It is right perhaps, that this moment of imprinting is one filled with tooth and claw and the taste of blood so salty and metallic upon the tongue as the nightmarish creatures collides against she whom has grasped upon the tattered edges of what remains of his soul, propelling his mind into a pit of desperation and inability to truly perceive what has occurred, resulting in a revolt against his very existence itself as her own fangs find purchase upon him and bite down into flesh so scared and torn that it has long ago lost any true sense of feeling save for the dull ache and prick of tooth on battered nerves. It is a cacophony of sound that follows, a veritable orchestra of snarls and roars as the darkened prince seeks to draw blood from her and yet time and again find she is jaws are met with a force most invisible that rips at his mind like violent needles to the flesh until he is repelled by forces he cannot command and forced to stay his jaw. Each rumbling growl within him is dragged across those ravaged vocal chords, the sound rough, hoarse and harsh as it is expelled from his lungs and tormented form, chest heaving with the effort of his assault and the strain the pulls taut each muscle within his frame of the blackest obsidian. It is the colour of his Father and Grandfather before him, those eyes so vile, so green and dead holding within them the blood of so many Alpha’s, so many kings and queens alike that his need to dominate is more then just a desire. He needs it as he needs air, feeds upon the submission and weakness of others and her refusal to bow grates against him, whispers vile things to the demons of his mind as instinct riles within him once more like a heated touch to his veins, one heated only further by the call of winter and the scents that linger within the air around the Black Angel- the most perfect of form and body to ever grace upon this earth, though tainted by a mind as dark as the kingdom in which he exists.
His head rests upon her spine, his form demanding this embrace, a touch both loathed and desired all at once as those tendrils of his obsession ensnare the female before him as they have done Flare. His thing. His thing. Just for him. Not for eating, no. Perhaps….she is like him. It is a shift within his mind, a creaking and sliding of rusted gears that begin to install this understanding- this melding of souls perhaps content to oil these fractured parts and assist them in their transition. Like him- yes, like him…maybe. He eases back from her ever so slightly when it is she ceases to attempt to part from him- refusing to permit her to leave until it is he has decided it may be so, dark claws slicing into the earth at his paws as reptilian eyes fall back upon her, mind still struggling to perceive that which occurs as saliva leaks from his jaws and heckles remain bristled and taut with agitation. Another snarl most hideous is forced from within the depths of his throat at the sound of her voice, the screeching, irritating language met with his clear disdain- his snarl an effort to silence her as his ears lay flat against his skull in an effort to keep that vile notice of speech from them.
Yet- he hears her still, understands that it is a question he has been asked, mind rapidly begun to turn once more like a computer given to search a file upon command- giving a learned response and nothing else, voice raspy, spoken upon a growl, lyrics forced from within the depths of his throat from so many months and years unused as he replies as he was taught- so long ago.
“Tobias.”
He remembers his name still, after all these years, though whether he understands ‘name’ perhaps, cannot be said, merely responds as he thinks he should, ignoring her other words, else simply choosing not to answer them as blackened limbs press forward once more, tail arching high though what may have occurred cannot be known as the scent of another is brought to his delicate nares, heckles lifted higher still as lips peel back from bloodied daggers of white and hellish pink to turn upon the white female whom stands before them. He turns in place, the very Angel of Death himself, each long blackned limb carrying the haulking creature forward, towering above the white creature, shadowing her pale frame with the blackened oblivion of his own as teeth expose themselves once more in clear threat and a rumble of warning echoes within his throat. He is not hungry this eve, but it does not mean he will not kill, will not drive her from him. Tick Tock is his belonging- he will not share, will not permit another within their presence as heated air rasps between parted jaws and head and tail lift in dominant demand that she will either submit or flee before him- least she taste his fangs within her flash by way of punishment.
Paws halt suddenly upon the earth, barely a stride from the snowy creature, dead, unblinking eyes held upon her as lips fall suddenly back across teeth, ears slid forward in a look almost…curious as his muzzle extends suddenly forward to sniff at this creature. Alpha or not she is little more then a flea in his fur, something to be discarded and tossed aside and yet still he halts, her scent inhaled as emerald eyes rest upon the green of her own and head and tail suddenly…..lower. It is not submissive, for indeed he does not submit and yet it is….equal, respectful as jaws part and head lowers to lick suddenly at the muzzle of the female in a manner so entirely gentle it is surely astounding to all who bare witness.
“Jaidah.”
He knows that word, knows that name and yet……does not know her, not as he believes he does- his mind mistaken, unable to see the truth of what exists before him. He believes her to be the same Jaidah he had once known, her name merely a coincidence, a freak chance- for he believes entirely that this……is his Mother. He does not understand true affection, nor any method of displaying it, else he chooses entirely to forgo from it, pressing forward against Jaidah once more, shoulder thrown against her own, form brushing against the length of her before he turns once more, pacing back towards the dark female now, the one whom possesses his soul, tail lashed still in agitation and yet soothed, seemingly, by the return of his parent before words seem to find him, rasping from his throat once more as he speaks to the dark one.
“Jaidah is….Mother. Not....for eating."