The night in Ireland had done a lot to put things into perspective. He’d always sensed the pain hidden inside Clay, a pain he himself stirred, but didn’t realize the root cause until now. Beyond the obvious chemistry between Klaus and Clay, the man represented an enigma. Oddly, Ross believed his explanation, but at the same time, he remained concerned. He couldn’t understand Klaus’s insistence to return to the Magistrate’s side, and it frustrated him. How could Klaus just leave them to their own devices and run back like a loyal puppy to Wolfram’s side? Ross had never met Wolfram, but so far, he didn’t have a very good impression of the man. He sounded selfish and self-centered. Ross might not have an excellent history with the spirit wolves, but at least he hadn’t stolen a man away from his mate. Still, he supposed he should be thankful they’d avoided capture so far. They’d left Ireland posthaste and found refuge in a small village in France. No one paid any heed to them, since tourists were apparently quite common.
