Maybe he'd have made to step in once he saw that knife enter the equation — the equation being Geralt's body — but any such inclination is almost immediately decimated by that sound. That force, the energy of it, it reminds him of-

Well hell, it reminds him of years ago in a shitty little gas station, all the windows shattering around him, the ground quaking, his ears splitting, the pressure in his head mounting. It reminds him of the true voice of an angel, not meant for human ears.

He curls himself around Jo, clamping a palm down on either of her ears, tucking her in against him even as he nearly hits his knees himself, teeth gritted, his own snarl muted and swallowed by the sound.

God damn, that girl's got some pipes.