Isabella never knew a mere beast could be so expressive and so judgmental. The little white fluffball stood in the doorway like a tiny gatekeeper of morals. And to make things better—or worse—she was staring directly at Kian. Not a blink spared for Isabella at her side, not even one. Those round eyes said everything: You. Move. That is my spot.
Kian raised a brow, the slow, lazy kind that said he wasn't threatened by beasts the size of his forearm. The corner of his mouth twitched, but his gaze stayed cool. He looked back at Glimora like she had just caught him stealing the sun and she was the owner. The message between them was clear enough to make Isabella want to laugh and hide at the same time.
