Intimidation did not phase Byron. His chiselled features and muscular body revealed no emotional uptake from being yelled at than a lazy cat being told to get off the couch. The thought flitted across his mind that he wished he had not had enough experience with angry Scots to understand them when they were yelling. It would be easier to dismiss, really.
The second knife still in his hand flipped in the air, tossed up and down like a child playing with a ball. "Experiencing PTSD, love?" He answered with an easy smirk. "It was a fight, not a battle."
Though Byron had a bloodlust to revile the world and a taste for inflicting pain, he had stood back and watched his grand-childer take care of Templars. It was not often he had the chance to see Felix fight and it amused him for far longer than attacking the attackers might of. It had not been like he had been alone standing off from the fight, there had been a few demons who watched the chaos unravel along him. Byron had killed one person who had gotten in his way, but that had been away from wherever Duncan believed the 'good' fight was.
"Oh, I love fights. Especially when beautiful ginger men go to spare over them." Bright blue eyes sparkled with mischevious that matched the anger in the bright blue eyes staring back at him.