Her continued attempts to draw herself closer are neither tolerated not wholly intolerable, his fractured mind content to waver upon the delicate point between violence and indifference that merely sees his heckles lift in warning each time she dares approach him and yet he offers little more than a warning snarl by way of response. He is not an impatient creature, not truly, he is merely direct, content to display his displeasure whenever it should occur, the male made of instinct and no other, emotional incapable of afflicting his blackened soul though it would seem whatever scrap of such a being exists has been ensnared by the female whom looms before him, whom dares to snap at his muzzle in turn and nip and the surface of the flesh. This action however only sees a more blatant retaliation, teeth lunging for her once more, though he makes no attempt to actually seize her- more so he simply lunges aggressively, violently, a cacophony of horrific sounds rising within his throat as he aims to startle her- drive her back and from his space in warning that he will not permit any dominance from her before he moves to curly like a viper within the darkness once more, deadened green eyes fixated upon her still.
She moves to lay herself down, those unblinking eyes held upon her still as nostrils flare, tongue sweeping across his lips and nose as he tastes her scent upon the air, content to ignore the manner in which her body blocks his exit should he choose to take it. Such a gesture is meaningless- should he seek to leave he will do so, he cannot be contained any more than a storm can be mastered, her form little more then heated flesh to be torn apart should the demons of his mind flex and roar within- whatever thread of protection the bond of imprints offers sure to be tested one day. For surely she thinks herself brave, fearless and feared in turn and yet she is as others- a shadow before him, pale in comparison, for he alone is the nightmare within these lands, as legendary as Heyel ever was though the deeds of the Black Prince are surely less celebrated then those of the Angel King whom sort to scar him. She of Dark and Shadow is perhaps, at least, a worthy companion, some part of his mind willing to acknowledge her as a consort, just as he has accepted She of White and Red whom had birthed Little White and Red, the soul daughter he cares to acknowledge as his own.
The displeasure she takes in the manner in which he tastes her scent is readily seen upon her features and yet he offers no response until her paw is raised to strike towards him, claws scrapping uselessly against his cheek as he offers no reaction- seemingly oblivious to such an action as deadened eyes of reptilian green continue to fixate upon her. The words she offers are meet with little more then a hiss of air between his teeth, form rolling suddenly to the side as if he seeks to stretch, seemingly unconcerned by her proximity as he does, claws scraping against the stone around him as each muscle flexes. It is…bizarre indeed, the darkened creature given to act so violently towards her and yet express content mere moments later in her scent and company, the insanity of his mind so surely displayed in these moments before he offers reply to her own words in that hoarse rasping voice.
“Always….dying….always.”
It is near haunting within the dark and yet perhaps she will not understand these words he offers so seemingly meaningless and yet- so entirely true. There is birth and there is death, from the moment of birth…..there is only dying afterwards, slowly dying though others in their irony would call it life, that darkened Prince seeming what others cannot perhaps in such a sudden sentence as he falls into silence once more, claws scraping again against stone before he reclines upon his side entirely in a behaviour so seemingly innocent within itself. At her question he merely remains silent, eyes turned upon the wall of the darkened den that grows warm with their combined heat. He dislikes questions, mind revolting against them, lips pulled backward in a sneer of sorts as he rolls upon his feet once more, standing now- clearly intending to leave.
“You.”
He does not hate her- for he knows of hate, learned of it within his earliest days, was taught to hate by the white one with the violet eyes and indeed such a thing had become…infectious until he had come to hate all facets of existence and any whom dared to deny him the hunger he sought, paused before her now- waiting for her to move, else he will move her himself.