while the rest of us were relegated to onlookers. That, or he was in mourning for his wig. Either way, I went to check on him. I wanted my team secure before I attended the humans Asa had gathered to contain the incident.
On the way, I scooped up the jacket Parish had discarded and pocketed his phone as evidence.
“Oh no.” I located Clay frozen near the spot where he left his jacket. “Hold on, Clay, I’ve got you.”
Circling around, I expected damage to his shem, but the design remained whole and untouched on his forehead. As I stood there, studying him, he broke out in shivers, and then he began to cough.
“Hey.” His voice came out graveled and low. “What are you doing here?”
“The fight’s over,” I told him slowly, giving him a second to catch his breath. “I came to check on you.”
“What fight?”
“Are you okay?” I ducked down to search his face. “I checked your shem, but…”
A light breeze swirled hair into my eyes and ash into my lungs.
From the horror spreading across Clay’s face, it must have tickled him too.
“Where are my clothes?” He cupped the space between his thighs then crossed his legs. “What the hell?”
That about summed it up from my point of view too.