Qeya River draw a line in the sand

blackfell’s laugh rumbled rough, full of more gravel than mirth. his crimson eyes slid toward her, watching every movement she made; noting the forced agitation that flicked in her muscles. she was still mad, still carrying that sharp edge like a blade held just shy of his throat. and that was fine. blackfell had learned to wait, learned that some fights weren’t won with brute force but with persistence.

his lips curled into a smirk, the kind that made it clear he knew exactly how much he was grating on her. how long you gonna play hard to get for? the quip left his mouth like a lazy drawl.

but as gjalla stepped past him, brushing him off with that icy grace of hers, blackfell moved. quick strides closed the gap between them, his hulking form cutting her off as he turned to face her. he loomed just enough to force her to meet his gaze.

the grin on his face was smug, infuriatingly so, the kind that could set fire to ice. you know what i’m worth already, princess, he exhaled. and you don’t hate me, or you’d have told me to eat shit by now.