Nova Peak back to the old house

lorcan exhales—long, ragged.
he feels her touch again, threading flowers through fur made for killing. it would almost be laughable if it didn’t feel so strangely comforting.
she tells him not to kill. he scoffs, dry.
she places another flower on his chest. part of him wants to snarl, pull away, spit out all the rot curdling in his gut. he does not. ears pinning at her words, her comparison of him to the rotbeast. i don’t protect the mountain, he mutters, head lowering, eyes half-lidded. i protect what’s mine. that’s all.
another tsk.
maybe that’s the problem.
he feels shame, maybe, or the slow, creeping realization that he has no idea what he’s doing. not with his mate. not with his son. but this—the woman in front of him. he knew how to do this. and it was a path he had walked time and time again. it was what earned him ayovi's savior-ire to begin with. this, and killing for coin. that was what he did. his eyes lift to hers, the faintest twist at the edge of his mouth.
what do you think i should do, hm?