Ishtar, his favorite female in their demonic ranks. Strong, fierce, quick, sexy – the girl had a long list of attributes to name. Her reasons for being his favored out of the others would be all too clear the moment he dragged her fattened bodice back to Hell with him. He grins, his nose to the ground as he tracks her to her hiding place, no doubt she awaits any to come find her. And if any should come Baphomet would be sure to leave his own calling card in the form of an empty shell of a carcass, much like the badger Ishtar leaves outside her door. His smirk never leaves his face, and the languid way he moves would suggest he is not prepared for an attack. Though, it is quite a deceptive ruse, as he knows good and well what the badger means and what lays within the act of even sniffing at it. As he has stated, Ishtar is a female to be feared, though truly Baphomet does not. He never has held fear in his heart, and his mind has never once been clouded with such a sour emotion.

              It is not within the big male to feel this way. He is self-assured, strong, capable, a leader and he knows this. He knows his own capabilities where his enemies do not. He is big, and he is bad, and what makes him so dangerous is his knowledge of such power and his ability to use it to his advantage. In the past his enemies have attempted to take advantage of his larger size, even Ruvindra had tried, but the ink and blood male knows how to twist and turn his own body. He knows well how to use what his bloodline has bestowed upon him. His scent, laced with raw power and masculinity – the smell of a male coming into his prime – wafts into the makeshift den beside the badger as he dips his head to lick the trickling blood of the would-be beast. It was hers, and therefore his, and he could damn well do as he pleases with the now dead body. He fully expects retaliation.

              He moves, tempting her out of the den with his body language alone. His inky, blood-splattered eyes searching the darkness within the makeshift home for her equally dark frame. He finds her outline, deceptively relaxed within the murky confines of her little abode. He makes a soft rumbling growl with deep bass vocals, the sound enough to send small vibrations through her body. Not enough to jolt the pups within her delicate seeming frame, though he is quite capable of causing the placenta to detach from the uterine wall with his voice alone. He has power even in vocalization, his deep voice lending an eerie ability to cease the heart from beating for a few seconds. He could rattle even the most stubbornly placed of enemies with the sound of his rage. His favored would be forced from her slumber, and put almost forcibly into an ill mood. No matter, he would lighten it with the news of his success, and therefore her success.