Getting shorts on an unconscious Alpha King was a physical challenge that belonged in a category somewhere between wrestling a bear and moving furniture upstairs alone.
She lifted his hips. His lower body was dead weight, the particular heaviness of a man whose muscle mass was distributed across a frame that had been built for combat and whose combat-ready body weighed approximately twice what it looked like it should. Gravity was winning. Her arms were filing injunctions.
She got one leg in and pulled. The shorts protested. His body did not cooperate because his body was unconscious and unconscious bodies cooperated with nothing. She yanked the fabric over his left thigh with a grunt that would have been embarrassing if anyone had been present to hear it.
