a special kind of crazy

All Tyrian could do for several seconds was stare dumbfounded in the direction of the timid call. What. The. Fuck. Instantly he had regrets. He knew he should have made her kill a lamb. This was what he got for letting her win; she'd come back with some inane plan to set him straight or free his critters because clearly by letting her go he was admitting in some way that she was right and he was wrong. Or some silly girly nonsense like that. Damn it. If he could have, Tyrian would have kicked himself. He deserved a swift kick in the ass for being so stupidly soft. Well, that wouldn't happen again. He'd learned his lesson.

Nearly breathing fire, Tyrian threw himself onto the scene. He'd fallen victim to her sad, helpless ways and now he knew his pity had been used against him. Sure, it may not have been deliberate, but it had been all the same. Well, no more. He wasn't going to even entertain whatever silly fantasy she'd talked herself into today. No, he was just going to kick her ass properly and-

Baffled by what he was seeing, Tyrian slowed to a halt and stood some distance away eying Aryn warily. His gaze darted first to the blood, then to the mangled rabbit, then to Aryn herself. She may as well have thrown his plans and preconceived ideas into the river because they didn't mesh with the scene at all and appeared to be about as useful as tits on a boar. Tyrian wasn't convinced she was clever enough for subterfuge, but even excluding that he had no idea what he'd walked into. He wasn't going to completely dismiss his assumptions just in case this was some sort of ploy. "What the fuck, woman. I thought we had an understanding."