The Wall Toome

it was a contradiction he’d seen before—pride and instinct clashing beneath the weight of survival. it had impressed him— a simple man. but the name she etched onto him; it only stirred his aggravation further.

his lip curled, revealing teeth stained with blood from their shared kill, a warning that needed no words. the growl he answered with was low and deliberate, vibrating through his chest as his massive frame loomed closer. her words—not yours, wide fang—hung in the air like a taunt, but it wasn’t the challenge he heard. it was the name.

there is no wide fang here, ice woman, he snapped, his voice rough, each word sharp enough to cut. he leaned in just enough for her to feel the weight of his presence, his teeth still bared, though he didn’t strike. just faust.

the name carried the weight of his disdain for whatever title she had conjured. his gaze bore into her, cold and unyielding, before he finally shifted back, granting her a sliver of space. faust didn’t need to drive the point home any further. his size, his voice, his very presence did that well enough.

he turned his attention back to the kill, lowering his head to take another bite. but his ears stayed angled toward her, every muscle in his body ready, should she decide to test the edge of his patience again.