Re: Hunt
He was not a pet cat even if he was within the walled grounds of a party. He yawned wide and the gleam of the moon reflected in the ranks of dangerous looking teeth and his long, pink tongue licked at the air as if he would taste the dish before he ate. The tiger's eyes slitted orange and the pupils were a nothing-black. He crouched, the ripple of his muscle was copper wound tight and he froze there, liquid fur and the great throb of his throat a warning to things that wriggled and squirmed in long grass.
It made sounds, the female and the tiger blinked back, a sleepy and slow look but his growl did not abate. He blew a long breath at the thing and sniffed thoughtfully as though to consider how it might taste. And then it moved and it touched and the tiger snorted surprise and his ears went flat, sleek against his head and the sound he made was dangerous. The tiger did not eat men-things unless he had to. But touching, the wriggling over oil-sleek fur and ruffling it was so unpleasant the tiger's neck ruffled thick with hackles stood on end.