BEN AND AMBER strode out of the tent, man and wife, followed by the bridal party, then the guests, and somewhere back there, a huge blue dildo hiding in the pocket of a man who knew how to use it.

I fanned my face as I took my place in the receiving line.

I shook hands with people, effusing with guests I didn’t know over the radiant beauty of a ceremony I’d barely watched, thank you very much Old Blue.

Thank-you Trey, for making me flushed and excited in a way I hadn’t been for a long time. Possibly ever.

When the line was almost finished and all the guests saving a few elderly aunts had been properly received, and wedding photos were about to begin, I looked up to find Trey standing at the edge of the tent, duffle bag at his feet. His shoulder was to a post, the suit coat pressed to his muscular arms. His gaze slid slowly up the line, examining every face.

High alert Trey.

His gaze reached mine over the shoulder of an aunt. I smiled. He didn’t.

Something about his stance made me frown. I squinted at him in silent query. He just kept looking at me.

A little chill walked through me.

“Cass!”

I ripped my gaze away as the urgent hiss came in from my side. One of the bridesmaids was hurrying toward me, her eyes wide.

“Cass!” She sounded half panicked. “Come, quick.”

“What is it?”

“The peacocks,” she hissed. “I think they’re angry.”

“Oh shit,” I muttered.

I threw a glance back at Trey, who was still looking at me, then took off at a trot for the hotel, where two hundred and fifty well-dressed guests were drinking cocktails with a flock of angry peacocks.

“Where’s Marigold?” I demanded as we hurried inside.

Bridesmaid Laura shook her head frantically. “I don’t know. She went to talk with the hotel people because the lights are still flickering. Come on.”

She pointed to a far corner of the hall, beside a door that led to a back room, where boxes of garland and wedding favors had been stored. In front of the door milled the peacocks.

Laura started to peel off in the other direction. “I have to get back to Amber,” she said apologetically.

“Go, go,” I said, making my way over.

Eight gorgeous peacocks milled nervously around the door, their long, feathery tails skimming the floor. A few reception guests turned to them, drinks in hand.

Their handler, a young guy in a suit and jeans, looked nervous.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, coming up beside him.

“They’re not happy.”

I’m no expert on bird behavior, but I agreed with this assessment. The largest one looked real unhappy. The one behind him looked even less pleased with the situation. A third, just coming out of the back room, looked fully pissed.

“I don’t know what’s wrong. Maybe they don’t like the music,” the handler muttered.

I don’t know if birds can narrow their eyes, but I’m pretty sure this one did.

I heard a little yip from somewhere in the background.

Uh oh.

“I knew this was a bad idea,” the handler muttered. “I need to get them packed up. They’re not usually…aggressive…” he said, his arms in a herding motion to keep them at bay as one of the birds veered left, where a cluster of guests gasped in happiness.

I mirrored him, arms out. “Do they like dogs?” I asked, moving in on one.

“Well, they don’t like being cornered.”

“Oh.” I backed up.

I felt Trey come up behind me. I knew it was him because my nipples got hard.

He looked at the birds a second then moved to his right, cutting them off that way.

“Oh thank God,” I exhaled in relief. “A Ranger.”

I felt Trey grin as he stood sentry in front of the cake table.

The birds moved restlessly around the table legs, pecking at random things. Around us, people started pulling out cameras.

One of the birds eyed me, then shuffled his back end. His tail rose and opened, unveiling gorgeous, feathery plumage. One ray of his tail bumped the head of another of the peacocks and the two of them lifted their sleek heads and released a strange, haunting cry. Sort of the same pitch as a rooster, but more like a jungle animal.

A hooting, pissed off, jungle animal.

“Oh boy,” I murmured. “Is that an angry sound?”

“That’s a mating sound,” the handler said grimly.

We looked at the birds, then one suddenly took flight.

“Oh shit, they can fly,” I said, skittering backward on my heels into Trey.

The bird went up about four feet and came down on one of the tables, beside a carafe of red wine. The room erupted into hooting jungle calls.

“Trey,” I almost leapt on him. “They’re not happy.”

“I agree,” he said, his arm going around my back.

Another bird took flight and landed on the table beside his buddy. Only they didn’t look like buddies. It looked like they were squaring off. Peacock fight.

“They’re angry birds,” I whispered, eyeing them up.

“I would be too, if someone took me to a wedding for display purposes,” Trey murmured.

The handler circled around to open the door to the back room.

“What do you call a flock of peacocks?” I asked.

“I’d call this one angry,” Trey replied, standing beside me.

“Definitely pissed.”

“No one likes a wedding.”

I looked up at him. “You don’t sound nervous.”

“I’ve seen worse.”

Yeah, I guess he had. Being in a war and all. But for me, this was a little unnerving. Although his arm around my back made me feel better. Safer. At least from a rear attack.

“Are they going to fight?” I said.

“Not sure about that. Looks like.”

We were quiet a second.

“If they rush us, which one do you want?” Trey asked.

I looked them over. “I’ll take the little guy in the back. You can take the others.”

His body gave a low rumble of laughter. “Deal.”

Everyone was ooh-ing and ahh-ing and snapping pictures, which was great and all, but then one idiot crouched down with his camera, coming closer, closer…and one of the birds rushed him.

Screams from humans and hoots from birds sliced through the room. I don’t think the guy was hurt, but he gave a shout and a woman screamed, and the birds started running.

The handler backed up in the face of their charge, tripped over a cage he’d carried out and sort of rolled into it as one of the birds came in from the side. I reached down for him and a peacock kicked out and jabbed at me with his beak, which I totally understood.

“Careful, their claws and beaks are like knives,” the handler called as he staggered to his feet.

The peacocks were in prison break mode now and they hurtled forward like escapees. The birds on the table, feeling feisty, took flight again, a bumpy route about four feet in the air. I ducked.

Trey was on the move. He pulled me out of the mess, hand on my wrist, setting me behind him, then reached in and dragged the other guy up, his gaze on the restless, confused birds.

Drink drenching his sleeve, the guy practically ran behind the cake table. So did all the other men standing nearby. I looked at the women and waved them back too.

That left me and Trey and the handler to face their feathered fury.

Trey stepped in front of me and slowly walked toward them. They turned to him like he was their commanding officer.

The handler stepped up beside him.

Trey removed his jacket and gently tossed it over the nearest, angriest bird, which immediately quieted him. The handler did the same to another bird with a blanket.

“Back room,” he said, and together, the three of us herded them into the room. Trey kicked the door shut behind us.

Well.

The handler blew out a breath. “Fucking idiots,” he muttered, and I didn’t think he was talking about the birds. He looked at Trey. “Can you help me get them into the cages?”

The handler dragged cages off the tables where they sat beside boxes for garland and other decorations, and where wedding party folk had dropped their gear.

They herded the birds into them. Now caged and feeling safe again, the peacocks got calm, staring quietly at us like they didn’t know what all the ruckus was about.

“Right,” I said shakily, pushing back strands of my hair that had come loose in the excitement. “That was fun.”

Trey turned to me. “You okay?”

“Absolutely. But I might need someone to throw a blanket over me to calm me down.”

The handler wiped his hand through his hair. “Sorry about that.”

“Not your fault.”

“I mean, they’re birds, not decorations.” He sounded angry, then looked at Trey. “Thanks, man,” he muttered, and picked up a cage of birds and carried it out the back door.

No more peacocks for Amber.

We handed off the cages to the handler guy one by one, then he thanked us again and drove off into the snowy world with a vanful of hooting birds.