Sam understood the reason why, but it still bothered him. He'd been nothing but polite to the Wakandans, and they insisted on treating him like - well, like a dog. Even if he had presented a danger to the country, there were more than enough panthers around to stop him; he was vastly outnumbered. (But, then again, there was a chance they feared the damage he could do by making more like him, even if he had no desire to do anything of the sort.)

His eyebrows lifted at the king's offer. "Really?" No doubt he would have a feline escort - one that longed to rip his throat out - but it was better than nothing. There was a certain restless hunger in his eyes.

Twisting the cap off the bottle, he drank deeply, hoping the cool water would douse his libido. At least T'Challa hadn't made any cracks about chasing cars. "I bet you like toying with your prey, too." Just like he was doing right now.