Inside, the air was humid, smelling of rich soil, blooming tomatoes, and rare medicinal herbs. Clara, the blunt, practical human woman who ran the entire agricultural sector of Bowral, was busy pruning a massive vine of mutated berries.
"I'm telling you, Fel, your men are going to give themselves an ulcer," Clara said, entirely unimpressed by the two massive beast-men staring through the glass doors like death sentences. She tossed a trimmed branch into a wicker basket and looked at Felicity's massive stomach. "You look like you're about to pop. Quadruplets? In a few weeks? Jesus. I hope those seven husbands of yours have already started building an extension on that manor, because four cubs are going to tear that place apart."
