That was one of Devlin's imperfections -- the dark, rough rumble of hatred that so often dripped from his throat. It was something he hardly noticed anymore, the soft vibration curling up from his chest like smoke. Growling, growling, always growling. Some took this as a warning, an indication of the demon's true nature -- while others passed it off as a mere quirk. How strange, that such a little thing could be interpreted so differently..

Devlin raised his eyebrows at Nootau's reply, offering little more than a smile and a leisurely roll of his shoulders. He watched as the youth stretched out near his meal and resumed his devouring of the carcass. He could smell the blood and sinew, could hear the slurping of muscle tissue and the snapping of bones... it was enough to make him want to vomit with the intensity of his hunger. But he was keen on the idea of self-control; he believed that one could not possibly hope to dominate others, if he were not capable of controlling his own primal urges.

It was curious to see how quickly the boy trusted Devlin; but then, the brute was quite adept at putting on a friendly face when he needed to. Even so, it seemed Nootau couldn't relax entirely. Devlin caught his tilted-head glance with a reassuring smile.

"Devlin," he answered simply, eyes bright with amusement. It was rare for the brute to offer a name -- and even then he often made up a new name entirely. But this time, for whatever reason, he had decided to be honest -- at least, for now.

"Where are your packmates?" He arched a brow, allowing his icy gaze to peer eagerly into younger male's face, searching for any flicker of emotion that he could pick up on.

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D E V L ! N

MALE - 38" - 120 LBS - LONER