Caelus and Caelian finally wrenched Caesar free from Azura's iron grip with a sound like a vacuum seal breaking—POP!—and both collapsed backward onto the floor, gasping like they'd just run a marathon through a swamp.
They were more exhausted than the time they killed fifty rogues in one night. And those rogues had been armed. And sober. And not trying to suffocate their brother with mammary tissue.
As for Caesar?
He sat on the floor like a haunted Victorian child. His soul had clearly taken a vacation to a dimension where boobs didn't exist, and it was refusing to come back.
"Caesar." Caelian waved a hand in front of his face. Nothing. "Caesar, brother. You in there?"
"...Soft," Caesar whispered. "...So soft."
"Oh no. He's broken."
Meanwhile, on the bed, completely unaware that she had just committed assault with a deadly chest, Azura was now punching the air and shouting in her sleep.
