His imprint seems just as interested as he was, although not through any overt reaction of herself. Renja does not recoil from him despite rising up from the ground nor does she rush forward in a torrent of emotion. One might even say that her eyes are dead for she distances her from things it seems. Yet Blackthorne can see the tells, the way her eyes take in his entire figure much the same his own drink her in. While he does not shield her from the desirous thoughts racing through him, she is more aloof. It is only right that she is a cunning creature for she is his soul. A weak one would have been crushed easily but she seems the type to do the crushing.

The aura around her seems otherworldly. It is a far cry from the electric of his last imprint or the coyness of his past suitors. In a way he is reminded of Beltane. Is this why the witch had come to the river? She had sensed something was occurring, her cackling still imprinted on his mind, and he resolved to seek her out in the coming days to ask what she knew of this fascinating creature before him. Beltane didn’t have to know a wolf to know some items… it was simply her gift.

A conniving sort of smile settles on him at her fluid words, so blithely given. ”Forced to devour? My darling,” he purrs, ”You do not seem the type to be forced to anything.” Liar, his eyes call her. Renja took some pleasure in what she did – her soul was not the pureness of starfire by the blackness of the space around it. Devouring and absolute.

His abrupt approach is met with immediate acceptance; he moves, she grows closer. Surprise alights his features for but a brief moment. It is rare that the Darkbringer is surprised anymore. The constant refrain in the past was “no! you can’t do that!” while he did just that. Renja did not fight the bond between them, allowing him to rub across her much like a cat, his own muzzle brushing across her stripes as he inhales. He closes his eyes for a moment, body still moving in tandem with hers as she turns and he follows, their movements twisting and winding like a snakes.

Only as he finished moving across her other side does he finally take a step back, satisfied as only a male could be when their claim was laid. Renja Azmiron, she says. Two names – what did they mean? It has been too long since Blackthorne’s interest was piqued in such mundane things. What as the darkness bequeathed to you? Her voice is echoing, cavernous, the kind of eldritch thing one could fall into and find madness.

It is lovely.

”Blackthorne Darkbringer,” he replies smoothly, inserting his title as name because he is one and the same. Both Blackthorne and Darkbringer. Title and wolf combined into one. ”My, what chaos you will bring,” he breathes, awed as her pallid eyes stare into his flashing charcoal and silver ones. Yes, his soul screams, it was right of him to return.

There was never a better time.