“I'm not amused,” he stepped closer wearing his brows in knits.

I stepped back with short shuffled steps. The pressure from his presence was uncomfortable and heavy like a vase titling on an edge ready to crash and fall apart.

“And I really don't want to do this,” My insides churned. Not in the present conditions anyway. Shifting was something I had been wanting but I'd long accepted. It was something I couldn't do. Now the notion of shifting felt terrifying.

“You're nervous, ...