Raven's Watch rottning allra

The skíthaus had the confidence and vile foolishness to meet her eyes, which held the cold, cruel violence of a blade. The nameless one had a dull-witted golden stare, the sort of stare that had expectations and brashness beyond what she thought an experienced man was capable of.
Because of this audacity, she continued her game by holding his gaze hostage like a cat. She held him in a staring contest as she stepped closer again. So, babe, am I right, or am I right? Silky words drained like venom from a snake, you are something. Another lick of her teeth. The fur on her neck grazed his as she moved another step at an angle toward him. She could feel the heat from his body, and longed to tear into it. Right is not right word, maybe kjánalegur.