Witch's Marsh Unrequited

Hunst stood still, his expression as unreadable as stone, his eyes locked on Hokulani's every movement. He did not flinch when she lunged, not even as the threat of her fangs came close enough to taste the air between them. The woman had fire in her—he’d give her that—but it was a spark that would burn out if it didn’t learn control.

He raised an eyebrow at her words, the corner of his lips twitching slightly, as if her attempt at intimidation amused him. The growl in her throat didn’t rattle him in the slightest, though her words hung heavy in the air.

His voice was low, and the words came out with the same brashness she seemed to expect, his tone steady, unwavering. Blessed be the Gods that I'm not. He leaned forward slightly, letting the words sink in before continuing. But I’ll be damned if I let you run wild just because you’ve got your teeth out. His gaze hardened, his shoulders never tensing. You want to fight? Fine. But don’t waste my time with tantrums.

The air between them thickened, his gaze unyielding, waiting for her to decide if she would stand down or keep up her charade. Either way, Hunst would remain the immovable wall he was—unflinching, unbowed, and unwilling to indulge her drama.