It is a reward he gives her, to let her watch as his victim takes her final breath. A miracle then that he has become rather aware of her reactions to such a thing, as if she knows and understands the gift he sees fit to bequeath her with. As he waits for his victim to pass, he wraps his larger frame around her slight chassis. His is a raw power, cut from the hard life he leads, chiseled of blood and bone and crafted perfectly by years of hunting the predator. Her scent mingles with the girl's blood in her coat and he lets loose a throaty growl as she shudders against him. His fangs graze up her skin, teasing, promising to cut her if she makes the wrong move – or rather, the right one. He leaves her back as she calls out in pleasure, his tail lifting above his back with a masculine pride to have been the one to bring her to this. To be the cause of her body collapsing to the ground in a bloody heap of shivering shaking female goo. His eyes stay on her as he rips into the now deceased blonde female, hackles raising to her in warning.

Luminous green sulfur gaze catches the captivated pink of hers, and his message is conveyed. There is no need to growl or raise lip, yet he does simply to watch the thrill of such a thing go across her face. To make pretty promises and to leave her wanting, to keep her with him as long as he can. To have her come crawling back for more again and again and again, he growls deeply within his vocals as he raises his bloodstained lips. He may have the first bite, but he will warn her not to cross him. Her intrigue has spared her, has given her a place that no other could ever hope to hold. His tail up, dominant and sure of his place above her for he has shown his strength, he will prove such a thing again and again if deemed necessary. Maugrim steps closer to the female, moving to stand over her as he had before, pushing her head forcefully to where he wished her to eat. He would dictate when she ate and where from.

He flashes her a twisted smile, his eyes lighting up at their game, daring her to try him, to lunge up at him. Small drops of blood land on her face from his muzzle, his fangs dripping rubies onto the bridge of her nose. When his point has been made, and should her gaze fall from his, should she submit, he will lunge. His fags would rip into bloody gold, right beside her face to open the girl, flay the skin for her and provide a small drain of life's elixir. The opening for her is in the stomach cavity, opening the blonde female to wash his partner in her entrails, giving her a taste of life with him. To show her what he would do should she prove useless to him. He does not think of pleasure, uncaring of hunger, callous to her desires – though truly the dark male seeks the same with her – and watches her expression with a casual pride. He wants her reaction to this gracious shower of carnage. What would she do when the organs literally spill into her lap, when the blood washes over her, for surely there were bound to be loose rivers in his battered meal.

He remains over her, his eyes alight and his frame held in utter dominance. She is his, she will forever be his and she will not question him. He wants her there to witness his power, to clean up his messes, to watch his victims die. He wants to feel her shudder beneath him as the lights fade from the eyes of he tormented, wants to see what she would do should he leave a little life in them. How does she dance with the dead? How skilled can she be when it is required of her? Maugrim has a new obssession, and for once she is walking death rather than walking dead, though the appearance may be cast the same. Hers is a canvas he wishes to paint red over and over again, that he wishes to bathe himself with the blood of others. He will keep her, there is no way around it. Fae will not be escaping the Monster any time soon, and she will get her wish to see him.

"Speech!"