It is a groan, a growl, a deep rumbling of pleasure that stirs within the depths of his broad and blackened chest like distant thunder that coils and wraiths it’s way within the air to loop about her ethereal form. He near purrs his satisfaction at her touch, brushing his bloodied and broken form against her, the victim of his own fangs, having ravaged apart his own flesh in his desperate need to sate the cravings he does not understand, hunger and desire blending into one irresistible urge for the creature before him as he allows her touch. Only Aaliyah- never another. Not even Salem, not even she who had dug cruel fingers into the blackened tendrils of his depraved existence and grasped whatever pathetic strand of existence that passes for a soul. Fate may have decided to plague the white wolfess of Glorall to an eternity of damn-nation a the paws of an obsessive creature who will plague her days like living nightmares, will attempt to savage her each and every time, driven by not ability to perceive sense in this matter- yet Aaliyah, only Aaliyah, will have his mimic of affection, only to she will he offer the smooth sinful perfection that is the timbre of his voice, toned as any Angel and yet parted from the jaws of Moladion’s truest Demon. Iromar is weak, Iromar is nothing but scraps of broken wolves who play this game. To look upon Tobias is to understand the true nature of a creature unmarked by emotion, a creature driven only by instinct and need to feed and possess, the most perfect weapon- to perfect for he has become unconquerable. If not for this one tiny girl who melds against him, the shield to his sword, her mind having melded itself to understand the fractured ways of his own as she is dragged forward roughly- demanding.
His ears twist and turn at the sound of her voice, tongue lacing from between midnight jaws to graze across his fangs in discontent at these words. It is not the words themselves he disapproves of, merely the sounds that rasp against his ears, though tolerated from her lips, understanding indeed that this is her method of speech, that to speak in this way is pleasing to her and for whatever inconceivable reason the fractured entity seeks only to please her, to bring her some semblance of pleasure and stare blankly as she grins. He takes no pleasure in her own joy, he cannot, he merely seeks to cause this reaction within her and thus offers his repeated and broken words in an effort to appease her- his obsession with her allowing nothing less. Mate. This he understands. Aaliyah is mate of Tobias. Mate is possession. His. His- but not they, no, no- her pelt reeks of milk and youth, saliva leaking from his jaws in primal response to the memory of flesh tender and sweet with life, mind unable to perceive these words she offers. His. His pups. Dead eyes hold against her own as he snarls, the vile sound entangled with his rasping breath as his muzzle is once more given to thrust roughly against her, inhaling this odour, depraved mind sensing only milk and male, food and competition, unable to distinguish this blend of Aaliyah and himself that rests with delicate ease beneath the scent of newborn.
His heckles lift, agitation marking the perfection of his blackened form, shadows sliding from the earth to caress his obsidian pelt in the drapes of his kingdom as he stirs and shifts, frustrated at these words she gives, mind recoiling. He understands only as all dominate creatures do, the weak are for eating, the weak he must destroy to feed himself and those males born to his line, his brothers born from Jaidah and Demetri and now those sons born from himself- must be slaughtered and savaged. It is the way of nature, the way of a creature born of blood most dominate and potent, running so thickly within his veins. He will be the only one. The surviving son of Jaidah, the ONLY male to be permitted to grace the form of Aaliyah. He does not understand his ability to Father life, cannot be made to see that his sons possess his blood- he sees and understands only that those whose scents violate her pelt have touched what is his and his anger is given to rise and spark like static within his veins.
Yet Aaliyah has grown wise, yes, very wise and her voice is calm yet firm. She does not yield, never and for this reason she lives still, his obsession with her, with this creature whom is not food and yet not like him, this creature whom walks beside him as equal within his mind, the only one upon this earth to achieve this mastery is clever with her words, they are short, clear and broken within phrases he may understand though still his mind struggles to place these things she says. His snarl eases as she soothes, responding, mimicking her tone with his own and easing back his instinctive drive in these moments, his mind cleverly diverted as his struggles to perceive the words, his desire to imitate those around him lessening his aggression in this manner though still his heckles bristle and bloodied fangs are brushed against his tongue. Like him. Like him- but weak, he smells them, he is not weak, they are weak- not like him. Reptilian eyes continue to stare, held against her own, blank and devoid. Bringing them, bringing them to him.
“For eating?”
For the demonic creature to ask a question is a rare and valued thing, his ability to perceive any method of seeking reaction is shockingly limited and indeed perhaps he does not know he has asked any such thing as he awaits her reaction, mind having connected the scent of pup with his need to feed, the words refunded from within his internal memories reflecting pup and desire and food, blended to form a sentence, voiced in such a manner to imply a question though it is doubtful he understands what he truly implies.
“Mine.”
He merely repeats the word, a word he understands though his features offer no reaction or response to such a thing as it recoils violently within itself, frustrated at his inability to perceive the meaning of her words when placed together as she had done. He continues to stare, blank, dead, yet his mind moves and twists and convulses with these things she has said- before he turns from them, blanking them, his mind recoiling from them and pushing them aside, thoughts changing, shifting as he moves to place his bloodied shoulder before her, expectant, waiting for her to soothe it as he has come to believe only he can before he speaks once more, voice dead and blank, expression vacant yet there is….confusion to, his words placed strangely, unable to express that which he desires before he reaches to grab her muzzle once more, gently, carefully pulling her towards his injured shoulder in silent demand before staring into the blackness again.
“Salem.”
It is just one word, for he cannot understand his imprint in any other way and assumes with his depraved understanding that Aaliyah will. Aaliyah always understands.
“Aaliyah will- hurt Salem. Salem hurt Tobias.”
He may be a creature of instinct, a creature born of hate and vacant of life, yet that does not mean his mind cannot curve and evolve. His jaws cannot tear her flesh, but Aaliyah’s can. Demons are far from foolish.