It had been interesting at least to interact with Kaliban and Lamia. His cousin was passive in a way, a mediator. She was calm in the face of tension whereas Kaliban gave off a strong sense of hostility. Would Menkhet had been similar if they had not been soulbound? Yes, he thinks. She would have been much more forceful in her dealings and he could see her with a surly attitude at times. Menkhet was not a wolf that was used to the word no. She had been born beneath the powerful reign of Sekhmet and lived her entire life in the knowledge that she was a behemoth and a princess; strength and power combined. A heady pairing which would lead to much upheaval if she pushed too hard on another pack.

The idea makes Nyteshade grin to himself, meandering as he was, tracking scents to their ends and trying to find sources. By now he knew that his father would be growing impatient. Blackthorne was not the kind to be kept waiting long without repercussions and while Nyte had lounged for a time in Asteraia, spying and interrupting that one session, it was time to report what little details he knew to his father before gathering elsewhere.

It doesn’t surprise him when Menkhet begins to track him. He can sense her like fire on his breath, his mouth watering at the nearness of her, his nerves highly acute to her presence. Bravely he continues his path, pretending he does not know she is nearby. He would not let Menkhet realize just how strong his side of the bond was yet, because while he felt a possessiveness towards her, he also knew her loyalties were firmly with Sekhmet and who knew if she would try to use him against his own father? The Darkbringer, after all, was a friend that one always wanted to keep a side eye on.

She flies at him and Nyteshade grins, brightly, not flinching even an inch as her teeth snap at his ear. A brief speck of pain, a droplet of blood, the twitching of his neck at the next swipe, and then her giggle. There is a sense of release when she bites his ear, a euphoria at the pain and pleasure of her mark. He growls low in his throat but it is akin to a giggle, overjoyed. He bounces forward as she sweeps her tail beneath his chin, jaw opening to wrap around her tail. He leaves it open so her tail slides through it, his saliva now coating her fur and her fur now stuck between his teeth. Keep up, she says, and he cackles wildly at her before jolting forward into a run at her hips.

Rain is on the horizon. It feels just as wild as he does in this moment. He weaves close to her at times, brushing his maw against her haunch, her ribs, her tail, enjoying the way she freely allows his touches even if her own are vicious. He liked crazy and she was mad.

Silver-green eyes narrow at the contemplative look that crosses her face, his own orbs peeling away to flick around and nose twitching. There are many scents nearby from all the passerbys. None are his father but some are fresh. Slowly his gaze turns back to her, wondering. She had hinted at her taste for flesh before and perhaps that is what she thinks now. ”Are you hungry, Savathun? Fresh is the best.” Now it was up to her to pick what prey.