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If the pied brute had one flaw it was that he cared too little for the fate of others. He believed himself one to change fate, one who was above the existence of others. He could not recognize love, could not register it in his mind. For the crow wolf such emotions were a mystery. Only hate and anger, perhaps even certain desires, were the things that he knew. And yet, those emotions too did not reach that soul; perhaps, as the shadows to his body, those emotions pawed at the blackness of his soul, but they could not penetrate that impenetrable density that sought only what was beyond mortals. But what it was that he truly sought only he himself knew; Cwmfen did not even know why it was that this creature desired her body, desired a son from her bloodline. And was it truly a son that he desired? A sneer clawed upon his maw with a cold certainty and those white teeth glinted in the dark—a smile or a snarl?
The lighter female succumbed to him, as malleable to his will as the sculpture was to Pygmalion of the ancient world. But there was no desire in his touch. In his touch was the heavy weight of poisonous lead, cold, distant, but somehow curious. Perhaps those jaws would have taken that life. Those jaws slightly so that he breathed into her fur as his cruel maw moved along her throat. They were hungry, and they sensed the life and the blood that flowed beneath the soft exterior. Its soft rhythm echoed in his ears, bidding him to take the bite. But the wolf was ever a wolf, having been turned early in his life, and he sensed no fear. Fear was the opiate of the male. Indeed he did not need the other’s fear to take the life, but he could not rid this damned world of one who so eagerly embraced the dark—surely there was not enough of her kind. And yet, she was not as satisfying to that sinister mind as she could be. There was something that was lacking, that did not move the male—what could move the male?
“What are you waiting for?” That tenor sound murmured as his maw lingered at the soft pulsation at her throat. “뭘 기다리고있는데?” He repeated those words in his own language, that empty tone rising slightly as if with a threat. Those jaws sneered and they moved to linger above the face of the one beneath him. There was nothing welcoming about those jaws. They were hungry and yet it was not time yet to take life—he was not compelled. And perhaps the world could use those who were willing to follow him into the night. There was something else, however, that was perhaps moved within the male.... The pied brute shifted, those black claws cutting through the fur of the female and feeling the beat of her heart beneath his paw. Hiw maw wandered to the place, feeling the air moved by that beating and wanting only to hold it between his teeth. She was at his mercy.