Firestone Hot Springs viiii. i was born to fight, to rage, to war

She attempts to stifle the irritation that brews at his utter ignorance, his refusal to be goaded, but fails - the aggravation swirling beneath her flesh like the fonts of a storm about to break. 

There is something of Lucavon in his behavior, she decides - which is likely the reason he gets under her skin so. Her mate had been withdrawn in such a manner, neutrally concealed to the point of expressionlessness. 

But there is something more to it - the way his eye slides over her without really seeing, the gruff disregard underlaying his timbres, the disdain she catches glinting in his amber gaze as it slides over her form. It reminds her utterly of being in Lucavon's presence and she hates it - hates him a little too for being this way, for bringing up such memories. 

Sure, whatever, her tense gaze promises as it lands on his briefly, capturing his instructions with pricked auds, before it flits away once more - suddenly desiring nothing more than to get this over with and get back to her recruits with the scrapped meat, leaving this stoic, grumpy man far behind.