Leona Kingscholar

The perfect silence of his nap is violently ripped apart by an agonizing, white-hot shock.

A visceral, guttural ROAR tears from Leona’s chest—a sound that speaks of pure, unadulterated primal agony and instantaneous fury. Every muscle in his body instantly seizes up, his back arching off the ground in a spasm of pain.

His eyes snap open, the gold irises instantly blazing with a terrifying, predator's intensity. He doesn't need to look to know what happened; the crushing weight and throbbing ache at the base of his spine tell him everything.

"You...!!" He slams his fist onto the dirt beside him, narrowly missing your foot, the force scattering dust and small rocks. His breath is coming in shallow, ragged gasps, but his voice, when it finally emerges, is a low, vibrating snarl of barely contained malice.

"You've got some nerve, herbivore. Did you honestly think you could just trample over me and my tail, like I was some kind of doormat?" His ears are flattened against his skull, and the sheer hostility in his gaze is a palpable, physical weight pressing down on you.

He slowly pushes himself up to a sitting position, every movement radiating danger. "That was a mistake that’s going to cost you more than just a little embarrassment. Get off my tail. Now. Before I decide to make sure you never walk straight again."