He didn't answer, being in plenty of trouble already. All he needed was for someone to tell Amaranta that he was dogging the hot vamp bass player and hell would shake these walls. Sure, Ravyn was worth a second look—and maybe a few more besides—but looking wasn't touching. He'd taken an oath of celibacy. At least until he got cured. There was no way he'd risk passing lycanthropy on to someone as a sexually transmitted disease. Condoms were not designed to handle the sexual vitality of preternaturals like himself. In the heat of passion, with wolf enflamed thoughts weakening his control, a serious accident could happen, maybe a lethal one.
