It is the scent of blood that brings him even before the bond of imprint- though it has thrummed and tugged and pulled all evening until his mind was near driven mad with it, sending the blackened creature into a frenzy of pacing, saliva foaming and frothing at his jaws with the exertion of his efforts as his blackened form cuts into the earth with each wicked stride. He lingers closer to the den, close to She of Red and White, for the scent of others upon the border drives his desire to protect, refusing to part from her in these moments as the deadened emerald of his gaze fixates upon the den entrance with each twist and turn of his frame as he paces in savage fury and loathsome discord. It is only when he hears the cry of his imprint that he pauses, halts, paws seeping within the mud at his feet as Flare slips from the den and he moves to follow like Death itself- sliding sinfully across the earth and towards the sound of his aching soul- or what tattered pieces remain of it. That darkened King pause only once within his movement towards his imprint, halted beside the bloodied and torn border line of his pack, nostrils flaring with the scent of the white female he himself had torn apart, saliva pooling afresh within his jaws that the memories that stir like morbid patterns within his mind and offer fragmented images to his memory before one leg simply lifts, cocked upwards to do as instinct and nature demands- marking his territory as is own once more before he strides onwards, dead eyes fixated ahead with unblinking determination as the salty tang of blood permeates the air and sees his stride quicken.

A rumbling sound rises within his chest, a greeting of sorts as he comes, emerging from the damp and darkness, the shadows reluctant to release him from their tendrils, though the light of the moon chases them back as those eyes of reptilian green rest aglow upon the form of his imprint and mate. His sons are ignored, both of them, neither Gunsynd nor Lonhro drawing his attention as his head and tail lift in the dominance he is afforded in all situations. It is Flare he reaches for first, his favoured mate, jaws parting to enclose her own in dominant affection, form pressing against her own, layering his scent with hers and absorbing her own in turn for She of Red and White has long been his partner and companion, his mind fixated upon her, obsessed with her- protective of her at all times and indeed the scent of this Other within the air assures his own must be overlayed on all things.

Fractured mind shifts and stumbles once more, drawing now away from She of Red and White, deadened gaze fixated upon She of Scars as Flare grooms at her wounds and his muzzle extends to her own, inhaling her scent and that of the Other upon her, a snort released from his nose as if he is discontent with it upon her before he moves to brush his form against her side in the same manner, head and tail still high as teeth nip and tug at her fur- his version of grooming perhaps, though he lacks the gentle care Flare surely offers, his teeth nipping at her before he circles to rub agianst her other side and layer her with hiw own scent once more until he remains content that it exists no longer. This is his land- this he understands, these are his females, his alone- all whom reside within the fields are his possessions, his belongings and he will not tolerate any less, cannot allow any less- aged though he has become his wretched mind drives him still to hunger eternally for a meal of flesh that never seems to state his incorrigible hunger and drives him only to further madness. A madness, fortunately, that seems to permit those of Asteraia to remain protected rather than be seen as food. He is soothed by her touch and embrace, his soul calming within him, the foaming saliva at his lips having faded though tension lines his muscular ebony frame even still, agitated by the scent of blood he cannot touch and the scent of one whom he had tossed aside already- his dominance of Jaidah long since assured and indeed his mind revolts against her taint once more as teeth bare at the darkness itself in response to the depravity of his mind.

He pulls from her at last, a sudden snarl spat free of his lips that sees both Lonhro and Gunsynd shift there places- as the law of the wild dictates. He is their sire, their patriarch and indeed he has decreed that they both will move for him- neither daring to oppose the darkened Demon King as he moves to sand to the side, tongue brushing over his lips to taste of the blood that has become smeared upon it- content at last to watch over his belongings now that both are where he deems the should remain. Within his sight.