Illyana narrowed eyes at her, carefully straightening and stalking around the side of the table for a better look at the woman. She had seen the brunette before. She'd conversed with her. And she hadn't experienced such a response. Nor had she, historically.

"I don't care for women," she insisted bluntly.

...And yet. Her hand reached, small, slender fingers spreading to grasp the front of Bo's throat. Her touch was firm, but not constrictive. Not cruel. "So tell me what you're doing," she repeated herself, voice gone low and dangerous. She meant to stare Bo down, but her attention strayed as if magnetized to the wet trace making Bo's lips glisten.