'If only you could really make it worth my while.' The resolution that simmered within him-- a living flame bound within mortal marrow-- did not dim when the velvet of her voice brushed a wistful longing against his senses. A smile curved sensuously across the Carthage's dark lips as he registered, felt the beauty lean into his touch. Mischievous pleasure glimmered in the scarlet of his gaze. That was until the voice of another-- whom he gauged to be a young female without spying her yet-- drew their attentions from one another.
"What.." The words had been on the tip of his tongue, tempered into a soft, confident beckoning, so close to spilling. What makes you think I can't? Then, he spied the speaker. His tone dove into the thick rasp of anger, each word punctuated brutally. "..the hell." Parvati had turned to face the dark figure, who uttered a low curse at seeing him. 'Hi.. Dad.' The mask slipped, his expression hardening as crimson eyes narrowed upon the girl: his daughter Carrhae. The bay had found her scent in the Desert before, already beyond their borders in the Badlands. He had given the smoky black the benefit of a doubt, assuming she'd mistakenly chased something into the sands. Obviously, there was nothing "accidental" about this transgression.
Anger flooded his veins, the fire scorching through Carthage nearly unchecked. His dark ears twisted, flattening against the black mass of mane at his poll. He could scarcely register the look tossed his way by Parvati or her droll comment. The full weight of his gaze rested squarely on the impudent four-year-old, who dared to stand there and straighten herself as though she were above him and the consequences of her actions. Her mother had died for not dissimilar transgressions. 'Who are you looking for,' cut Parvati's voice, giving him a moment to breathe through the heady fume of his rage.