He has lived lazily in the last few weeks since the uproar over his saving of the silly starving female. Baphomet had spoken to him of pride that he would have found the Angels so swiftly and have laid siege to a Angel's mate no less. It had led to a fast-forward of a few plans for the Alpha of Iromar, but it did not make Samael any less proud when he was thanked by his elder brother. His white fur positively glowed for days for the pride in his breast. Even Andras rarely got such high praise. Sam would have felt a little bad if he knew no one else really saw much worth in the act, but he does not know and so he does not care. He is a silly thing, but a loyal one. He plays the useful brother because that is what Baphomet expects of him. Loves him for, sometimes Samael thinks. Baphomet was a riddle much more complex than the air headed pixies he took blood-kin from thought. It is why he is still with the black wolves with red smatterings. They do not turn and flee when there are attackers at their door, do not leave children to their fate as the Angel Pack of his birth had. He remembers how the nannies and guardians of the den had fled in the face of Demon Teeth. Angel's had weakness - Demons forewent that. That was the difference in their blood, in their faith. Angel's turned tail, Demons killed all those who intruded.

That is probably what spurred the otherwise peaceable Samael to action. He had heard his beautiful Lillith had won herself a prize from the too-haughty Angel Assassins and had felt a swell of pride that so far all thefts had gone off well for them and poorly for the Angels. Even thefts that were not meant as insult or injury. Angels seemed to be as poor at protecting their own here as his own bloodline had been defending the weak in their own pack. The children who could do nothing but face the horror of being captive or converted. He did not hate Baphomet, feel that this was what Baphomet stood for - for Baphomet and he had killed the foolish blemish of that Demon pack - spilled blood together in the name of Baphomet rising to his greatness. Archangel as he had been before his fall, he had relished their deaths and felt only more that Baphomet gave him a fitting purpose. Baphomet did not deny his blood as an Angel - did not condemn him for it - he used it to his advantage. He appreciated it and Samael had never felt appreciation before that of the Demon King.

He is going to meet Lillith to help her gloat over her victory when he hears the chase and races with all the spring and verve of his young form to meet with the sight of Andras and Moth and Jezbeth and Lillith all trying in one form or another to capture the little tyke. He is in the mist a ways, white in the white fog, seeing the shapes of those who sought possession of the child - until another shape appears and he can tell it is one with foul intent. With all the strength in his bones - in his body - in his loyalty to those who had spared him the fate of his failing blood-kin - he launches himself straight into the brawl meant to be started with Andras. He legs are strong, powerful, and he finds himself an equal match for the assassin. Assassin skills are brought to equality when confronting a berserker in close quarters combat. Their surprise is their only power over those who were as talented in the art of death - and that surprise was luckily thwarted.

He dives forward and intercepts the blow meant for his Brothers appointed beta. Just as teeth make sharp tearing purchase on his neck, Samael stretches and returns the favor from point blank range Teeth connect with his neck on the side, just back enough on his neck that he twists his face in with vicious snarls ripping from around teeth that are equally as prepared to savage flesh within reach. He will be his brothers retribution in this thing, having been given such rights by way of his relation to the Alpha. He takes the charge and gives Andras the needed freedom to snatch up the little girl from her would be rescuers. He is snapping and snarling and catching flesh where he may when he suddenly recognizes a smell from beneath the blood that flows from their newly given wounds. Andromeda. Her mate. A little more savagery for self-preservation erupts into a new rush of strength, always a survivor my Samael is.

He moves to overpower the Assassin, moves to use the momentum and to keep pushing what advantage he had for the surprise he himself offered the Angel.