He hears it, the stuttered thrum of her heart as he invades her personal space. He also notices, again, even as close as he is to her, how much quieter the sound is than it should be. The realization, for whatever it is and whatever it may mean, makes his stomach clench in something akin to fear. Something's wrong with him.
But he won't focus on that for now. That's to worry about later.
He doesn't resist when she shoves him out of her bubble, but his gaze does drop to that hand on his chest and bounces back up to her face, eyebrows arched. Stupid, brave hunter. "I'm equally uncertain why you'd approach a thousand plus year old vampire having a strop when you know you can't kill me without a very specific set of wooden stakes." Or contain him with the daggers but he's not sure she knows that and he's not volunteering more than what he knows--or assumes--that she's already aware of.
He can't stop the corner of his mouth quirking up on one side at that. Such sass and spunk, this one. He doesn't comment about the redecorating needs, though.
no subject
But he won't focus on that for now. That's to worry about later.
He doesn't resist when she shoves him out of her bubble, but his gaze does drop to that hand on his chest and bounces back up to her face, eyebrows arched. Stupid, brave hunter. "I'm equally uncertain why you'd approach a thousand plus year old vampire having a strop when you know you can't kill me without a very specific set of wooden stakes." Or contain him with the daggers but he's not sure she knows that and he's not volunteering more than what he knows--or assumes--that she's already aware of.
He can't stop the corner of his mouth quirking up on one side at that. Such sass and spunk, this one. He doesn't comment about the redecorating needs, though.