His ears flickered up in mild interest at the anger that suddenly permeated her voice, shaking into the chords and making the words, though strong and oddly supported, more powerful. He didn't care how passionate she was about the subject, and where a normal boy might have leapt to defend his family about their bloodlust, he merely grinned his wild little smile and continued to watch her, brimming eyes and all. It was not altogether simple to deal with issues where tears were concerned, but his heartstrings only responded to the negative emotions; hatred, bloodthirst, contempt, and the oh-so lovely gong of jealousy.
No,
he finally admitted, voice dripping scorn as heavily as a melting icicle let go of water. I'd be amused, possibly excited. Can you say in a straight voice that there's not some exhiliration in guys like me?
Again, a hint of the fact that, if he had been two years or older, he would've raped her was thick, but not possible; he didn't even know what it was, yet. I am a killer. If I had the means of slitting your throat there, wolf, I'd have done it far before now.
That being said, consider yourself fucking lucky that I don't have a way of killing you, or cutting your stomach open and watching you bleed to death, pleading for release.
He cackled again, mad as an insomniac deprived a year of sleep, but did not move from his position at the window of the door. His eyes just continued to bore into her, his waiting ears craving more of that angry, uncontrolled passion.