:: The Black Prince ::

He can smell it. That blissful heated scent of fear and tension that bleeds like a savaged vein torn open into the air, summoning the darkened creature from the shade and shadow of the trees that surround Glorall, his ebony form sliding like liquid obsidian atop the frosted earth to linger near the gathered group of wolves. He does not attack, no, not within these moments, as reptilian eyes of deadened emerald rest upon the forms of those gathered, seeking weakness, seeking vile imperfection or the rot of disease upon them, seeking a target, a quench for his driving hunger and parching thirst as the violent creature moves to pause within the borders of the land- for borders mean nothing to his fractured mind. He cannot be commanded, he cannot be controlled. He is dominant to all things and all others, the blood of Alpha upon Alpha burning heated pools within his veins, driving the maddened creature only further into the oblivion of his vile existence. Such is the cruelty of fate, of life itself. He is crafted of perfection, born with a beauty and strength as no other save for those whom he has fathered in turn, yet such perfection it naught but a lure, a potent and exquisite temptation used to draw others close before lips part to expose bloodied fangs and that thickened dark hair shifts to reveal muscle and power and ravaged flesh�.so many scars, so many- proof of a life hard lived and hard won. He is the epitome of wolf, the truest angel, the ultimate demon- a bringer of death on blackened wings- and it is the promise of such death that draws him now.

The tension of those before him is thick and cloying within the air and he will not waste his own energy in this as his tall and hulking form is given to merely pause before them, each wolf within this gathering entirely capable of looking upon him, for he does not hide, the angelic, perfect male simply lowering himself to the earth, seated�watching. His features remain expressionless, eyes dead and devoid, unblinking as he simply stares, waiting, watching for what he knows will come. The blood. To be drawn by others and yet to be feasted on by himself. He waits for one to attack another, waits for Rouge to launch at Katsumi or Ieron to set upon Saqr, he waits for one to bleed��so that he may feed. He does not speak, does not move, the creature of faultless obsidian doing naught but stare at the group before him as he sits, waiting for one to bleed, waiting for one to die as hunger curls and claws like the demons of his mind. Wait- yes, he will wait for one to open another, wait for the weakest to fall victim to the pack so he may simply finish what they start. They are all equal to his deranged mind, all beneath him. Soon�soon�..surely one will bleed and mark themselves as his target. Let them fight, let him feed, he is a creature of opportunity- after all.

Yet there is more this day. The touch of winter drives him, the most basic and primal of his needs as a male stir within him, hunger and need blurring within himself into an utter expression of violent outrage and the search for release. His mate drives him back this winter, sends his advances away and indeed some part of his ravaged mind seeks the scent only a female can give though whether he seeks to breed or feed cannot be said. All are needs and all must be met. Yet for now he waits, silent as death itself, watching, staring, waiting�..

Demetri x Jaidah |Sire of Elijah, Alyx, Riven & Seir | Loner | Mated to Flare | No Soul

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