Garrett heard - if her scent had not warned him of her, the pounding of her heart might have - and though he did not act, it was not because he did not have the time to do so; call him arrogant, call him reckless, but he wanted to see who it was who had snuck up behind him as if she walked with the step of a creature of the untamed lands. And it was a her, that much he was certain of, from the hints in her scent, the sense of her size at his back. Ozone prickled along the hairs at the back of his neck, lightning rising to his instinctual call, but though the magic pushed at the barrier between worlds, seeking a conduit, wanting contact (knife to neck to hand to hunter, he could already taste the thunder on his tongue) he held it back.
If she tried to take his head off, then he would attack. But until that moment, they were merely at standoff, and he dared a yellow-eyed glance over those strong, scarred shoulders, shaggy blonde hair brushing the knife. His winter coat was coming in, and in reflection his hair was getting long enough to be annoying.
"Nobody in their right mind would try to kill a wolf with a knife," he noted, blunt as he ever was. Tact was a foreign thing, especially with some stranger holding a blade to the back of his neck while electricity arced between his fingers. "So either you're not in your right mind, or you're not trying to kill me. Which is it?"