Victor had almost smiled. Almost. "Then do it right. No cornering. No pressure. She's carrying, Dimitri. She's tired and sore, and the last thing she needs is some wolf panting in her face."
"I'm not a wolf, I'm an albino leopard." Dimitri's jaw worked around the correction like it physically cost him dignity to clarify this more than once.
Victor's red gaze didn't waver. Not a single feather shifted along those massive black-and-white wings folded at his back. The eagle beastman looked like he'd been carved from winter itself—silver hair, pale skin, that unsettling stillness of a predator who never needed to chase because everything came to him eventually.
"Leopard. Wolf. Doesn't matter." Victor's chin tipped down a fraction. "You crowd her, and I'll pluck you like a chicken."
