I could feel him swollen and thick behind the leather. Fought to relax. Jean-Claude might know the answer to this, Micah said. Let me in.
No, I said, and I threw power at him, almost like throwing a ball, and that ball caught against his aura, his shielding, like a burr on a piece of cloth. He looked shocked, then horrified. I stopped him before he got through it. The thoughts weren't this clear, but it amounted to: He'd bested us in a fight, he'd earned the right to mate.
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