As he waited, the ebony-painted ivory hunter decided to survey the scene and form a better visual representation of what the hell he was about to get himself into. Munashii’s border SCREAMED violence: Skrillex’s perceptive poison-green gaze scanned over deep claw lines raked into tree bark, gauges in the ground where quick enraged brawls had exploded, and . . . bodies. Ah, so that’s where the lovely stench of decay was coming from. Skrilly squinted, handsome muzzle scrunching into a grimace with teeth bared in distaste at the sight and evil smell. Some of the poor corpses had been picked clean—not a surprise, the patchwork punk thought, since this IS a cannibal tribe—but a few of those wretched piles of putrefying matter still had rotting meat on their sun-bleached bones, as if Munashii Gekko’s vampires had started to feast and then thought better of it.
“Frrrrick,” Skrillex growled again, this time quieter should a pack warrior hear. Against his best intentions to appear calm, cool, and utterly collected, the snowy varlot’s hackles began to prickle . . . a chill pre-storm wind combed its way through Skrill’s mane, the trail of fur that grew longer along his neck and spine than it did anywhere else. This place felt spooky as Hell. Would the wolves here expect him to munch up intruders? Would he have to take a bite out of anyone that didn’t pass the entry exam? The thought made Skrillex shiver. Gross. The only thing wolf-shaped that would ever pass this suave steed’s teeth would be a lovely lady, thanks—Skrillex didn’t snack on anything he wouldn’t consider mounting first. Ick.
Suddenly something extremely unpleasant occurred to Skrilly’s anxiously tumbling mind. What if he didn’t pass the newcomers’ test? What if HE—Moon forbid—wasn’t hard core enough for this pack? SHIT! He would have been exiled from one pack for ONE cannibalistic incident, just to be exiled from ANOTHER because he wasn’t bloodthirsty ENOUGH. The longer Skrillex had to wait for a Munashii warrior, the more perturbed he became, until finally another varg crept through the underbrush, interrupting the doomed train of nightmares playing out within Skrill’s masked skull.
Her beauty impressed him, in a scary “look-but-NEVER-touch” sort of way. Venom-colored lanterns observed a sleek night-black pelt, dainty (but probably deadly) vanilla toned paws, and a snow-streak down her chest—which Skrillex tried not to stare at too long, because that meant he wouldn’t be looking at her more dangerous set of fangs. Moooooooon, if she attempted to eat his face off—
The shadow-huntress had spoken to him, so Skrillex straightened up in his tense standing position, desperately hoping his malaise wasn’t showing. The she-wolf’s voice fell on Skrillex’s waiting harks softly, but subtly dangerous. Calm before the storm. A bit like the storm that was brewing above them, actually, dark grey monstrous clouds stirring together in a quiet insidious dance and sending breezes sweeping over the land, carrying with them the awful smell of those bodies—
Skrillex blinked once. Concentration. Concentration was key. My name is Skrillex. I, erm, want to join . . . ?” The dark demoness had brown eyes, a rare color for a wolf—deep and unreadable. Skrilly didn’t like it. Brown normally seemed like such a comforting color, warm, inviting, safe. Not on this lass. Her sable glare expressed nothing more than a businesslike coldness. So intimidating . . . Skrillex would certainly think twice about seducing this particular morsel: though nature had sculpted her body to delicious athletic perfection, Skrillex sensed a not-so inviting threat hovering just out of sight. Which is why nerves had forced his answer to come out as a question, and NOT the strong response he had been aiming for. “I heard your pack accepts . . . weird appetites.”
He licked his maw, tasting the last few streams of blood as they trickled out the corners of his mouth. Great. Maybe that helped him look a little fiercer.
|