Her screams, blissful music in his ears, such a harmonious symphony that he never wished it to end. So he prolonged her suffering, each strip of flesh carefully carved from her tan bodice to prolong the pain, slowly moved away from her body and consumed before her soft sky eyes. The sorrow, pain and misery found there was simply too enjoyable to the black monster. Her whimpers and soft pleas for mercy that would never come was like icing on the cake. He smiles then, speaking only so the dying wolfess could hear him, Death's final rites over her still bleeding corpse. "She smiles and talks about something" (How does it feel, pet, to know you will meet the one who made you soon?) She breaks, her hope falling to pieces even if she does not understand the broken words, even if she cannot comprehend their meaning. His eyes convey their definition, those bright furnaces of hunger and hatred, of power and of malice. This is when the other comes in, this new female cloaked in fractured alabaster. Her scars, Maugrim has seen something like them before, when he watched his father trapped by fire. The male's fur had melted away, the skin black and puckering as it curled away from the licking flames.
He watches her, the tan one momentarily forgotten as a meal, she is demoted to possession in his mind and he will not lose any of her to this new female. Maugrim growls threateningly, his bloodied fangs exposed from a dripping muzzle, darkened saliva dripping down from his maw. The blood, this is what has drawn this fiend in. He realizes this as she stares at it, the dark pools on the ground drawing her in like a moth to a flame, and Maugrim is given to pause, watching her as she goes about her little dance. He has never seen another act this way before, to be so intent on the blood, to wish to be as red as she. Hunger spurs him now, and he dips his head back to the resting female. His distraction had been enough to calm her, to make that damnable hope rise once more in her eyes. "She smiles and talks about something" (Hope is the worst of all evils, for it prolongs the suffering of the wolf.) He says to her, taking hold of her nape and tugging, the ripping and squelching of the skin and her scream on top of it making him shudder as he pulls the skin, peeling it down her spine carefully as he chews.
All the way down he eats her skin, fur, everything attached to it. He cares not for the metallic flavor, nor the way it smells, only for the sight of suffering. He moves slowly to tear this strip of flesh away, his ears keeping track of the white female. Every now and again his eyes would land on her interesting frame, watching the muscles play beneath the thickly scarred skin even as he revealed new muscle from the tan woman beneath him. How easy would it be to skin a female without fur? Her pink gaze meets his, sickly green meeting bright pink, they stand out against the blood on her face. Maugrim growls, raising his bloodstained lips as she looks at him, his hackles raising to let her know she should avert her gaze. He is not one for being stared at, and if she wishes to continue her bloodbath it would be wise to do as the monster says.
He pulls the dying female away then, simply picking her up and carrying her off a bit, turning his side to the scarred girl. He would not give her his back, and would not leave her out of eye sight. Eventually, the skin is completely removed from the girl, and consumed. Her light is growing dim, it has always amazed the beast at what a wolf can take if given it properly. He smiles, a truly odd sight as her blue eyes are cast up at him. Their brighteness is fading, and he simply watches as her eyes slowly glaze over. It takes hours, and he merely sits there and watches.
As he does, Maugrim does something odd. He motions to the white bitch, telling her silently to come and watch with him, her earlier display making something of an impression on him. Yes, she has intrigued him, and this time, it is not a negative. Maugrim wishes for company as his victim takes her last shuddering breath. Together they would watch as the light went completely out and the macabre sight before them danced in finality before Maugrim moves forward. He lets the final convulsions cease, moving to cut the first strip of muscle from his meal, laying down as the blood pools beneath him. He has invited her to dine with him, and should she decline, she will be next in line.
"Speech"