Porcupine Ridge redbull

Lorcan’s ears flicked forward as her laughter hit the air—light, but fractured. He didn’t miss the way her breath hitched or how she shifted in place, her claws raking soft furrows into the earth. His green eyes narrowed slightly, reading the tension that laced her movements like threads too taut to hold.

He stepped closer, the shadows folding around him like old companions. His muzzle dipped, brushing her cheek with a deliberate slowness, the warmth of the gesture contrasting with the sharpness of his next words. Then we should find some place for you, little girl.

His voice was low, quiet—not unkind, but edged with the weight of someone who saw through veneers. Lorcan pulled back just enough to meet her gaze, his green eyes catching the flicker of red that mirrored something unsettled within her. The corners of his mouth curved, a faint, wolfish grin that held no mirth.

This isn’t it, is it? Not yet. He tilted his head slightly, waiting, though his posture spoke of someone ready to move, to act, to drag her toward whatever it was she couldn’t quite name. He was not a man for sentiment, but for action. If there was a restlessness in her, he could match it stride for stride.