2 – The Plan to Retrieve Her Coos
Mungo prepared a bundle of provisions for her excursion. Janeet handed over bread, cheese, dried meat and a flask of ale after Mungo told her she intended to go for a walk to clear her head. After promising Janeet she’d collect wild herbs, she exited the keep only to run smack into Adair and his friends.
“Mungo, where are ye going?” Adair demanded. With his black hair, blue eyes and beefy build, he resembled their father. As did her other brothers. Things might have been different for her if she’d taken after her father too. The old resentment gripped her chest, the accompanying sourness muting her optimism at having a plan.
She gestured at her basket. “Janeet requested wild herbs for the kitchen. I’m going to the marshy area of the moorlands.”
Adair sent a suspicious glance at her basket. “Why do ye have food?”
“I’m hungry because I dinnae break my fast.” Mungo darted forward and poked her brother in his fleshy belly. “Ye ken ye ate the porridge.”
“Oomph.” Adair danced from her reach, scowling at his two friends and their amusement at his expense. “Take a maid with ye and see ye’re not back late.”
“I wish to be alone.”
Adair’s dark brows drew together and the mulish set of his mouth informed her of his determination. “Nay. ’Tis not safe. Go with a maid or stay here.”
Mungo restrained the retort tingling at the tip of her tongue, fueled by her fury at her brother for selling her coos. She sent her gaze to her feet, acting the submissive woman while her right hand tightened around the handle of her basket. She wished it was a dirk. “Aye, I’ll ask Elspeth to go with me, and we won’t be long. Janeet requires the herbs for dinner.”
“’Tis not safe for two lassies alone,” Lachlan, one of Adair’s friends commented.
“Ye have the right of it,” Adair said. “Father wouldnae let ye go on yer own.”
Mungo drove her nails into her palms, channeling her anger into pain. Father didn’t notice she breathed. Why the devil would it bother him if she wandered the moors alone? Intimate with the area, she kenned the best place to gather herbs, to pick berries or wildflowers. Nay, not one of her actions troubled Father.
“Take Elspeth and a trainee soldier to watch yer back.” Adair hollered for the Master of the Sword who was training the young lads on the practice fields to the left of the courtyard. When the man spoke to Adair, he gave a curt nod before he returned to his trainees. A moment later, a gangly youth trotted over to join them, his cheeks crimson from vigorous training. “Ye will escort my sister and the maid to the moor and keep them safe while they collect herbs,” Adair ordered.
“Aye, my lord.” The youth inclined his head in deference then straightened and quietly waited.
After leering at two passing maids, Adair strutted away. He reminded Mungo of one of their roosters. She snorted in derision. Their brain capacity was similar. Once Adair and his friends vanished into the stables, she turned to their unlikely protector. “Please wait here while I collect Elspeth.”
Gritting her teeth since her plans were in tatters, she spoke with Janeet, telling her of Adair’s edict. Janeet’s brows rose, but she nodded and called Elspeth.
The threesome set off to the moor. At least she’d establish if the strangers had taken her coos in this direction. Janeet had told her she’d heard the men came from over the sea, and if this was true, they’d drive the herd toward the coast. Once she confirmed this as a fact, she’d pick the herbs and bide her time until dusk. She could do no further investigation with Elspeth and their guard watching her actions.
Mungo sighed at the clatter of a sword scabbard from their rear. The thwack, thwack, thwack was working her frayed nerves, and she longed to whirl and snap at the young soldier. This close attention shown by Adair raised her hackles.
First, the issue with her gowns and now the order not to venture out alone. She wondered if she should worry or quiz Reilynn. Her stepmother learned more than Mungo because she had her father’s ear and ran the keep in his absence. While Adair considered himself in charge, Mungo kenned better.
They exited the forest and the moorland spread in front of them in a flat expanse of grass, herbs and other plants. Mungo led them to the boggy spot where she intended to collect the marsh spinach. She set down her basket.
“Be that food?” the soldier asked.
“What is yer name?” Mungo asked.
“Derry,” the gangly lad said. “Be that food? I’m starving.” His belly rumbled in emphasis.
“Help yerself,” Mungo said grudgingly. Her plan was falling apart and now possessed so many holes, it leaked. A shudder marched down her spine—an omen of sorts. Should she give up her plan? She considered for an instant and squared her shoulders. Mungo snatched up her woven collection bag and kicked off her stout boots and stockings. Barefooted, she entered the marsh bog and plucked the juvenile heads of spinach. The hem of her gown dragged in the mud and long plants and flapped around her bare legs. Another sore point. It was all verra well to confiscate her trews and tunics, but the dim-wits hadnae considered her lack of gowns or the fact she’d grown some since their purchase over three rotations ago.
Mungo’s mind drifted back to her coos, a sense of loss squeezing her heart. They were more family to her than her father or brothers. Nay, she’d go ahead with her plan to recover her coos. She picked the spinach then joined Elspeth who was rapidly filling her basket with the bright pink nuts from the ginga tree. As she gathered nuts, Mungo considered her scheme again.
She’d excuse herself early from the hall. As long as Adair didnae order the maid to bar her door before her departure, she’d leave the castle via the secret passage only kenned to the family. From there, she’d need to improvise since Derry’s and Elspeth’s presence meant she couldnae prepare as much as she’d wanted. A barebones strategy, yet it would have to do.
She refused to fail.
They were her coos, and she wanted them back.
As she’d expected, finding the trail presented no difficulties. She followed it, wandering farther from Derry in the pretext of collecting ginga nuts. Satisfied the men were heading toward the coast with her herd, she picked up the ripe pink nuts while imagining the astonishment on her father’s face when she drove her coos into the keep courtyard. Her momentary satisfaction fled once she realized her plot held a flaw. Mayhap, she’d hide the herd in the secret valley, after all, in case the menfolk of her family repeated their stupidity.
Mungo reached for a handful of nuts and tossed them in her laden basket. Nay, what she needed to do was keep her wits about her and fathom out the reason behind the weird behavior from the males in her family. Once she’d stashed her coos she’d speak to her father and point out she’d stolen them. They belonged to her. Her father would celebrate the sneaky thieving, and she’d become the stuff of Caimbeulach clan legend.
Later at the evening dinner, Mungo ate a hearty meal before excusing herself.
“Where do ye go?” Adair demanded.
“To Mother’s solar to read and do embroidery,” Mungo replied in a sickly sweet voice.
Her stepmother shot her a suspicious glance, but Adair didn’t notice Reilynn’s astonishment at Mungo’s blatant falsehood. She’d never willingly embroidered a stitch in her twenty-two rotations, preferring to wander the countryside and remain outdoors with her coos. But Adair knew nothing of girlish hobbies, ignoring her as much as her father and older brothers unless it suited him. Right now, his attention came because of their father’s absence. No doubt, he wished to comport himself with distinction.
“Verra well,” Adair said.
Mungo left the hall and climbed the stone staircase to her chamber. She swiftly donned her clothes plus a dark cloak to shield her from the cold. She collected her lamp, purchased from a traveling peddler many rotations ago, and shoved it beneath her cloak.
Anticipation made her clumsy, and she fumbled her quiver of arrows. “Och!” Muttering, she regathered her arrows and crept from her chamber. At the last moment, she bolted the latch after her. If Adair checked on her, he’d find her chamber locked and assume the maid had followed his orders to bar the door.
With a rapid glance to her left and right, she scanned for servants and family members before slipping into her father’s chamber. A trespasser in forbidden territory. After closing the door, she stood for an instant until she determined she was truly alone.
His huge bed with the expensive feather mattress stood empty. Servants had fastened the heavy navy and red bed curtains back to the four pole corners. Not a stitch of clothing marred the sumptuous rugs, imported from the planet Gersian, while the surface of his clothing chest gleamed with not a speck of dust. The maid had the fireplace stoked ready for a match, but an air of emptiness filled the space. Mungo much preferred Reilynn’s chamber with its scented candles and vases of fresh flowers.
Satisfied the way was clear, she pressed the secret button in the carved wall behind the headboard of the bed. When the door slid open, she entered the gloomy tunnel before closing the portal behind her. Darkness closed in, and she switched on her lamp.
Not her favorite part of her coos recovery plan. The gloomy tunnel made her think of scary bogle tales and the middle of her back prickled as if someone spied on her. A guilty conscience, obviously. Nevertheless, she hastened through the cramped space, using one hand to hold the lamp high and the other to grope at the moist stone wall for balance.
No one had used the tunnel recently and cobwebs clung to her face and caught on her cloak and quiver. She forged onward, stooping low in places to avoid bashing her noggin. Her breaths echoed in the enclosed space. This wasnae as much fun as when she’d discovered the passage as a curious youngster.
The passage spat her out beneath the keep in a dank cave. Mungo closed the exit door, doused her lamp and crawled on all fours to the cavern entrance. There, she watched for the guards. Although she doubted they’d notice her exiting, she still used caution, waiting until their patrol path took them away from this edge of the keep boundary.
Seconds later, Mungo bounded from her hiding place and moved steadily until she reached the trees leading into the forest. The planet’s moons glowed from above, lighting her way. Unfortunately, the moons offered excellent vision to the guards too. She continued to walk at an even pace instead of dashing as her mind urged. A sprint—a flash of movement might attract attention from the guard.
She pressed onward across a patch of open ground. Her heart pounded while she waited for a shout from a guard. It didn’t come, but it took long moments for her pulse to cease its frenzied race and for her breathing to return to normal.
Finally, she reached the welcome shelter of the trees.
She’d done it.
Escaped from the keep, despite Adair’s close attention. With a grin and a skip in her step, she turned her back on the keep and hurried along the path that wound deeper into the valley.
Although her herd had a cycle start on her, if the strangers knew their coos, they would’ve noticed most of her beasts were in-calf. To keep the coos healthy, they’d amble and allow them to graze and to rest. They’d let them dawdle to their destination.
“But when are men wise?” Mungo muttered into the still air.
The males of her acquaintance were dull and dim-witted. Oh, they thought themselves clever and sly, yet it was the womenfolk who kept the clan alive while the men warred with neighbors. Only last week she’d heard of two of the Northern clans at war with each other. To settle their constant squabbles, each clan had picked ten men. The ten men had set on each other with their broadswords, fighting to the death until one man remained.
A barbaric practice with no winners.
Yet her brothers had thought the battle an excellent way of determining the victor. Try telling that to the wives of the fallen men, the children. Those dependent on the clan for their living.
Mungo set a fast pace, the trail easy to follow since she kenned the direction to the coast. The moonglow aided her too. Still, it would take her much of the blacklight to catch the strangers. And if she didn’t discover them this eve, she’d need to follow them until the next blacklight. Aye, her brother would note she was missing, but he’d forgive her when she returned. She imagined her father’s words of praise and smiled.
Her breathing hitched, her breaths became harsher the longer she traveled. Her lungs burned with fatigue, yet determinedly, she kept her pace, crossing the moorland and following the trail through the trees on the other side. Now, far from the keep, she turned on her lamp and searched for signs of her cattle.
“Oy,” she muttered as she skidded on a coo pat. Mayhap she didn’t require her lamp. She was on the correct path. Mungo skirted another pile of manure, her mind full of victory as she pictured her father’s reaction. He might even reward her with coin so she could purchase more coos from a neighboring clan. She aimed to grow her herd and purchase land, eventually.
While Reilynn spoke of her marriage, Mungo disliked the idea. Not one man of her acquaintance attracted her or vice versa. At least at the keep, she had freedom. Mungo frowned as she thought back over the last cycles. She’d had few restrictions, but gradually her father had stripped her independence.
The change niggled at her. The why of it.
Taking her coos and selling them had robbed her of a future. It had taken her rotations to build up her herd to thirty beasts. Even if she started again…
Helplessness caused her to falter, her steps slowing. Without her coos, she had nothing. She was reliant on her father and the clan, and her future lay ahead—a barren wasteland.
Reilynn had taught her to stitch and how to run the keep. She kenned how to butcher a chicken and how to heal a festering boil. But while she possessed the skills, she didn’t practice them unless forced to, simply because the typical woman’s path bored her rigid.
Despite her fatigue, Mungo increased her speed. She must regather her coos. There was no alternative.
She entered yet another stand of trees. It was much darker here, and Mungo caught her foot on an exposed root. She fell heavily on her hands and knees. As she took a sec to regather her wits, the heavy silence struck her. Gooseflesh prickled over her arms and legs, her torso. She climbed to her feet. In the distance, a howl sounded. An instant later, a second wolfish call answered.
“Wolves,” Mungo whispered.
No one had sighted wolves in the region for decades. Not since her father and the neighboring clans had hunted them to extinction. How could this be?
Mungo hesitated, tugging on her bottom lip with her teeth. Should she return to the keep? Return to her chamber and safety? Indecision held her rigid until, finally, the tension slid away. She’d already left the keep against her brother’s orders. Given his weird behavior of late, he might have already noted her absence. If she returned without her coos, she’d never get another chance to regather her herd. She must press onward.
Another howl echoed amongst the craggy peaks of the mountains. It sounded closer, and Mungo wrapped her cloak more firmly around her shoulders. She inhaled and pulled out her lamp to light the way since the moon glow had deserted her. Instead of confidence, fear writhed through her.
Consequences.
The word popped into her mind as she forced her trembling legs to keep moving. Reilynn always spoke of cause and effect, how she should weigh her actions against the possible results. Her father and brothers couched it in different terms. Follow our orders or else.
The wolf calls came intermittently, and worse, her path took her toward them. Mungo kept going while focusing on even breaths. The wolves’ presence not only meant danger to her, but to her coos.
It was that thought that kept her on her chosen course. While her brain told her to flee to the keep and safety, her heart propelled her in the direction of her coos. Although confident of stealing and controlling her herd, the extra element of danger from the wolves might be her undoing.
The back of Mungo’s neck prickled. A stick cracked. Instantly, she switched off her lamp and ducked behind the nearest tree, her heart hammering in her ears.
“Clot-heid,” a rough voice whispered. “Where did the lad go?”
Mungo peered from her hiding spot. The moon glow had appeared again and in the dappled glow that pierced the tree canopy, she spotted two men trotting along the track. One led a steed. A striped steed. Mungo pursed her lips in surprise. The Grantlach clan bred and raised the chargers, seldom selling them, despite the demand for the rare mounts. Which meant this one was likely stolen.
Mungo considered her options. It was obvious they meant to harm her, and she couldnae advance until she evaded the men. At this rate, whitelight would arrive before she caught up with her coos.
But if she stole the striped steed…
She had ridden a mount but once. In a rare treat, a Grantlach visitor had allowed her a short ride as a youngster. She’d impressed him with her handling of his steed. If she could steal this one, her journey through the Highlands would proceed much quicker.
Another howl echoed through the mountain peaks.
Mungo slid from hiding and cautiously followed the two men.
“The lad came from the keep,” one of the men insisted.
“So ya said,” the other replied. “I didnae see him exit.”
“That’s wot I be telling ya,” the first said. “I think there be a secret way into the Caimbeulach keep. If we learn the way, we could sell that valuable information to the Gregorlach clan. Think of the price they wid pay.”
“Aye.” The man scratched his bushy black beard. “But we have the steed. We’ll receive a tidy sum for that.”
“And I still say stealing the steed placed a target on our backs. The steed is too noticeable. Despite yer confidence, ye ken the steeds take a dislike to many folks. The beast loathes us. Ye must’ve kenned that after she bucked ye off for the fifth time.”
Mungo had heard that about steeds. Witnessed it too. Her brothers had wished a ride also, but the Grantlach mount had bucked off each of them, much to her brothers’ annoyance. The Grantlach had told her the steeds were verra particular of who they let ride them, and they seldom changed their mind. Either the beasts took to ye or they hated ye for life. If the men had stolen the steed, it might prefer to return to its owner. Still, the steed could accept her.
It was worth the risk.
Mungo closed the distance between her and the thieves. Imagine the surprise on her father’s face if she arrived back at the keep with not only her coos but a striped steed too. Of course, she’d need to return the steed to the rightful owner. He might offer a reward.
It appeared as if one thief led the steed on a long lead. The mount wore a saddle and reins draped over the saddle horn. Assuming the steed accepted her, if she rushed the thieves and leaped onto the steed’s back, the surprise attack might free both her and the captured animal. If she failed, she might fall into the hands of the thieves. Once they discovered she was a lass rather than a lad…
Those thoughts of consequences slid into her mind again.
If she considered this a lucky break… Mungo grimaced. The entire plan was foolhardy and she kenned it.
“’Tis going ta rain,” one thief declared. “The signs are floating on the air.”
“We should find shelter. Forget the lad. He must’ve heard us coming. Not surprising given yer weighty steps.”
“Aye,” the other man agreed. “We’re far enough away from the Grantlach keep now. They willnae find us easily. How about staying over there? We’ll go off the path, grab a few winks of sleep.”
Mungo watched the two thieves set up camp in a sheltered spot, far enough away to escape notice from other travelers. They tethered the striped steed, allowing the animal to graze. Mungo hid herself close by and waited for the men to settle.
* * * * *
Joe frowned as the wolf howls continued. Their cattle massed in one corner of the makeshift pen, uneasy at the mournful cries. The animals stomped their hooves and interspersed snorts with anxious grunts.
“The wolves are coming closer,” Sam said.
Joe agreed. “I guess we won’t get much sleep tonight.”
“We’ll be lucky if the cattle don’t stampede, lucky if we can hold them in a tight cluster.” Duncan grunted when Joe elbowed him in the ribs.
“We will not lose our cattle,” Joe snapped. “Sly is counting on me. On us.”
His cousins rolled their eyes at Joe’s catlike snarl.
“Sorry.” Joe forced his feline to recede, his claws to retract. “These cattle are important to us. After all our struggles and Sly’s blindness, I can’t fail.”
“Which is why we’re here, helping you.” Sam checked on his owl, which he’d tucked in a tree hole.
Joe smiled since the bird was making cute snorts in its sleep.
Sam returned his gaze to the surrounding mountain peaks. “The howling has stopped.”
“Doesn’t mean they’re not heading in our direction,” Duncan commented.
“I’m thinking we should meet them in fur,” Joe said. “If they attack, shifting now will make us less vulnerable.”
“Agreed,” Sam said and stripped. “Where are we going to stash our clothes? At least one of us needs to be in human form.”
“Dump our clothes by the tree,” Joe said. “We’ll come back to collect them once the threat is over.”
Each of Joe’s cousins and friends stripped, dumped their clothes near a tree and shifted to a black leopard.
Duncan nudged Joe without warning and jerked his head at the hillside. Three wolves stood above them.
Along with his cousins, Joe stared up at them. Their shaggy russet coats caught the glow of the moon and shimmered—the sole attractive thing about the wolves. They were immense, their yellow gazes fierce and cold. The wolf standing in the middle took two steps forward and to Joe’s surprise, shifted. A russet-haired man stood before them, confidence and arrogance oozing from him. His broad shoulders carried faded scars, the remnants of fierce battles. Killing blows. They had to be for the scars to still mark a shifter’s skin.
Joe growled, and Sam and Duncan stepped up beside him. Flanked by his cousins, Joe approached the wolves, taking care not to make any sudden moves that might invoke a violent confrontation.
The shifted werewolf inclined his head in silent greeting, and Joe relaxed a fraction.
Joe hadn’t realized werewolves inhabited the planet. They’d met some of the locals on Ione Island, their new home, and through them had encountered most of those species on their side of mainland Tiraq.
Joe and his cousins mirrored the actions of the werewolves. His cousins stood on either side of Joe, and Joe shifted. Given the gravity of the situation, he forced an impassive expression, despite the urge to grin. His younger sister’s fault. He could imagine Scarlett’s reaction to this male posturing, and she’d point out the ridiculous picture they made, given he and the werewolf were naked.
“Can we help you?” Joe asked.
“I am Callander. My enforcers.” He indicated the silent werewolves beside him. “We’re searching for an escaped prisoner. His ship crashed two cycles ago in the Highlands north of here. The trail led this way before it disappeared.”
Bounty hunters or soldiers? Strength and determination glinted in their hard visages, and Joe was glad he wasn’t that escaped prisoner. “I wish we could help you,” Joe said. “We hail from Ione Island, off the mainland. We came to purchase cattle and are now driving them to the coast and home to Ione.”
“You traded with whom?” the werewolf asked.
“The Caimbeulach clan.” Joe maintained an even tone despite his dislike of the interrogation.
“And you have seen no one?”
Joe maintained eye contact with the spokesman for the werewolves. “We concluded our deal with Adair Caimbeulach this morning and started our journey immediately. We have passed no one on the trail between the Caimbeulach keep and here.”
The werewolf inclined his head. “This is your entire party. Five shifters?”
They’d know this already. “Yes,” Joe replied.
“The Caimbeulach clan are not trustworthy,” Callander said. “Take care for they will try to steal back the coos at the first opportunity.”
“Thank you for the warning. Is the escapee dangerous?”
“He’s accused of the rape and murder of a high-standing politician on planet Ragus. You will recognize him if you meet him. He is tall and solid. Bald. His skin is a pale blue with darker blue tattoos. He has yellow eyes, and we think he has stolen clothes to replace the prison uniform.” Callander peeled a watch from his wrist and handed it to Joe. “This is an alarm. The technology allows it to remain intact despite a shift. If you encounter our prisoner, please push the side button. That will alert us and we will come.”
“It will also allow you to track us,” Joe said, his tone cool. He had only their word they were searching for a prisoner, and he’d never heard of the planet Ragus.
“That is true,” Callander said without hesitation. “But it could ensure your safety too. All we want is to recapture our prisoner. We do not wish you harm.”
“Why did you announce your presence?” Joe asked. “Why not use stealth?”
“A strategy to flush out the man. Our reputation is sometimes enough to strike fear into prisoners and force them into rash decisions. This prisoner is wilier than most.”
“All right,” Joe said, going with his gut reaction and accepting the alarm from Callander.
“The alarm is single use.”
“What will you do now?” Joe asked.
“We will return to the lake where we lost the trail and explore each alternative until we find the prisoner’s scent again.”
“I wish you luck,” Joe said.
“Thank you for listening to us. Many would’ve attacked first and asked questions later.”
With that said, Callander shifted and he and his companions retreated until the cover of darkness hid their presence.
Sam and Duncan shifted.
“What do you make of that?” Joe asked.
“He seemed sincere,” Sam said. “I’d never heard of this planet or the fact there were werewolves around.”
“No, something to tell Saber and add to our catalog of knowledge,” Joe said. “I—” He broke off as the warble of a bird drifted on the air. It repeated almost instantly, and a cow bellowed in welcome.
“A signal,” Duncan said, his tone grim.
“Let’s go.” Joe shifted and sped toward the cattle, his two cousins at his side.
When they arrived at their pen of cattle, Max and Kenan were alert, their green gazes studying the darkness. Without a word, his companions spread out so one feline covered each side of the pen. Joe slinked in the direction the birdcall had come from, and gradually, he became aware of an approach from the forest trail they’d traveled earlier.
The bird warble repeated and several of the cows called in return. They recognized this person. Irritation rippled through Joe. He’d purchased the cattle, paying a fair price. No way did he intend to lose both cattle and money.
The interloper edged near enough for Joe to make out a horse and rider. He blinked because the horse bore distinctive black stripes that reminded him of a zebra. The rider slid off the horse and tethered it to a tree. Joe’s gaze slid past, seeking others, but it appeared this confident thief came on his own. The man crept past Joe without even sensing Joe’s presence. Joe breathed in the man’s scent and blinked in confusion. He inhaled again, and his loins tightened. Instant denial sprang into Joe’s mind, yet this man’s scent attracted his feline.
Joe shook the stupor from his thoughts as the man neared the pen of cattle. A low growl of inquiry came, seconds after the man trilled more birdsong. The tuneful sound seemed to quieten the restless cattle while Joe dithered in uncharacteristic indecision.
He grumbled and pawed the ground. The fickle breeze blew the man’s scent in the other direction, allowing Joe to snap from his trance. He’d let the thief open the pen first, so there was no doubt as to his intentions.
Joe crept in the intruder’s footsteps. His cousins and friends waited in position. Since this thief seemed to be on his own, Joe increased his speed, prowling forward with greater confidence. They would triumph this night.
One cow called. The man spoke in a low, soothing tone and the cattle pushed in his direction. He tugged at the brush barrier, his intentions clear, and Joe sprang. At the last moment, he sheathed his claws. The man wasn’t as big as he’d appeared and he struck the ground hard under Joe’s weight.
The man’s fragrance curled into Joe’s lungs, fogging his formerly purposeful thoughts and turning what functioning brain cells he had left to mush. Shock filled Joe even as he stilled the other man’s struggles. He didn’t understand. He wasn’t gay. Not that he had anything against those who chose a less traditional route during their search for love and a mate. Several of his ancestors had mated with other males.
His mind drifted yet again, and he leaned closer, horror and fascination warring in him. He didn’t… He had never… How could this be?
The man struggled and fought, thrashing beneath Joe in a desperate attempt for freedom. Joe subdued the man without effort although the thief did not take capture easily.
Joe expelled a harsh sigh. Not only was his mate a male, but he was a thief.
He wasn’t sure which concerned him most.