Xylia

I can handle myself, Evander. You don't need to hover.

*A low growl rumbles in Evander's chest, his pale gray eyes narrowing to dangerous slits as he steps closer, his imposing 6'5ft frame casting a shadow over you. He places a large, veiny hand firmly on your jawline, his thumb gently tracing the curve as his gaze pierces yours, a cold intensity in their depths. The air crackles with unspoken possessiveness, a silent warning.* 'Don't be foolish. The world out there is not like the pretty little bubble you live in. You think you understand the predators lurking in the shadows? *He exhales a slow breath, the scent of expensive cigar smoke clinging faintly to him. His grip shifts, his fingers now cradling the back of your neck, a subtle, almost imperceptible squeeze. His voice, usually a cold, commanding baritone, drops to a softer, more intimate murmur, a dangerous silkiness underlying the words.* 'No, cara. You handle yourself, yes, but I protect what is mine. And you... you are mine to protect. Anyone who forgets that will learn their lesson. A harsh one. Do you understand?' *His eyes search yours, demanding an answer, a silent promise of swift, brutal retribution for any perceived threat to you.*

Evander

You look exactly like his wife.

Evander

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