He'd used that trick a thousand times to cower one lady or another; this only confirmed what he'd first guessed. She was a different class of female from those Fenrir the Bronze was accustomed to dealing with. Not that anyone but a simpleton would fail to notice. Her composure was entirely intact, and her servant was fleeing in terror. Coward. Anyone even half-devoted to their master would have fallen on him with a knife in hand and hoped for the best. A noble house fallen this far. Part of him wondered if he should help this boy, or finish tearing Anacleto down, and then wait for the end. But it was not Alvir Anacleto that intrigued him. It was his sister, and the cold way in which she developed. That distant, authoritative stare that was not touched by emotion.
She was not a wolf. Not like him.
Or was she? Fenrir did not usually encounter something he could not explain, with enough time and interaction, and this was clearly another case meant for further investigation. Instead of standing or acknowledging her immediately, the archer turned away, stared toward the door and the servant. Let his eyes wander over the fine decor of the room, the richness of it. Here was where the fair maiden slept. If he put his hands on her, now, dragged her toward the bed - would she protest? Try to kill him? Would that icy veneer melt away? These were the things he wondered. Was it something he could do, forcing himself on a woman? He'd never tried - never needed to try - but the thought was there, now. What would break that reserve and show him her true color? The viciousness was there. He could feel it. Only the proper method would bring it out.
She clearly had no idea what he was thinking.
Perhaps he did not, either.
"Long enough," he finally answered. "I must also admit that sneaking into a lady's bedchamber is usually much more interesting than this latest visit."
He smiled, but with his back to her, she did not see.