His sunset eyes were so bright in the dim lit, dismal land of murk and bog that was Iromar. They lingered on her smaller form, taking in all the little nuances as she stands in the mist, like a white sheet forgotten as it hangs on a line in the wind. The instinctual reaction that Andras gets as he devours her images is simply that of making her scream, and seeing the color of thick red blood melt onto her pristine what pelt. And yet, as such thoughts of hearing her shriek and beg claw at his mind, his mind begins to twist and hurl at the thought of it. She is not as Lillith is. She is not the perfection of the black velvet wolfess. Lurid does not have the body of a true warrior, true strength and physical prowess. No, she is nothing like his Lillith, and his bond to her goes beyond any primal desire to inflict pain and gain a sick pleasure from a weaker girl's whimpers.

There is something odd about her that strikes him softly as their eyes stare at each other, and it is that of her liver colored nose and odd eyes. She wears the white pelt of angels, and yet there is something completely different about her. Something he had never seen physically before, and he does admit he is slightly intrigued. Yet, Andras is a wolf that prefers the obsidian pelt of a moonless midnight, but there are plenty that wear the pearly white among their ranks. Her color does not mean she will be ignored.

Andras stands, his muscular form apparent even in the light mist that lingers like smoke between the two. His face is giving her one fang, infinitely due to his recent battle. He bears the scars proudly, and he gives no waver or break as Lurid decides to break the silence, and with that Andras establishes his dominance in the traditional demon sense, but Andras is no fool. He knows that not everyone abides by demon code, and he has learned that many may consider to manipulate such a thing to their advantage.

Her words are practically nonsense to the male. She only perpetrates that ideal that she is, in fact, not that sane. After her heart? She could only wish. Andras was after no heart of any white pelted female, less he devour it with his fangs as a midnight snack. Seductress? Maybe before his soul was melded with that of Lillith, he could have fun with a girl like Lurid. But no more. He was bound and his loyalty to Lillith was stronger than any bond in the universe. She was his all, his everything and he was not to be tempted by anyone else. He was impervious to it, and in some ways the bond had put a more even head on his shoulders...as long as his Lillith wasn't in harms way.

His only movement, his only reaction was a slight lift of his brows when she makes claim of his need. Andras and the demons may be able to use a pregnant female, but they certainly did not need her in particular, and he certainly wasn't going to waste his time playing games. His blackened lips pull back into an assured grin, one fang yellowed cracking from the tear upon his face. A truly demonic grin. If she felt she was really needed, she had to prove it. Simply saying she is needed does not make it so, not in the eyes of the Archduke.

Andras stood only for a moment with his grin, before his ripped form steps in turn. His eyes keep upon her before his back was towards her, his head facing away now as he begins his journey back into the fog of Iromar. They were already a nice distance away, if she dare try to attack him with his back turned there would be ample time for him to turn before she could touch him. Yes, he was confident as he moved away, dark paws carrying him to other matters. He would continue unless, maybe, if she spoke the right words, or made the right movements, but oh if she did the wrong movements, being pregnant wasn't going to save her from getting a few new scars...even if it prevents him from taking her life.