They needed to return. Now.
The survivors. The catastrophe. The fact that we're all standing around in various states of undress on an active volcanic slope. His thought process was a shambles.
He watched, his brain still struggling to catch up, as the woman, the Saintess, plunged her hand once more into the glowing repository in her chest and pulled out a perfectly folded set of men's clothes. She began helping the Dragon Lord get dressed.
Then, she turned to Arkai.
A—
His hands flew down to cover his crotch, a hot flush of crimson blazing across his face so violently he was surprised the falling ash didn't sizzle on contact.
A shy chuckle escaped her. "S-sorry, I wasn't prepared for clothes… I just brought my mate's…"
Of course you did, Arkai's mind wailed. Why would you carry a spare set of garments for a random, naked Werewolf Alpha you just fished out of a volcanic incident? It's a perfectly reasonable oversight!
