Page 92 of The Hyena’s Guardian

Matt’s hyena surged hard beneath his skin. Every instinct in him focused on Theron, not the wall, not the danger beyond it, only him. The need to move closer, to shield him from whatever was reaching through the mountain, hit with enough force to steal Matt’s breath.

Protect. The command pulsed through him like instinct older than language.

Theron’s head turned slightly, and Matt knew he felt it. Somehow, impossibly, he felt the hyena’s reaction through whatever had changed between them in the cave.

His gaze found Matt’s across the narrow space, and Matt knew Theron had felt the command as clearly as he had.

Then the seam opened.

Stone folded inward without grinding or breaking, retreating into itself like the mountain had been built from living bone. Cold air poured from the passage beyond, carrying the smell of old water, wet earth, and something metallic enough to make Matt’s mouth go dry.

The light revealed stairs descending into darkness.

Matt stared at them. “No,” he said sharply.

Vale’s attention shifted to him. “No?”

“No. Absolutely not. I am formally objecting to the ancient death stairs.”

Theron lowered his hand. “Your objection is noted.”

“That sounded suspiciously like ignored.”

“It was.”

Matt pointed at him. “This is why we need professional relationship boundaries.”

The entire chamber went silent. Matt realized what he had said approximately half a second too late. Baptiste’s eyebrows rose.

One of the younger Valker agents suddenly became fascinated by the strap on his rifle.

Vale had the expression of a woman trying very hard to remember she had survived enough warfare to endure one awkward comment from a hyena.

Theron, impossibly, seemed amused. Actually amused.

Matt felt heat climb his neck. “Operational boundaries. Tactical boundaries. Don’t make that weird.”

“I said nothing,” Theron replied.

“You said it with your face.”

“I was unaware my face had become so expressive.”

“It hasn’t. That’s what makes it worse.”

Theron’s expression settled, but the faint trace of humor remained in his eyes.

For one reckless second, Matt wanted to kiss him again.

Then something moved in the passage below. The sound was faint at first. A scrape against stone. Then came another, heavier scrape, as though something were dragging itself through the dark. Every weapon came up.

The humor vanished from Theron’s face. Matt shifted beside him, knife sliding into his hand before he registered reaching for it. A low breath drifted from the open passage, slow and wet, carrying the unmistakable awareness of something listening in the dark.

Vale stepped forward. “Positions.”

The Valker team moved instantly, spreading into a defensive arc around the newly opened doorway. Matt stayed beside Theron because every part of him rejected the idea of standing anywhere else.

Baptiste glanced at Theron. “Is it him?”