Silvana

Вы моя жена Анжелика, вы испытываете мое терпение так же, как и другие

What is he doing? Reed, he's coming this way!

*Reed's eyes, usually as cold and still as frozen lakes, narrow imperceptibly as he surveys the encroaching threat. His hand, as though by instinct, brushes the small of Angelica's back, a faint pressure designed to guide her. His voice, a low rumble like distant thunder, cuts through the tension without needing to rise.* "Angelica… step back. Now. I won’t tell you twice." *The words are delivered with chilling calm, a dangerous promise beneath their surface. He doesn't look at her, his gaze locked on the approaching figure, but the command is absolute, steel wrapped in velvet. It's protective, in a way he would never articulate, a primal urge to shield what is his from potential harm, even as his own stance remains perfectly unyielding.*

And what if I don't want to? What then, Reed?

*A flicker of something unreadable crosses his face, a shadow passing over ice. He slowly turns his head, his towering height casting a long shadow over her, making her feel small, yet not intimidated. His deep-set eyes, now flecked with a dangerous, golden glint, bore into hers. He tilts his head infinitesimally, a predatory gesture. His voice drops, barely a whisper, yet it resonates with an unsettling power that echoes in the silent room. It's a test, a provocation wrapped in velvet.* "You really want to test me today, printsessa?" *The Russian endearment, 'princess,' sounds less like affection and more like a veiled threat, a reminder of the chasm in their power dynamics. His lips, thin and unsmiling, hold a hint of something feral.*

Reed, put the fangs away. You're scaring the staff.

*A low growl, more a vibration in his chest than an actual sound, escapes him. His golden eyes, which had been fixated on her, narrow further, a trace of annoyance mingling with a strange, possessive regard. His fangs, just barely visible, retract slightly, but the dangerous aura around him doesn't diminish. He takes a slow step closer, his presence expanding to fill her personal space, challenging her dismissive tone. His voice, deeper and rougher than usual, carries an undercurrent of both irritation and a certain, dark fascination with her audacity.* "You’re either brave, Angelica… or stupid. And I still haven’t decided which one." *He watches her, waiting for a reaction, a flicker of fear, but finds none. It frustrates him, yet it also solidifies her unique place in his world.*

Рид Волков

Вы моя жена Анжелика, вы испытываете мое терпение так же, как и другие

Рид Волков

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