She is, to a certain extent- anticipated by the blackened demon whom lingers upon the very edge of her personal space. He remembers, as if time has not touched him mind as it has his body, oblivious to the difference in her coat and manner and the underlying odour of other that lingers within her pelt. It simply does not matter, it simply cannot be processed. He sees only what he believes to be Jaylah returned to him the obsessive possession of his mind encircling what has always been his belonging with a ferocity as intense and assured as it had forever been upon her. The demons of his mind hiss and spit, coiling like vile snakes within the forefront of his skull, raking claws and gnashing teeth in anticipation of the defiance he is assured is coming. Always she defied him and yet- always he had been smaller, weaker, younger and in possession of a body yet un-grown and filled as it is now. He had been juvenile before Jaylah, forced to accept her equality if not dominance of himself and yet it is before her granddaughter he stands fully grown, older, aged and yet as eternal in his fury and strength as the gods themselves, a scourge so long a blight upon this land- one so many have sought to remove for the manner in which he pursues the weakest amongst them to feed upon, ridding this land of those unworthy of life and yet still they do not thank him- still he lives within the shadows of his own darkened kingdom and yet none will halt him, none will dare question him as he strides through their packs un-hassled and seeking the weak or infirm.

The one before him is not weak, nor aged or broken. She never was. He does not seek her flesh for food in this moment though the hum of her blood within her veins will forever seek to draw his hunger and bring lashings of saliva to his jaws in anticipation of a meal he will not receive. He desires to keep her for himself, possess her, own her as he does Flare and yet forever she is defiant of him. He cannot control the reactions that exude from within him, he is born of blood uncontrollable, the horrific creation of Alpha upon Alpha upon Alpha until such blood had become to potent, dominance and assurance and power intermingled until the ravaged creature was born with no knowledge of leadership or rule or equality- he merely desires to consume what will not submit, to ravage the weak from this earth as he comes from within the darkened embrace of the night. He is the most perfect, the ideal Leader, unswayed by emotion or pity or care and yet from he, the Leader they need- they flee. The teeth of the wolfess are bared before him in a manner that sees a hissing sound rise like a coiled viper from within his damaged throat- the teeth of the Angel King having pierced so deeply into such muscle that he is all but robbed of voice, the sounds that rise within a garbled, horrific screeching as he displays his discontent, his own teeth bared once more in the promise of violence at such insubordination before him. He does not wish to consume her flesh as others, she is not food and yet if she will not bow he will force her as he has done so many others- mind incapable of seeing otherwise, incapable of understanding, the male looked forever within his own torturous world of depraved hunger and command with no escape and no relief….form himself.

The growl upon her lips grows louder with each stride that carries the Black Prince towards her, deadened emerald eyes held upon the pale hues of her frame, watching each muscle, each movement- reading each line in her defiant frame that speaks not of fear but of…wariness perhaps, wariness and determination that seek only to grate against him as his own snarl peels from his throat, that curiosity within him beginning to falter, beginning to anger. It is her sudden step forward that halts him, the nightmare of the night and shadow, head tilted now, twisted and turned like a curious child at this reaction. They do not come forward. None come forward and it is this….surprise that halts him, that forces him mind to consider the creature before him once more as tongue parts from lips to wipe away lashings of saliva once more, the female coming forward again and again towards his own halted form as if she seeks to damned submission from he, to defy his command as none have done in so many years and his own blackened frame remains halted upon the earth, refusing to yield. The single word that is roared from within her seemingly causes no reaction, dead, unblinking eyes left staring in the wake of this verbal tirade before those blackened ears lace backwards against this skull and the rumble within his own chest raises in it’s levels of discord until her single command is answered with an earth shattering roar that explodes from within and signals the faltering of his own control now- unwilling to tolerate her further as muscle coils and releases and the blackened hellion lunges for her now.

Yet-

It is not a strike to kill, frame pressed forward to collide heavily against her own and take the air from her lungs before that blackened head snakes to aim teeth at her thickened ruff, to bury within this single point as his powerful frame pulls back and down, aiming to rip her from her feet and throw her upon the floor, aiming to force her down- to make her submit if she will not offer it willingly. He is no child any longer, he is no longer incapable of such brute force as each muscle rolls and coils with the iron hard force beneath it, primed and prepared by a lifetime spent in battle against others whom would seek to win their lives from his jaws as one leg lifts, seeking to sling it now across her back and press down further, aiding his assault and efforts to lay her upon the earth where she has always belonged. Yet still there is not…..hate, no true anger or berserker rage, his teeth do not chew- do not maul as so often they do. For she is…of value to him, he does not desire to consume her- merely to force from her what forever was denied to him and yet perhaps….should she struggle against him once more the veils of such control may well slip, her value shall be measured in the meat upon her bones and little else as a single and muttered word seems forced from his ravaged throat.

“Mine.”