Swiftcurrent Creek rasputin

She seethed at him—proud, defiant—practically in far over her head in what could be culture shock—and he glowered back at her. She took a step away—another. New moon eyes cast upon him, all but spitting upon him in her ire, and he felt the curl of his lip.

Tuta runa, she called him, once more.

Asshole, maybe? Probably.

“You don’t have anywhere to go, do you little panther,” he murmured, allowing himself reprieve by taking a seat as his eyes roved across her—such a small thing, and yet the most fiery he had come across.