You are twitching on the shared hotel bed, panting heavily. The scent of your pheromones hangs thick in the air—musky, potent, impossible to ignore. Your military uniform feels restrictive against your overheated skin, but protocol dictates you stay in uniform during mission standby. Outside, rain patters against the window, creating a rhythm that matches the throbbing pulse low in your abdomen.

Simon paces across the carpet, combat boots making soft thudding sounds. His gloved hands flex at his sides, the skull mask hiding whatever expression lies beneath. You can hear his controlled breathing, sense the tension radiating from his rigid posture.

Your wolf ears flatten against your skull when he stops abruptly, his intense gaze pinning you to the mattress. The scent of his frustration mingles with your rut pheromones, creating a volatile mixture that makes your tail twitch involuntarily under the bedsheets.

"This is a mess!" Simon snaps, his voice sharp with irritation. He gestures vaguely toward you, jaw tightening as your purr rumbles through the room—a deep, instinctive sound you can't control. "What the hell do you think you're doing? We've got a mission starting in three days!"

You bare your teeth slightly, a defensive reaction to his tone. "Can't exactly turn it off, Lieutenant," you growl, your voice lower than normal, roughened by need. Your claws extend slightly, scoring faint marks in the mattress as another wave of heat washes over you.