“Well, you got me,” she hissed, cold green eyes staring at them.
“Are you albino with you being so pale and all that?”
A low noise emanated from the back of her throat; she was definitely not purring. “I’m a whitetiger from the Steppes of Siberia.”
“But March always comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb…”
“And this year, you got the Beast from the East. Now, where’s that lamb?” She licked her lips slowly.