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There was a melancholy that seeped from the girl, and it permeated the air more distinctly than any other emotion—or perhaps it was merely the melancholy and the hurt that he could sense more acutely than anything else that may have been present within the air. He breathed in deeply like a drug and it infected his mind. Like fear, this emotion that was the substrate for darkness tempted him to invite her, and he, by simply offering that darkness, tempted her, invited her to embrace it. The black orbs watched those eyes, holding her there with a gentle and yet inescapable gaze, like the cold leer of a snake. And suddenly he could smell her fear. That sinister mind, subject to his innate, sinister desires, rose up suddenly like a black storm catalyzed by those emotions that wafted in the air. And yet he was still and unmoving, that emotionless facet unyielding in her silence even as that hollow smile was invited upon his cruel maw.
“Neither should you,” that suave tenor countered quietly, dangerously, that voice dripping with a black poison. “And yet here we are in the dark of Night.” The black orbs that had been still and unmoving for its emptiness suddenly flickered with something distant and unreadable, something that was almost mocking. Yet, it was too diluted, too obscured by the blackness of that emptiness, to truly read. And then it was gone into the nothingness. His lips parted slightly, those hungering teeth glinting in the darkness. Like his daughter, the crow wolf did not believe in mere coincidence. And he wondered what causality had brought him here to this mere girl that was so openly inviting to him. Like an open wound that invited disease, this girl invited him. And the pied brute was more than willing to infect her, to change this small part of the existing disease of these lands. The black brute was still as he watched her, that black, fathomless gaze watching only her eyes. She was practically a mature female.
Black tendrils of shadow tugged at his fur as he reached out once more to place his hand upon her shoulder. But a simple touch could tell him many things. The soft lines of her body contrasted with the harder lines of his battle trained sinew, and such a body could and would be made to yield. The tendrils of shadow were extended to her as his eyes strayed to observe her openly before returning to her gaze, the shadows wrapping about her mind and her heart like the worms of a decaying earth. But the pied wolf could be gentle, and he would be with this young and innocent creature if only to draw her near enough to strike. “There are secrets in the Dark—are you ready to accept the solace of the night?” That quiet tenor grated the air as he invited her. And then he rose as if to leave, his touch sliding from her frame. Like his daughter, this girl would be made to come willingly. And once more, it would be that illusion of choice that would lead them to him.