Exile leaned against the rusted vehicle and crossed his arms. "I could tell her."
All three males turned to look at him.
"Absolutely not," Victor said.
"Why? She likes me."
"She likes everyone, and that's the problem."
Damien's tongue flickered. "I'll tell her. She won't be mad."
"She's always mad at you after you say something about removing tongues."
"That was directed at the woman, not at her."
"Doesn't matter. She heard about it last time and made you apologise."
Damien's expression went blank in a way that suggested he was reliving a deeply traumatic memory. "I said sorry."
"You said, 'I regret that you were present to hear that.' That's not an apology."
"It's the best she's getting."
This was a ridiculous, dysfunctional, stupidly devoted pack of idiots who would massacre an army before breakfast and then argue about who had to explain it to a five-foot-nothing fox woman with disappointed ears.
