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“Well, I can’t judge. I’ve done far worse for far less. Still, I can’t imagine Lupin would approve, nor will Cyrilo or any other beastman in the country. Slavery is already a foundation of Uther, and add the vitriol Galvin has been spewing, and it’ll put an even bigger target on their backs, and they won’t like it. I imagine that’s what concerns you, when things inevitably go south and blood spills. And I’m sure I don’t need to remind you of my earlier warning.”“No, you don’t. I made your objections clear.”

Mrs. B. was a great teacher for 10th grade English. Funny, engaging, personable—and a bit flirty. She was in her late-20s, just a couple years out of The University of Michigan, cute, nice body and flaming red hair that cascaded over her shoulders and down her back. She knew the boys all lusted after her and she did nothing to discourage our interest. Students even gave her a nickname, “Bubbles.” The administration was not pleased, but Mrs. B. didn’t seem to mind. She liked the attention. Oh, and I think that we actually learned a lot of English Lit between the horsing around.

After taking a solid punch to the jaw, Ingram pulled away, needing time to recover. He turned from Roc and dove into the city, trying to open up some distance. Roc chased him through Colbrand, the warriors flying down the city streets and kicking up dust clouds. Pedestrians shrieked and ducked out of the way as they were hit by the resulting pressure waves, with the wake behind the fighters slamming like a hurricane gale.