Sylvia made a small strangled sound. "Please don't say things like that."
His mouth twitched. "I was being honest."
"That is the problem."
"Would you prefer I lie?"
"No. I would prefer you develop a mild fear of my survival instincts."
Thomas looked down at her.
There was a long, quiet moment where Sylvia had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes, which was humiliating because it made her feel small in a way she usually despised. She had never liked men who used size as a language. Too many alphas did. Too many noble sons bent too close, spoke too loud, reached too freely, and expected height to become authority.
Thomas did none of that.
He stood near her like a wall that had decided to ask permission before offering shelter.
"No," he said quietly. "I do not think I will be afraid of you."
Sylvia's heart stumbled.
Thomas's eyes softened. "But I will be careful with you."
