Today is just not going the way she expected it to. Of course she knew the power would get to Asmodeus’ head. Hell, it had gone to hers at one point as well. However, she had expected him to welcome her hungrily back into his bed and at his side, especially as the autumn season begins to approach. Their relationship, after all, had always revolved around lust and possession in equal measures with passion. But the look that comes across his handsome features now is anything except the one she expected.

Raven tipped ears disappear beneath the silken tendrils of her silver-white mane at his barbed retort. Nyimara scoffs lightly in response. There might (big might) have been one point in her life, when she might have considered Solomon as a suitable partner. A time when the tall, painted stallion as still unknown and his beliefs a foreign notion to her youthful mind. She had been much younger then, naive to his ideals; until he had come for her. Grant it, she had warranted it, but still… the beast had chosen Ysabel and allowed his judgement to be colored by the weakling mare. He had even gone so far as to make her his queen… but even that had not lasted forever. Xiomara might have always had an ounce or two of Nyimara’s respect, but still the idea that she might willingly have bowed to Solomon… it was a well aimed insult.

The silver witch tosses her mane, ridding the prospective images from her mind, ”Solomon was weak…” her own words fall flat between them as her piercing gaze searches his stoic features. ”I would HOPE you do not fall to such false prophecies as love like he did.” she finishes, raising a single brow as the Cheshire smile once more slides across her lips. Score one for her. This parrying was growing more and more interesting by the second. Usually it only took one or two thrusts of her silver tongue to illicit reactions from others. Asmodeus seemed more willing to give just as well as he took. No doubt both their souls would be ripped and bloody by the time this was finished.

He shifts away from her reach, as if the very thought of her body pressed against his might leave him open to weakness. The beast within her purrs its amusement and like a novice, she steps forward. Twin flutes rise once more as the lithe desert dancer shifts, one hoof in front of the other in slow, calculated steps. Chocolate colored serpentine arches as she peers up at him from beneath the thick veil of her lashes, the Cheshire grin transforming into something more coy and self-assured. Seduction had always been the easiest of her cards to play and Asmoedus is no exception. Cahyr was proof enough that her cunning ways worked. Although she tried to keep Swyk from his eyes, Nyimara did not miss the painted mare that lingered at the borders nor the small filly at her side that garnered Asmoedus’ attention. It was but the first taste of jealousy to grace her tongue as of late but one that even she knew was well-deserved.

She opens her mouth to comment, her dark eyes glittering but before the sharp-witted retort can leave her lips, he stops her. ’the idea of trading mares is growing on me….’

A flicker of surprise dismantles her cockiness. It is a thought that had not even crossed her mind before. This sword fight was getting bloodier by the second and not in her favor. The surprise on her exotic features disappears and instead is replaced with something more akin to fury. Dark ears lace tightly against her skullcap as ashen labrums peel back. ”You wouldn’t DARE?!?!” she snarls, her own whipcord snapping audibly against her heels as she takes a step backwards.

For the first time since her arrival on Salem, Nyimara feels the first flicker of uncertainty. Swyk had been an… unexpected result of brash action, but even then, Nyimara had never considered her ‘place’ at jeopardy. Not until now. Now he could, but that did not mean she would not fight him to her last dying breath if necessary to keep from being tossed aside as Solomon had once done to her. Perhaps he was more like his sire than she first imagined.

He turns to her again, his blue-green eyes unreadable even to her. The words that leave his lips hold no humor or even an ounce of fury, merely a statement of facts. She had cost him support? Tension builds beneath her skin as again his dagger flays at her flesh. The snarling growl that lingers in her throat is silent but now the beast within is awake. She starts to argue his statement, to defend herself and raise the shield she keeps hidden at her side if only to make it out of this battle of wills that has so clearly fallen out of her favor. She starts to toss her own snide remark towards him but again he silences her before the words manage to form a voice.

An opportunity.

Perhaps all was not lost.

Although she despised being given the ultimatum. Produce or back off… Nyimara could not ignore the challenge she found buried in his voice. As though he doubted her ability. Once more the cocky smirk slides back into place as the fury and rage she felt moments ago dissipates. ”You mean WHEN I secure the alliance for you…. I will be given my title back.” she purrs, her long whipcord swaying slowly against the feminine curve of her flank. Evrain was….. A challenge to say the least. While it was her own daughter that reigned as his queen, the silver haired mare had settled to what power the blue beast offered to her and never dared to dream or reach for more. She had done nothing more than settle for being his quiet little babymaker and Nyimara can only blame her sire for that.

Shuffling nearer, the chocolate woman arches her neck towards the tall chimera stallion. Paper-thin nostrils flutter as the bewitching mare leaves but a small space between them. ”When I return with OUR alliance…” she begins, her dark eyes glittering with a mischievous light, ”We WILL have this conversation again….’ she huffs. Quick as a viper she snakes her head near enough to allow blunt ivories to grasp for his flesh, intent on leaving him a reminder to dwell on in her absence. If anything, her bite has become nearly as fierce as her bark.

With an impish giggle and flip of her mane, the silver-haired woman wastes no further time. Lean muscles gather as the fem-fatale retreats from his reach. Long limbs stretch beneath her as quick as a gazelle, the witch is off. It has been far too long since she has visited the Dunes anyway.