The pheromones hit Geron before the door even sealed shut behind him.
It was like walking into a blast furnace made of iron. It made the hair on the back of his neck stand, pressed against his temples, and made his teeth ache.
Geron clenched his jaw, swallowed down the instinctive urge to fight against the arrogant owner of these pheromones, and forced himself forward.
On the bed, sweat plastered the gold hair to Xavier's forehead.
His jaw was locked so tight that Geron could see a muscle twitching just below his ear. The hospital gown clung to his shoulders, damp.
Through the thin fabric, you could see the golden stripes of his beast form trying to surface, receding, then surfacing again.
A low, animal sound rolled out of Xavier's throat on each exhale as if he was ready to bare his fangs to anyone who touched him.
The two attending physicians had already been ordered to leave the room. Geron had made sure of that before he stepped in.
