“tempting…”

His deep voice comes out in a husky murmur. A fight. How long had it been since he spilled the blood of those that attempted to oppress him? Far too long. The blood king had cherished in the days of gory glory, relishing the feel of blood printed into his coat. Pain was almost pleasure in his mind, the feeling of earning a victory enough to satiate his hunger for violence.

The idea of tearing into that beautiful, lean throat enough to draw chills along his spine.

Tongue slides out from saliva filled lips and comes to drag along his lips as her long limbs carry her towards him, like a prize coming to great her champion. She was enticing in her own way, the way of gaining this enticement was the promise of a fight. Though as she comes beside him, his ears flatten against his thick skull and he casually turns away to draw more water from the riverside attempting to find any way to satiate the thirst that has risen within him.

His demons scream within his mind, calling out the monster within to great her but he refrains, years of self control aiding him in this moment.

As she states her name his head raises, crimson tinted irises falling from her face to drag along her lithe frame almost greedily. She is taller than he, her body slender and possibly fast. He was all power, shorter, stockier like a freight train. “Kattari,” he draws her name out, repeating it and allowing the taste of it to settle upon his tongue. His mind screams, begging him to remember such a thing as this fighting femme.

“fighting me leads to…” his eyes trail back to her own, scarred, aged face masking the thoughts inside. “other things.” his baritones seem huskier than usual, guttural almost. She is just, new to him. Female’s from his time do not fight, they are more like trophies for showing to the world.

Though he never cared much to have one.