It is pleasing to see the way her body tremors at the sight of him. It is not fear. He has not known Beltane to have the taste of fear – she is too far between worlds to fear anything, let alone him. Blackthorne had never given her a reason to fear him nor had she given him a reason to inspire such a thing. While he wouldn’t peg her as the ultimately loyal type, he did know that Beltane chose where she went. She was a wolf who made choices rather than let them be made for her, even if the spirits and the workings of the worlds seemed to influence her. They were otherworldly and just as interesting as she was.

Her laugh is met with a grin, a rare sight from him, for it is not plagued with malice or corruption. It merely is. She bows slightly and Blackthorne nods his head in acceptance of such a gesture, his tail rising slightly, chest puffing, memories crashing into him. The taste of power – it did not have to be just a home. Iromar had become a foundation for him but if he wanted, he could call up a hundred lost souls and lead them to destruction, be it theirs or other’s. He need only open his mouth and spew his poisoned words, for his silvered tongue could entice.

”I am near, all right,” he purrs back to her, mischief in his eyes. She will know his intentions. She will know that he is here to sow chaos, sliterhign between their paws and biting their jugulars. Pumping them full of venom. In the moment that she leans, he feels it, a suddenly pull, tug, SNAP, that makes his breath catch.

The Darkbringer jerks his head back, nose flaring as his head whips immediately to his right. It is like lightning, like her, but not. He does not feel that resistance like bfore, when Azariah, the lightning girl had appeared before him. ”I feel it,” he breathes, half-hearing her question and answering. His ear flicks back towards Beltane though his eyes do not and he dips his head, assuming she will realize that he means goodbye and also, I’ll see you soon.

For now, he had other prey in his sights. He is blind, blind to those who appear like moths to flame, not even noticing his uncle in the distance.