Because the look on his face held no hesitation at all.
His anger had already become something colder, deeper, and far more frightening. He was looking at her the way a lion looked at wounded meat that was already dead, only not yet finished.
That broke the last bit of space between instinct and action.
Ophelia finally made a sound.
It was not even a proper word at first, just a panicked noise torn from her throat because she had never seen the room turn this murderous so quickly in all the time she had lived here.
"Wait!"
No one listened to her.
No one could.
Because by then, Cyrus was already squeezing harder.
The scales along his tail dug into Zara's clothes and skin. Her breath came in sharp broken little sounds. Her face had begun to redden from pressure and panic, and the more she fought, the worse it became. Beast strength was not something a woman in disguise could break through with petty struggling. His tail held her like a trap made of living iron.
