Moonsong Glacier be the moth to my flame

Something flinty lit behind the panther's eyes. He considered her for a long moment, a tiny, downward twist to the corner of his mouth. Nephele was a hard woman to read, and her lack of warmth — lack of anything — made the back of his neck prickle in warning.

"I hope that I will grow to like you, Nephele," he said, a little more frank than he might normally be about such matters. "Strangers may rest their heads here for a time, but only those who become family to us will remain."