Arvid would’ve snorted. A command? He still hadn’t realized what he’d caught, had he?
He didn’t hop away the moment his fingers uncurled as he wanted to, instead he waited. When the man had one foot half-way through the leg of his jeans, Arvid flitted toward a spruce. He couldn’t fly, so he needed low branches, and the boughs of the spruce reached the soaked ground.
He steeled himself and flapped with his left wing to get higher as the leopard roared.
* * * *
Espen didn’t care what they did with the bird, he’d gladly let them take it out of his territory, but when he saw they’d broken its wing, fury bubbled up inside of him. Force-mating was a terrible tradition. Hurting your intended should be forbidden.
He growled, and when the—he sniffed the air—leopard dove for the spruce, he inte
