Sidhar, Shannon, and Tristan were doing their best to hide their laughter. Shoulders shook, jaws tightened, but the effort was hopeless—the scene unfolding before them was pure chaos waiting to happen.
Shayra had gone full storm, standing protectively in front of her older brother. "Nobody spits water on my brother and survives it," she declared dramatically, eyes blazing. "I challenge you to a duel!"
Therese crossed her arms, chin high. "Accepted. I've yet to back down from a fight."
"Be prepared to eat dust," Shayra taunted.
Tristan rubbed his temples. For a moment, he seriously considered building a proper boxing ring—or at least a training yard like in the Alpha's pack territory.
Between Shayra and Therese, there was enough pent-up energy to scrub every cauldron, stew pot, and kettle in Greystone twice over.
Finally, he groaned and raised his voice. "Fine! Loser washes all the cauldrons, stew pots, and bowls. Agreed?"
"Agreed!" both women chorused.
