Word Count: 312
She was a ball of spitfire, but her strength was nowhere near his own. If he had wanted to, he could have snapped her wrist then and there. Larkspur had no intention of harming anyone, though, least of all the girl he had failed to find before. His orange eyes narrowed, sharpening as they studied her peculiar colors. They were unfamiliar to him—they did not belong to any of the D’Angelo lines he had ever seen. Still, he had no reason to doubt Haku Souls word, and he did not. This girl was his kin, by whatever means, and he intended to begin what he had been left here to do. The can tah whispered, and even though the girl was screaming about her pack, he could hear it. Still, the idea of Dahlia de Mai coming down on his head was a shallow threat. Her alpha had given him permission, and furthermore, make sure that Lark had understood that they were far from enemies when he left their land.
“Stop fighting me,” he commanded, forcing his face to remain still, forcing himself to appear as least threatening as possible. He could not afford to break the girl’s trust so easily. “Haku told me yer name,” he explained, and wondered, suddenly, why she didn’t recognize the symbols on his arms. They would have explained everything, had she been able to read it. The girl was not a D’Angelo as he knew them, and once more, that whispering voice rushed in and warned him as it had when he had spoken to Haku. Though they shared blood, he could not trust her yet with all he had to speak. “M’name is Larkspur D’Angelo, I ain’t here to hurt you. Now calm down,” he added, and finally released her am, hoping desperately she would not spook and run as he expected her to.
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