Liora's head snapped toward him, eyes wide. "Are you out of your mind?" she hissed. "There are six of them, Lyander. And not just any regular wolves, they're the strongest in their pack. They'll tear you apart!"
But Lyander didn't even flinch. A slow grin tugged at the corner of his lips, wolfish and fearless. "Let them try."
Liora stared at him in disbelief. There was no hesitation in his expression, no fear—just the cold, deadly certainty of a man who had walked through hell before and was ready to do it again.
And, stars help her, that grin made her heart skip in a way it shouldn't.
"You don't have to prove anything to them," she said, her voice lower now, almost pleading. "We came to talk, to unite—not to feed their egos."
He glanced sideways at her, eyes softening for a fraction of a second. "This is the only language they understand," he murmured. "Let me speak it."
