Herbalists' Cache like a dog with a bird at your door

there is no hesitation. no breath of silence between his demand and her fury.

“what?” she echoes, sharp and incredulous, like he’s lost his fucking mind. he may as well have. “what?”

she’s on him before he can think to turn away again, prowling as she closes the distance between them with a snap of her teeth, not to bite, but to make a point. to remind him who she is—who they are—and what the fuck he has done, too wrapped in his emotions.

"you humiliate yourself," she spits, her breath hot, her body thrumming with something she is not ready to name. "you humiliate us both," her words crack like a whip, raw and jagged, and the storm in her eyes is an unrelenting thing. the way he had spoken to her—how he had snapped at her in front of a stranger—it festers like a wound left to rot.

she could rip his fucking throat out for it. she is tempted—perhaps that would soothe the heat roaring through her body.

she doesn’t. she just steps closer, crowds into his space. he stinks of self-righteous anger, but she’s burning hotter, scorching of her own ire, her own fucking body betraying her at the worst possible moment. She clenches her jaw, suppressing the way it coils in her gut, forces herself to focus.

"you let drama from your adolescence shred your composure like a child throwing a tantrum," she hisses, venomous. "and then you had the audacity—the fucking gall—to speak to me like I was some common bitch?"

her voice is a low snarl, barely containing itself.

"is that what you think i am? your bitch?" she sneers, and this time, she does snap, her teeth clicking too close to his muzzle.