He walked with a slight limp and the air of someone not to be disturbed. The bear had scarred his ribs, and although thick umber fur covered those neat incisions it was difficult to keep from wincing. A little bruised and battered, the Revlis male seemed in a positively sour mood. There was a strange lack of balance to his usually silent stride - Where a thick, proud plume had once been held high over taught rear, now there was merely a stubborn tuft, like those to be found on the haunches of a stag. The bear had taken his handsome tail, and in return, the Hunter had taken its life.

Still, when walking on two legs the lack of a long tail did not bother him as much, for height and gaze alone could define his superiority. Those he passed amongst the ruins were suitably submissive, and the bitterness to his face was soothed slightly by the swell of lusty pride. Salsola - His Salsola - Had come to be. Time favored the cunning male, as it would then favor those he held close. The Family would profit, Siri would see to it.

There was much to be done, yet, and his meager wounds irritated the male profusely, for his strong distaste for laziness was not hypocritical. However, the male had plenty to keep his surprisingly elegant hands occupied in his den, where the slain bear remained. Its flesh had been eaten and offered to those of the pack, who knew not enough of this land of theirs to hunt proficiently. The liver, a large and somewhat tasty organ, had been wasted on Eris - However, it was a waste he had been somewhat happy to make, for the charcoal woman's glee at the gift had pleased him substantially. The great dark pelt was in the laborious process of hiding, sheering the remaining flesh from beneath the thick brown fur and curing it with boiled fat.

When it was done, the vain creature had in mind for himself a handsome coat, thick and warm to fight the icy winds that rolled off the ocean into their untamable land. There was the soft, lighter-colored underbelly, which for now the Boss would sleep on, until he saw fit to give it away. The head had been given to Larkspur, with whom the brooding leader had come to an understanding. The man had proven his worth, and his loyalty was a valuable asset.

That left only one remaining, whom he wished to gift. As he rounded one of the crumbling stone sentinels, she bloomed into view hunkered over her more recent hunt. In spite of his previous annoyance, a crocodile smile immediately lit the new King's dark features. "My dear Crone, whatever are you doing?" As usual, his tenor tones ran smooth, sensual and bemused, luring her graces with a swipe of acidic eyes. The smile stiffened slightly as his leanly muscular arms crossed over his chest, placing strain on the hidden scrapes and bruises on his ribs. However, the pain only flashed temporarily through calculative eyes, and the male's bobtail wagged once behind him.

The woman did not look to him at first, and though the male experienced a familiar rush of superiority, there was also a strange longing within him to see her troublesome rose eyes. The Witch had hands stained with blood, and although the Revlis man was not repulsed by the liquid, the uncleanliness made his nose twitch once - the smallest gesture of dissatisfaction that her marbled gold coat was marred by the sticky ruby.

She spoke, and accented warble warmed his blood once more. Intrigued, the serpentine gaze of Sirius followed the woman's deft, precise movements, admiring the arch of her body and the lean muscles and curves of her form with surreptitious dominance.

At last she rose, and came to him, as was his right. An arrogant pillar, Sirius remained with arms crossed over his chest, trying to ignore the irritating ache issuing from his abused ribcage. Beneath her violently flowering gaze, so rich as the sweetest of wines, his body tensed - A muscle in his face twitched as she leaned close, the pixie tilting her head about his body to get a closer look of the strange deer-like tuft that was now the remainder of his handsome tail. A pang of disappointment went through the vain male, but it did not last long. He knew his body to be appealing, and the scars and deformations served only to show the events which he had survived.

It was difficult to remain nonchalant to her close inspection, and the nearness of her frame was almost vulgar. A lesser woman would surely have been punished for such insolence, but the Crone, as appointed physical and spiritual healer, could be forgiven for such blatant staring.

The flow of exotic tones made his large ears swivel forward toward the woman, then backward in silent dismissal of the event. Her churlishly fond name-calling was lost on him, for her language was unknown to the Boss, who spoke French and Italian but not the passionate Spanish of her barbed tongue. The brooding, sulking look returned to handsomely dark features. "Trouble indeed. A creature with meaner moods than your own, Tlantli. Was a fair fight, but not an easy one." The poisonous, sharp smile returned to him almost instantly at the refreshed taste of victory. Her sweetly muttered words were ignored, for they were no use to him.

Knowing better than to offer to take the bobcat from her, the dark man's bobbed tail wagged again once, albeit eagerly this time. "Come with me to my den," A command, not a question, although the sultry look to his hungry reptilian eyes suggested otherwise, "I wish to show you what became of he who took my tail." With a gentlemanly wave of his arm, a gesture to usher her forward and into step with him, the Salsolan king made the Crone an offer she couldn't possibly refuse. He had a task for her, also, but business could come after pleasure.

His jest was met with a surprising amount of mirth, for Tlantli was not an individual who laughed often, or freely. As such, the sultry tone sent small flames of heat to flash through his veins, pupils dilating within bitterly sharp olive as though to correct the strange reaction. The golden women did not seem to realize it, though, for her tones spilled forth in that sacrilegious accent, so fragrantly taunting his ears with its rustic seduction.

The Revlis man eyed her coldly a moment, although the glitter of his sharp smile remained. It seemed her ability to quicken his blood was fast becoming unenduring, and yet, enticingly unique. The muscles in his crossed arms tensed, showing the man to have some sort of physical need for reaction, although no words were given. Large, elegant ears that were crowned by unruly locks of dark-spun earth and umber lifted and lowered, displaying in action rather than words his apparent conflicting replies to such a subtly voiced challenge.

However, her latter tones provoked again that most wicked of looks from the man, sharp eyes poisoning the smile heathen-woman with their intense gaze. "On the contrary, my dear, it is you who must be careful. I should have you punished for your insolence," His black lip quivered to reveal the deadly row of yellowed teeth, although the syrupy smoothness to his tone suggested far more than any true irritation. The expression lingered only a moment, before the tall male straightened and his devilishly handsome features became briskly royal. "Now, come along," Lightly, he placed one cream-gloved hand on smooth curve of her lower spine - His touch was light and proper, although fingertips may have lightly grazed the sensitive area there. Using the connection to guide her, the King began to walk; As always, his step was fluid and effortless, silent as it was in his Lupus form. The Hunter was always light on his feet, injury or not.

He took her into the heart of the ruins, where crumbling stone walls joined to form the ancient relic of what had once surely been a proud castle. Few rooms remained intact enough for dwelling, but with a few planks of wood to cover the more strenuous of gaping holes, then disguised by a layer of thistle, it was indeed the most secretive and sinister of dwelling places. Claws clicked lightly on the patches of remaining cobblestone floor, as he ducked beneath a stone arch and into the room he had temporarily claimed as his own.

It had once been the throne room, and was long and rectangular. At its end was a spectacular relic - A stone throne, preserved through the ages by the decaying carcass of castle. There was of yet no other furniture, although the room was littered liberally with small items that belonged to the fastidious male: A bone comb and a small handheld mirror, an exotic assortment of knives and daggers, a pinstriped grey-brown vest slung casually over the large stone throne, and lastly, in the center of the room, the bearskin.

Sirius entered the room first, as was his right; But eagerly his eyes sought the woman's face, wanting to see her reaction to his revealed sanctum.

Although she was an insolent sprite, Sirius was in the mood to humor her, and perhaps Tlantli could sense it. He had the strange suspicion that she was well able to tell the color of his moods, and how far she could push him - It Atlantic the HunterKing to be so predictable, even to her, and he resolved to hold his emotions better in check. None should know his heart or mind but himself; Certainly, not the sumptuous shaman Fae.

She walked with light steps beside him, graced with the blessing of her coyote blood to be forever elegant, in spite of her practicality. There was something about such dainty features, so marred by the brutal fangs she had fashioned, and the self-inflicted markings also, that made her seem more powerful and intimidating than any large wolf. Tlantli emanated an aura of her own creation, and blind as he was to the ways of the spirit and the dead, even Sirius could understand her secret power. Like Eris, the woman was connected in some way to a spiritual plane that he, the canny and grounded King, would never be.

They had reached his dwelling promptly, and time was not lost on the golden-furred Crone. The moment her bruised-rose eyes found the reek of death and the sight of glory, she had crossed to it, pulling the thick and volumed folds tightly to her slender frame. The HunterKing watched in silent and cold amusement, his eyes sharp on the object and the woman. The thick tuft remaining of his tail wagged in response to the animated movements of her own sweeping plume.

But it would seem Tlantli's attention was not to be held for long, for, turning to him abruptly, she voiced her sharp accusation. The Boss' long, elegant ears dipped back on his skull, and his arms crossed defensively again. "Nothing," Sirius said in a flat tone, trying to fashion his expression into something of nonchalance. His ribs pained him, but they were not broken - Merely bruised, and somewhat sliced by the wicked claws of the bear. Wicked claws that were now to be put to use once more.

Hoping to distract the pixie from poking and prodding in search of his injuries, Sirius moved with arrogant strides across his room, pausing a moment to retrieve one of the selection of hunting daggers on his floor. with that, he moved back to the pelt strewn in the middle of the floor, and Tlanli. Without looking at the woman, he spread the bearskin back out and then moved to sit crosslegged on its thick, plush surface. He sat nearest to the front, and picking up one of the skinned limbs, began to neatly hack away at the thick fur attacking the paw to the foreleg.

The muscles in his shoulders and back rippled as he worked, but it was a moment before the King spoke again. "I have a request to make of you, also," His tone was brisk, but retained more of the charm it had had previously. Without looking up at the woman, he continued to severe the paw. "I should like for you to give me the mark, wherever it pleases you. I am as proud to wear it as any." He was not afraid of the pain that the scarification would undoubtedly entertain, but regardless, did not look forward to the wet feeling of his own blood. Having separated the first paw, Sirius placed it before him on the stone floor, and began work on the second.

He could feel her gaze, heavy with blood and the deep rose swells that he found to attractive, burning a path between his shoulder blades and across his spine. Involuntarily, the lean muscles there twitched, as though unable to be still underneath such scrutiny. But the sound of her voice was quick to break such stillness, and the thistle King's elegant ears flicked backward to catch that saucy accent. Black lip twitched as if to snarl or smile, but it was unseen to the Eterne woman. Again, her tones caressed him, teasing ruthlessly as though to provoke aggression or dominance. Although the seated man's acidic gaze did not lift to her, his taught frame, lanky but lean muscles stiffened. Short hackles quivered slightly. "You will do it for me because I command it, Tlantli," His voice slithered out into the air, tainted with a dangerous darkness that showed his restraint and patience for her teasings were waning. Already, there was a familiar lusting ache within him for the woman, but fastidious in his control the Boss would not allow it to be revealed. "I worry little for any advantages you seek to take. Remember who it is you speak with."

Because he disliked the stern tone to his own voice, the male shrugged once to loosen the building tension in his shoulders. Still somewhat battle-weary, they had begun to ache. Briefly, the man thought of a certain luxury he had yet to acquire - In London, in the particularly civil areas, they had had peculiar items known as bath-tubs, in which they had poured water heated over flames. It had been soothing indeed to sit in such a thing, and as soon as he was able to take more time for self-indulgence, he would have the slaves find a suitable replica.

Her latter words seemed to have been ignored, but in spite of his slightly snippy attitude, Tlantli still held an undeniably favored spot in the mind of the Hunter. "You will see soon enough." Although not sharp, his tone signaled that she would have to be patient, and that any further questions would be ignored. The second paw had been severed, and now, finally, acidic eyes returned to heatedly grace her flesh once more, awaiting instruction such that the Crone might perform the duty he demanded of her.

It seemed his words had curbed her for now - Perhaps not his silver tongue, but merely the hint of danger that bled from it, that exciting thrill of venom within sharp olive. For a moment, she was haughty; His gaze bore heavily into the Kimaris woman, hungrily, but with the strict steel control of the Hunter. Then finally she broke the contact, barking a calm order as deceptively slender fingers poured over his assortment of hunting knives and daggers. He resisted, waiting until cool palms urged against the tense muscles of his shoulders to do as she bid.

The bearskin was warm on his creamy stomach, and the thistle King crossed his arms before him, resting his head moodily on them. Large, elegant ears were dipped back to catch the sounds of her - A slight expression of surprise, and the deeper darkness of that resilient hunger, slid across features hidden to her by angle and the sweep of dark, unruly hair as the woman settled her meagre frame onto his lower back. It was decidedly close, this contact - Almost sensual, challenging the dormant beast within him. But Sirius was a cold, cunning creature, and the air of surprise and discomfort quickly faded to acceptance.

Cool, clawed fingertips trailed the muscles of his back and shoulders - They quivered to her touch, edgy like an untamed stallion. For a moment, he relaxed, the feel of her palms gently inspecting luring a false air of calm. Then, the knife-tip kissed hard skin, broke barrier and slid into the royal flesh beyond.

The pain was fast and burning, and his black lips pulled apart in a quick snarl, a sharp exhale hissing through the deadly yellowed teeth therein. But no words were given to the Crone to stop her, no action apart from this to show that he resented the feel of the blade as it carved into the space between his shoulderblades, again and again. After the first, the pain lessened, and a strange numbness settled over his reluctant form. The thistle King could feel a warm, sticky wetness seeping over the skin beneath his thick, handsome fur, and knew by the rusty scent that rose into the room that it was his own blood.

The burning on his back, numbed from sharp pain by the repetitive molestation of the keen edge of the hunting knife, sent strange flashes of heat through his limbs. It was unnatural for the canny creature to remain still as he was repeatedly wounded - Lean body resented the cool blade, the way it drew forth his blood. Only the devilish control he held over body and mind kept the male still beneath Tlantli's curved hips, his frame tensed but frozen in resolution.

He almost didn't notice when she finally stopped - That dull burning spread like flames down his spine, a serene pain, almost numbness. It was the strange, rough sensation of the woman's tongue caressing his oozing flesh that awoke the male to a knew kind of heat, a different burn that headed directly to his loins.

But again, Sirius was a stern man, resentful of those who took each whim and fancy without a manner of self-control, or of knowing what it was they truly wanted. Tlantli finished her administrations, and with it, her strange dominance - The wicked pixie rolled fluidly beside him onto the plush, reeking bearhide. Her body was strangely limp, as though it had been allowed some strange connection through tasting his blood; For a moment, a tremor of fear stilled the heat in his blood, and olive eyes watched her warily. She was, after all, the sisterhood of Eris - The Crone, a shaman that would soon be rumored to have some spiteful power over spirits and blood alike. Eris had called her a shaman; What curses could she be placing on him, even now, to make his body and blood long for her so?

The suspicion that came so naturally to the Boss faded fast. Although deeply mistrusting of the spiritual art of which she and Eris were priestesses, Sirius had some form of implicit trust within the Kimaris woman - She did not desire his Thistle Crown, and for now, the new King relaxed. Still, he watched her, but with a strangely lucid thoughtfulness - Almost a lackadaisical laziness. She was his to command, and with all her frightful strength, her submissiveness and loyalty to the Revlis man was very becoming. "Is it done?" He knew nothing of this art of hers - Whether it would need to be repetitively carved into his flesh, or perhaps cleansed with more than her tongue. The pain was unpleasant, but bearable in that it created finality within his new brethren. It marked them all as his - Members of the dark and terrible Family that Sirius so desired.

He watched her keenly, hungrily. Something about the Kimaris woman made his insides ache, and he had begun to suspect himself bewitched by her wickedness. But Sirius was not a fool, and nor was he a creature easily won - Dominance demanded her attentiveness, and possessiveness demanded her attention. Vain to a fault, the feeling of her ruby eyes adoring his brooding scowl gave the Thistle King more pleasure than he would ever admit.

It was difficult to keep his gaze on her face, rather than the warm body stretched loosely and invitingly, let than an arm's reach from him. Self-restraint was the key to Leadership. Naniko, and a hard life, had taught him better than to succumb so easily to wishes so vulgar or apparently easy. There was a test to be had, and Salsola be damned if he fell so easily to the unintended seduction of her wiles.

Tlantli's words were a mixed blessing, for while no more of his blood was to be spilled again on this day, the potent promise of another carving sat heavily in his head. Sirius accepted it with a reluctant nod, his pupils vaguely wandering the sharp pixie lines of her face. "So be it," Came the dark grumble. The Crone moved to tap him on the nose, and the male's black lip lifted warningly, a flash of yellow teeth rewarding her boldness with simmering aggression. However, the sound of the woman's laughter was enough to throw his foul mood off kilter - With an uncharacteristic look of bewilderment, the Thistle King watched as his Shaman laughed, the exotic swell of her mirth echoing through the hollowness of his Throne chamber.

Large coyote ears lifted to catch such a rare and wondrous sound, but just as soon dropped back to nonchalance. Rising to sit crosslegged on the pelt, Sirius grabbed the severed bearpaws in his hands. Pupils narrowed as they observed the wicked spiral of the creature's claws, and the scar on his pectoral itched in remembrance. "These are yours. Do with them as you will." Lacing his voice with arrogance carelessness, the Boss held the pair out towards the reclining woman; He had, however, intended the gift to be hers the second he had removed them from the pelt.

It brought him a shallow, hungry joy to see her pupils drink in the gift, dilating with what he recognized to be a fierce but restrained glee. She took the bear-paws from him, fawning over the terrible, wicked items with as much reverence as any normal womanthing would some useless, beautiful jewellery. Tlantli was not a normal womanthing, he had fast realized, and it pleased him to note that she appreciated these weapons more than she might a pretty trinket.

Her whispered words were lost on him, but their tone suggested appreciation, and a low grunt was offered to show that he approved of her response. Narrowed pupils darted between the terrible claws and the woman's enthralled features, satisfied that his gift had provoked the reaction he had wanted it to. A gift from the Boss was indeed a rare thing, and surely showed his favor more than anything else - Tlantli was a rare recipient of such bounty.

She was plucking at the grizzled ends of the paws, speaking again in that accented tone he deciphered quicker, now that they had spent more time together. The Thistle King nodded gruffly, and rose, leaving her kneeling on the bearskin. With a yawn that showed all of his yellowed teeth, the leader strolled over to his stone throne and slouched down into it with a weary huff. One leg lifted over the arm of the chair, and his head leaned against one hand, supported by the other arm. Eyes watched her lazily, then drifted shut as he withdrew into the chaotic chasm of his ever-busy mind. "Leave me now, Tlantli," One cream palm waved at her listlessly, signaling the woman's dismissal.