Clyde didn't see her at first. No, he saw the damage to the house, what there was of it. He also saw the spray paint on the floor. He had no idea what it meant, but he had a feeling it had something to do with the shit Becca's head mate brought and possibly some douche bags. He didn't growl as he stepped in, but he wanted to. He decided to prove that this shit had no hold on him, so he stepped right into the trap, nudging the door closed behind him.
It wasn't until the door was closed that he looked down at her. She was beautiful, no matter how much she'd been put through, that much was settled in his mind, but the way she looked. He reached out and grabbed her chin as carefully and gently as possible; just a tilt here and there to get a good look.
"You got a steak? It works. Do I have three guesses on who did this? Or you think I'll get it in one?" Clyde hadn't trusted either of them from day one. Becca had said something about the asses before they were in their new bodies. He liked to think people could change, Becca was living proof of that, but he didn't think ..."Fuck, Becs. What the hell have you gotten yourself into?"
He pulled her close, ignoring the fact that she might not want to be in the spray painted lines. He wanted to hold her, protect her. "Who am I hunting and beating to an inch of life, babe?" There wasn't a growl; in fact, he sounded calm with only the merest hint of an accent which could have been hick or Scot.