His hands grabbed at his helmet, and the urge to rip it off became overpowering. His fingers fumbled, questing for the latches, the catches. And for j...st a few seconds, they refused to give. His fingers strained and he felt his claws, his real claws, coming out, pressing against the inside of the gloves. The gloves were made so that when that pressure hit, they tightened on his fingers. Pain laced through his hands and Drak hissed, then snarled, then screamed – and the mask came apart, whirring. ‘No, no stripper.’ ‘OK, just us guys. I can guarantee that you’ll feel like shit the next day, but we’ll erase any longings for a certain red head. Fair?’ Miles shook his outstretched hand. ‘You’ve got a deal. I’ll even get some food together. As long as you do the prep work, master chef!’ Ana returned for the lunch gathering and tasted a fair assortment of wines. Miles and Jimmy joined the crowd a few minutes later, carrying a couple of bottles each. Chester’s Chambourcin he’d brought for. More

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