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In his Optime form at Grandfather’s, if that’s okay—just PM me if you want anything changed. And... my muse says that it wants to be stupid, =n=
The blood of Dahlia de Mai, so weak and insignificant, had paid for his daughter. He would not have to waste his time with those things again. His daughter would know what must be done—she was not incompetent like the others that she surrounded herself with. And yet, that lighter male had shown some potential, but the crow wolf doubted that the other would do anything soon. A member of the pack had just been killed by his own jaws—destroyed. The wretched thing ceased to exist, its blood spattering the tainted earth. And he had left it there, left it to rot. Left it for those wretched members to find. Cwmfen had found it—her pack would now know the nature of his daughter. Like Graine, Cwmfen was nothing but a shell, the blood in her veins perfect for his seed. But Like Graine, Cwmfen was weak, afraid. She would succumb to him, and whether she consented or not was not an issue as it was with the lesser creatures. Whether by force, as it had been with Graine, or willingly, as it had been with Sabeen Thames, her body would belong to him. It already belonged to him. He sneered, mirthless laughter echoing in his mind. And that Onus believed that Cwmfen was his, that he could keep her. The laughter echoed again. The Raven had whispered it to him, whispered everything. He knew what went on in the city.
The black feet with claws that tore the earth with each silent step carried the pied brute to a familiar place. Here, he had made the first attack upon a Dahlian. The foolish thing had fallen easily despite the sudden shift. His blood, too, had fallen like rain upon the earth, bleeding into the waters and tainting it. But unlike the dead thing, the diamond marked Dahlian had no purpose to die. His purpose had been to carry a less severe warning, for that time had been early. The brute paused, those fathomless orbs considering the ground. The traces of that night had long since passed. The Korean raised his head, those black auds raised above his heads like some infernal horns. His muscled form, trained with those ancient arts of war, was still, lithic. Those black eyes saw another, a lighter form—almost white and yet tainted. The colourless world could not hide from the scrutiny of a god—his scrutiny—as he watched her in silence. The silence, like his presence, was on oppressive darkness that fell about his shoulders, the tendrils of shadow drawing her in. She smelled like the idiot he had met at the borders of a tribe. A sneer tugged at his lips. Would this thing be the same? The black tail carved a sinuous path behind him as it moved like a snake, breaking the eerie stillness of his form. “Why so alone,” the tenor voice soothed, dripping in a blackness as it slithered dangerously through the air between them.