Thundering hooves. Pounding paws. Adrenaline pumping, fear spilling. It was a hunt. Predator and prey. The most primal of all the basic dances in the animal kingdom. Starring Demyan and the current choice of prey; moose. The giant beast thundered away from the snarling predator, lashing out with its hind hooves, trying to nick the gargantuan man to get him away from it. But the animal's flailing hooves continually missed their mark, on gaining slashes as Demyan swiped out with his paws, talons raking across the thin skin to draw blood and pained screams from the terrified animal. Another kick was sent in his direction as retaliation, but once again it missed his mark. Demyan was close enough to strike, but smart enough to keep his head away from the sharp hooves. They could do some serious damage on him if he got cocky.


He'd been chasing the beast for only a few minutes, having driven the animal from the neighboring lands into his one filled with willows. Aged roots rose up from the ground all over the place, acting possible obstacles to help bring down his prey, but the damn thing saw them and began evading them, weaving through the roots instead of trying to jump over, risking a possible catching of its hoof ultimately leading to its take down. A hungry snarl twisted the brute's jaws, his hunger twisting violently as his gut, turning his calculated attack into something more desperate. He wanted his food now. Muscles tensed a moment before the hellion threw himself forward, looking to attach himself to a haunch, possibly snap a limb in order to injure the moose and kill it once and for all. But the moose had anticipated his move. It kicked out and this time its hoof hit its mark. The tip of the hoof slashed deeply across his chest, starting from the corner of his right shoulder, extending towards the middle of his chest, crimson liquid oozing from the wound. The sudden attack hit the gargantuan like a ton of bricks, knocking the breath from him while offsetting his balance, massive frame coming to crash against the twisting roots of the willows. Fuck.


Colossal frame hit hard against the ground, some of the broken roots managing to gauge the giant, causing more damage to his body as it slid across the earth, the impact spreading through his massive body. The moose took the opportunity to make a break for it, ignoring its bleeding leg as it took off, satisfied that its hit had contact and disabled its attacker. Demyan snarled as his body came to a grinding halt, pain radiating all across him, making him clench his jaws in anger. Fucking moose... He snarled to himself underneath his breath, slowly pushing himself to his stomach, acutely aware of the blood oozing from his chest. Another snarl, this one louder and more menacing broke away from his jaws, audits pining themselves against his skull as he turned to his left side, reaching out with his jaws as he began to pull the pieces of roots that had gotten embedded in his pelt and skin. This shit hurt like a mother fucker.




Talk like this

~*~ Orica looked around her with a giddy sort of smile that only comes when you absolutely know you're doing something wrong. She was never the one to leave home. Creed and Cross and Gali had snuck out plenty of times, but she was one of the 'good' pups. She actually listened to her parents and was sad when they had to scold her over something. And yet, with her legs begining to turn lanky and all her pup fur shedding away with spring, she felt the itch to wander. She gained the confidence and curiosity that led her challenge the borders - to go across them and beyond. It was helped in now small share by the fact that they'd changed homes. All she'd known in her short life was Glaciem with it's icey peaks and tundra and timber woods. But here in the south there were a hundred other scents and sights. All just waiting to be explored. It stirred something within her. Her white paws beat out a light-hearted song upon the green earth as she raced forward without so much as a single drift to hamper her way. It was incredible! Her blue eyes flew wide with excitement as she pinned back her ears, lowered her head, and dove into the speed. She focused on the farthest horizon, whether it was a sundappled tree line or a distant ridge of blue hills. She focused in and she ran to it. And when she reached it, she would stop, look around her with a lolling tongue, pick another horizon, and then run again. She'd never run like this before and the adrenaline went straight to her head. She didn't realize how hard she'd pushed herself until her legs began to feel like jello and her lungs burned like wild fire. Panting violently, she slowed her pace, coming to a walk beneath the trailing tendrils of the willow trees - not the short bushy, rock willows that they'd had in the north - real willows, that stood high as pines and glinted silver in the sunlight, and danced with a dreamlike slowness at every tug of the breeze. They were beautiful, but Orica wasn't able to appreciate them until after she'd had a breather and long drink from a nearby winding stream. Well, this had been fun. Orica considered herself the better for her little adventure. She'd take a rest to recover her strength and then head back home. Padding up to one of the trees, ivory legs lowered her frame carefully around the wonderfully scented roots. Snuggling up against the trunk, she let the lids close slowly over her eyes. .... But she hadn't been asleep for an hour before the most ear shattering bellow snapped her awake as violently as if she'd been shot. The uneatherly screeching continued, joined in by feral growlings and snarlings. The very ground underneath her trembled with the weight of some terrific monster heading her way. No! Already here! She could see the grey shadows of figures among the grove - playing out like a game of shadow puppets behind a threater curtain. Only a thin wall of willow branches serpated her from the climax of the ill fated hunt. She could just make out the lupine figure dashing for the wolf's leg. And then she heard it. The horrible wet SLAP of meat as the moose's leg connected with the lone hunter. After that heartstopping moment the figures went seperate ways. the wolf flew back, crashing to ground, and the moose fled, still terrified. Orica had jackknifed to her paws, but now she remained stock still, her little heart thudding as she wondered if she'd just witness a wolf's death. But no, the sound of a low grumbling curse told her that the crazy hunter was still alive. Normally she would've been frightened further by such language, but this was a matter of life and death! She had no thought but to help, and immediately raced through the veil of trailing, silver leaves. And there she halted again, now barely three yards from the fallen wolf. She could see him clearly - a large wolf (she would've called him a giant had she not been used to her father's size), with fur of light grey mottled with darker grey markings, unqic and yet subtle. She could see anger in those blue eyes that rivaled her own in brilliance. But pain was no doubt soon to follow - judging by the trail of dark red that spread across the male's chest and down his belly. Though still a few months away from being a yearling, Orica had logged more hours of healing training, than most would've thought possible. Almost as soon as she'd been allowed to take walks out of the pack cave with her sire she'd started asking her packmates about herbs, and her Uncle Rogue had taken her around to show her all sorts of plants. Her time under the teachings of her Aunty Solliel had sealed the deal. At the first sight of blood, her instincts kicked in. With that assurance for the wounded wolf, she spun round, her bushy tail whipping in her wake, and she set immediately to work. With the balance of a cat she rose suddenly to her hind legs, fores tucked like a fox's as she tipped off tender willow shoots from the branches. Then back to the earth went all fours and she rushed over to the male's side, where she meekly deposited the greens beside his muzzle. "I-I've had some training as a healer," she said, her high voice trilling out so quick it sounded like birdsong. "Chewing on these will help dull the pain and keep your head clear." Her voice was kind and soft, but terribly urgent. More urgent, than she meant it to be probably. But she could see how serious this wound was! Could a wolf even recover from something that bad? The first words were barely out of her mouth before she was turning away and rushing back in the direction of the stream she'd found. "Hang on just a moment," she said over her shoulder, "I'll find more herbs!" ~*~

Stupid piece of shit motherfucker...Should of had that bastard already....Could've been eating the finest piece of meat right now but of course I would fuck up....Shit that fucking hurts... Strings of profanities fell from his pale jaws, daggers clamping against piece after piece of bark as he painstakingly began pulling out all the pieces of tree that had managed to dig themselves into his skin. Each one pulled out was another snarl, another hiss past his powerful jaws, now beginning to ache with the effort of having to pull out all the little mother fuckers. Fuck dammit! Him and his fucking cockyass ego, thinking he could after a damn moose on his own. He had done it before, but that had been pure luck and the thing had been injured last time. This one had been perfectly healthy but Demyan had gone right on ahead and gone after it anyway. For once, his cockiness had come back to bite him in the ass. And he was not at all pleased with it.


He'd been too busy ripping the wood out from his body to notice the little pipsqueak (sorry clashy, that's how he sees her XD) that come up to his side until her high pitched voice pierced his ears. Audits flattened against his skull, jaws releasing the piece of branch that he was working, crown whipping around, a snarl twisting his features, the actual sound rumbling deeply in his chest as cyan gems came across the black and white figure of a youngster. Nasals twitched, confirming the scent to belong to a young female.
I-I've had some training as a healer. Chewing on these will help dull the pain and keep your head clear. Hang on just a moment. I'll find more herbs! Her squeaky voice had his snarl increasing in pitch, muzzle crinkling more -if it was possible- as he glared at her, gaze flickering down to the willow shoots that she had deposited beside him. Right forelimb struck out, tossing the shoots away, salmon tongue lashing out to brush against ivory daggers. He didn't need help from anyone, and especially not some tiny little worthless bitch (again excuse the bad names clashy, Demy hates children XD). Who the hell did this damn kid think she was? He didn't give a rat's ass if she had been taught in the art of healing or not. He was perfectly fine. He didn't need anyone's help. He could deal the fucking pain. He wasn't a pussy. Pain was nothing to him. Sending a last snarl in the little bitch's direction, the gargantuan turned back to his side, daggers returning to their task of pulling out the remaining pieces of bark, crimson oozing from the multiple puncture wounds.






Talk like this

~*~ Down went her muzzle to search out the scent of other plants. So much was new to her in the South, but then she'd been taught by a southern healer. She recognized the simplest of plants first - plantain, the broad-leafed 'soldier's herb', and dandelion, with it's little towers of gold. Two of the most humble, common weeds, and yet in ages past, they had proven true. Orica snapped up as much as she could of both plants, and with a muzzle brimming full of emerald leaves and stems, ran back to the wounded male. Her white paws pulled her up from her charge perfectly, and she let drop the pile of leaves before her. She noticed the cast away willow bits, and assumed he had tried some and disliked them. "I know it tastes very bitter, but it's good for you," she reasoned, her wide, blue eyes peering at him with what she probably thought was severity. He'd still been growling at her, but she figured that was just at the pain. She couldn't figure out why he wouldn't take his medicine. Maybe he just didn't trust her? She decided to try to ease his mind with some explanations. "You're very lucky to still be alive," she said as she clawed at the plants before her, turning them into an effective pulp. "But I don't think you will be for much longer if I don't get a poultice to that wound." She flicked a worried glance at the male's bloodsoaked belly. He'd nearly been split open like a deer! Orica would look back later and be surprised at how completely calm she was around the mess of wolf's blood. All that training had been talk and lessons and small cuts, but this was the real deal. She'd never seen blood like that before, and yet the thought of feeling ill or faint or whatever, never occurred to her. If she felt anything, it was an itch to keep working, to keep soothing and fixing. She didn't want to see anyone in pain. So it was very quickly that she scooped up some of the shreds of herbs in her muzzle, and closed the distance between herself and the hunter. She blinked at him for a moment, and then cocked her head. He had to roll onto his side a bit before she could do any good. "Are you going to let me help you?" she asked around the herbs. ~*~

He had figured that was the last he would see of her. Any smart wolf would run for the hills when confronted by a gargantuan man, especially one who was hurt and could snap at the closest living thing in a matter of seconds. It was common sense, wasn't it? He continued to pull at the splinters stuck in his side, practically having gotten all of them out, except for a few that were to far for his reach. Well they technically weren't, it was just that when he stretched out to grab them, the gash across his chest protested. He had been hurt before, almost as bad as this, but this time it hurt like a mother fucker. As much as he didn't want to admit it, it hurt too much for him to go after the last few splinters. They could stay there. Cata would pull them out for him when he went back to her. Or he would simply pull them out later, when his chest was a bit more healed up. He wasn't worried.


And then, to his displeasure, that squeaky, trilling bird like voice was back again. Turning back slowly around, cyan gems came across the little black and white bitch again as she tried to convince him to eat willow shoots she had collected for him. A snarl twisted his features once again, gaze flickering up to meet hers, ready to tell her to fuck off, but the look in her blue eyes had the words dying behind his lips. Demyan sat dumbfounded, shocked into silence, as he stared into her eyes. It wasn't the color that got him, they were nearly identical to his own, but the look. She was looking at him like if she really, truly cared. There was no malice, no hidden intention, no disgust, no hatred, nothing negative, only the pure, honest intention to help him. No one had ever looked at him like that. Not even his adoptive parents. They had looked down on him with pity, never true caring like this child was looking at him. But why did she look at him like that? He didn't deserve such a look from her. He had done thing to merit something so pure. Did she not know how horrible he was? He tortured others for fun. If she knew that would she still want to help him or would she run for the hills like she should've done since the beginning?


You're very lucky to still be alive. But I don't think you will be for much longer if I don't get a poultice to that wound. She was talking again, warning him that if he didn't tend to his wounds soon, then he wouldn't be breathing for much longer. He wanted to stand up and leave, to go off somewhere and nurse his wounds on his own, but he didn't have the strength to do it. He physically could not stand. His body hurt too much. For once in his life, his strength failed him. Crown was dipped towards the earth, cyan gaze focused on her white paws as she began mixing the herbs together, mashing them into a pulp as he tried to make sense of the situation, to break the shock that had seemed to envelop him from her look. His features had relaxed, the snarl fading from his fa?ade. It reminded him of that night with Cata where he hadn't fucked her brains out, but this time it was so much different. He had no way of explaining it to himself. The movement of her paws caught his attention, gaze lifting to her own, watching as she came around to stand in front of him, her little black and white head cocked at him as she asked him if he was going to let her help him. Gaze narrowed, the inkling of a snarl touching his lips, but not fully forming, his giant mass still as he avoided his gaze, his silent acceptance of her help.





Talk like this

~*~ Orica paused only a moment more, until she figured out that the male, but not resisting, was saying yes. Orica padded up to the male's belly, standing just behind the forelegs, and she crouched down, rather in a play crouch, the color of her blue eyes intensifying as she narrowed them to get a good look at the jagged wound. She'd heard before of how dangerous the great racked beasts were. Her father had had his tail taken off by a moose when he was her age. Each of their hooves was a pair of daggers, that could be brought down with the force of all their impossible weight. It was possible that behind the cut, this male also had some broken ribs. - he was lucky he didn't have a broken spine. And maybe that was why he wasn't talking much, because it hurt to. Well, Orica, would see what she could do about that. She brought her muzzle to the side of the behemoth's form, and, starting at the tail end of the long gash, began to lick her mashed her herbs into it. It was possible it would sting - the dandelion sometimes did for just a moment when applied to an open cut, but Orica strove to be as gentle and careful as possible. Her pink tongue lapped out, smoothing away the pale grey fur, cleaning up some of the blood to reveal the source wound, and then, bit by bit depositing her mouthful of greens. She went slowly, it was painstaking work, but she showed no trace of puppish impacience. She made sure to plaster the herbs down, using just then pressure to keep them there. Luckily, because of how the male was lying, he wasn't bleeding enough to render her herbs useless, but if he moved, the wound could easily start gushing. Orica got about halfway along before she had to go fetch more herbs. It was the work of a few seconds and this time she nearly pulled whole plants up in her silent haste to get back. There she again shredded them with her paws upon a tree root, adding now a couple of willow leaves to the mix, and then stealing back over to the reclining male. She didn't mind if he was silent all this time. She had grown up with eight other pups in the pack and only one of them had been a girl. There wasn't much a male could do to make her shy, and she didn't need alot of talk to keep her entertained - particularly when she had work to do. the only reason she worried at all was because she didn't want the male to slip silently into shock. If that happened - her heart drummed anxiously for a second - what did she do? If that happened she'd have to keep him warm, keep his paws elevated, and keep him breathing. But then, this male looked strong, almost as strong as her father, perhaps he pull through alright. As Orica worked her way up the gash she had to nose under one of the male's forelegs. then she was lapping at his chest, where she had to use one of her paws to smooth away the fluff and help her apply the herbs. It was only possible because she'd inherited her mother's small, sensitive ivory paws. Eventually the little medic was coming to the end of the tear, her little head right beside the jaws of the grey beast. If the male had been worried about showing himself as vulnerable, Orica was unconsciously evening the field. The injured male could've turned on her at any moment, but she carried on her innocence making her fearless and her care making her focused. Her little pink tongue lapped at where the wound touched his shoulder, caressing and cleaning the glaring red flesh. The sharp metallic taste of wolfsblood was different from any other animal's, and at first Orica had wanted to make a face at it, but she was ignoring it now as she finished up the stock of herbs and took a small step back to admire her work. A slick green line now replaced the red tear that had painted his form before. Orica hoped she had done everything right. She believed she had. "Best to let that sit for a while," she said. Her voice was much calmer and steadier now, but still high and feminine, almost like one would imagine a little mountain stream's to be if it could talk. She looked down at the male with ears perked forward to show their inner white fluff. She was looking for any signs of further pain or shock. "How do you feel?" she asked sincerely. It was high possible that he had breaks or at least sprains, but until he told her something all she could attend to were the obvious wounds - such as the splinters of bark driven into his back. ~*~

He didn't need her help. He didn't need anyone's help. He was perfectly fine on his own. Sure, it hurt like a bitch to move, but that didn't mean that he wasn't going to survive. He was strong, stronger than most. He would walk away from this just fine. A little sore probably, and covered in blood, but at least he was alive. Anyone else who would've been his situation would've probably sustained life threatening injuries, probably died, but not Demyan. It was going to take a lot to get rid of this hellion. A little hoof scratch from some stupid moose and splinters weren't going to do the trick. Mother nature would have to try a lot harder if she wanted to eradicate him.


But despite his musings, he didn't move, didn't make any kind of protest as the little black and white female came to his left side, crouching before him, her little face serious as she studied the wound. He should've just snapped her neck and been done with it already, but for some reason he couldn't. She smelt of pack, it was the first thing he had noticed about her when she'd approached him. So killing her probably wouldn't be a smart idea. If his incident with the white bitch was anything to learn from, it was harming a pack wolf always back fired. At least for him anyways. If he were to do something to the youngster in front of him, he had no doubt that there would be severe retribution from whatever pack she belonged to, most likely from her father, unless somehow she was an orphan with no family to respond for her, though he seriously doubted that. A hiss slipped from his clamped jaws as she began applying the mashed up herbs, an irritated snarl rumbling in his chest, audits flattening against his skull. Fuck, that shit hurt so much. He wanted to shove her away, but she was already nearly half way through applying the herbs. Guess he'd have to stick it out.


Half through the wound she had to go back to get more herbs and Demyan took the opportunity to voice his pains, bellows of pain erupting from his jaws, pale lips curled into a vicious snarl as he stared down towards his chest, wanting to rip the damn herbs. How the fuck were they supposed to help if they were stinging the shit out of him?! And then she was back, mashing up her new of herbs to continue right where she left off, her smaller head tucking beneath his left forepaw as she worked her up on the wound, nearly reaching the top. She was in such a vulnerable position, so easy for him to snap her spine and kill her, but his jaws never opened to deliver the killing bite, simply stayed shut, the only sound coming from them being the occasional grunt, hiss or snarl in response to her application of the herbs. Her steady application lead her up to the top of his wound, her smaller head even with his jaws. Again the thought of killing her crossed his mind and yet he made no move to bring his thoughts to reality, cyan gems flickering across her dual-colored face, looking to meet her own blue gems only to dance away before she could notice. He couldn't let her know that he was watching her. He wasn't supposed to want to look at her. He was supposed to kill her and then disappear into the shadows. What the fuck was wrong with him?


And then she was done, taking a step back to admire her work, her trilling voice suggesting that he stay still lest he went to bleed out, while asking him if he was fine. Cyan gems narrowed, though the usual blood-lust and malice was missing, a rumbling growl of a word slipping from his clamped jaws. Fine. He huffed, turning away, unable to meet her sincere gaze, glaring down at his chest, wanting to rip the damn herbs off but knowing that was probably one of the most stupid decisions he would ever make.





Talk like this

~*~ This was a grumpy one. He growled and hissed at every little touch and avoided her gaze whenever he could. But he didn't move. He didn't leave or try to push her away. He knew he was hurt and needed help, and by some turn of luck, Orica was there there and willing to do so. She'd seen to that gaping wound with as much diligence as was worldly possible for girl her age, and now... the one syllable was all she got. And immediately Orica's eyes, before so worried and intent, blanked. Her lids dropped halfway down and one white dotted brow raised upwards. "Liar," she muttered dismissively. "It's okay, you know. You don't have to act tough in front of a healer." she sighed gently, any trace of severity leaving her eyes. "We're both wolves after all," she said, and said in the same way one might have said 'we're both family', for, to her, who'd grown up with so many aunts and cousins and siblings, most other wolves were her family, or her pack. The idea had become stuck in her head that most wolves were somehow like family. There were villains out in there in the wide world, she knew that from the stories that her Aunt Crusade told her, and, sadly, from the experience that happened with the evil rogue and her cousins. But those were the exceptions, but most wolves out there weren't looking to hurt her. At least, that was what she believed. And it was a part of the confidence that was in her step; the easiness with which she conversed with this wolf she knew nothing about. She'd seen the injury on his back, and hitching her paws, stepped lightly over the fallen male and curled herself around before the wounded area. She sat down, her tail laying beside the other wolf's head as she faced the area that had been ripped up by the broken off bits of bark. He'd started to work on them himself, but was obvious that there were some impossible for him to reach. Ocena clenched her teeth thoughtfully. "Sorry," she muttered. "This might hurt, they're in pretty deep." She put the pink pads of her right paw against his form, partly to angle herself, partly to steady the male. Then, with a quiet snort of determination, she plunged her muzzle downwards, cupped her fangs round the first shard and yanked. No doubt it wasn't going to be pleasant, but she had to it - Once, and then Twice more before the worst was gone. ~*~

Liar. It's okay, you know. You don't have to act tough in front of a healer. We're both wolves after all. Of course she would sniff out his lie. It was obvious that he wasn't alright. No one who could've been nearly decapitated by a moose and was now sitting in a pool of their own blood was not alright. And yet Demyan went on right ahead and pretended like he was, for the sake of his ego. How would he ever let himself live down the fact that he had been saved by a little girl? It was absolutely ridiculous. What would his sister think when she found out? Surely she would mock him, taunt him for the rest of his days. She would never let him live it down.


The child's blue eyes were stern for several moments, a glance towards her telling him as much, a second glance allowing him to notice that the sternness had faded from her eyes. She shouldn't be helping him. He was the type of wolf that her parents had probably warned her about and told her to stay away from and yet here she was, trying to heal him. Was she stupid or simply didn't have any concern for her own personal safety? He could've ended her life at any moment since her arrival and yet the dual pelted child remained breathing, standing before him. She should've left. Damn kid and their lack of awareness of the bad things out in the world. The entire situation was completely confusing and it was throwing the usually killer hellion for a loop. He needed to kill her and yet he couldn't bring himself to do it. There was something about her, he had absolutely no idea what it was, that somehow prevented him from killing her. The fact that she had so bravely put herself in the line of fire, put herself in possible life-threatening danger to help a stranger was shocking to the gargantuan man. Could it be that...he liked the little medic? That was completely impossible! Demyan didn't like other wolves, he simply used them for his own pleasure and dumped them like yesterday's scraps. He couldn't like her, it was impossible for him. He wasn't capable of caring for another being other than himself (his sister not included). Or was he?


Movement from the little medic caught his attention and he watched as she crossed over him, putting her body parallel to his on his right side, her dual-colored plume resting beside his head she examined the splinters that covered his lower spine and partial right haunch. He was about to snap at her to leave them alone when her teeth grabbed at the nearest ones, pulling at it. A roaring bellow erupted from his larynx, audits flattening against his skull as he snarled in her direction, bruised muscles twitching as she pulled two more, several more bellows of distress bursting from his pale lips as he lowered his head, a low snarl still rumbling in his chest. Why are you helping me?




Talk like this

~*~ Orica, used to the male's little grunts and hisses at every touch of her tongue, had braced for something quite loud and terrifying when she yanked on the splinters. Her expectations were proved true, and she was quite lucky the male didn't snap her tail off while he was at it. Being such a sweet, sensitive sort, one might've expected the girl to cower back from the male's fury, even her own family would've expected it. But a new side of the girl was showing. When it came to healing, she was in her own world, on her own terms. She still had a job to do here and the male wasn't getting off easy just because he knew how to wail. "Big baby," Orica muttered around the sliver of bark in her teeth. She spit it out sideways, finally done, and was begining to lick at the male's back to clean the wounds when she heard his question. "Why are you helping me?" Orica twitched her bit fluffy ears like a rabbit's. "Well, because you need help, silly." The cadence to her voice made it should like it was the most natural thing in the world. What was the point of having skills and abilities and strengths if you didn't use them to help others? That was what she'd been taught by her parents, and, really, her whole pack. It had been Glaciem's custom to take in any wolf that needed shelter - like her friend Ithy, or the great grizzly Zanire. It was what made them so strong and so powerful. What other pack had come through as much as they had? Orica always loved hearing the stories - about the time when Aunt Crusade had been kidnapped, or about how the mountain in their last territory had exploded! It was horrible that such things ever happened, but boy did they make great tales! It stirred something in Orica, someday maybe she could go on adventures like that - traveling far and risking her life, but not now. For now she was happy to stay with her beloved family and just help out the odd stranger. This one here was certainly odd enough. Though she'd answered his question lightly, it had made her wonder. She was starting to get the idea that the lone hunter wasn't used to people being nice to him. Though he couldn't have been much more than a year older than herself, Orica got the feeling that he'd been through some bad times. She stared at the back of his head as he lay there. Her eyes became a little sad and a little curious. She'd paused, quiet for a few seconds, but now she turned again so that, though still parallel, her head was by his now. In fact her head was more or less over his. planting one paw beside the male's, and tucking the other up against her bodice, she leaned over him, stretching out her neck and tucking in her little white chin so that she was looking at him upside down. "Didn't you have healers in your pack?" She didn't say 'don't you have' because she knew from his scent that he wasn't around enough wolves to be a pack (that was a trick she'd just learned a month ago and was very proud of!) but everyone had to start somewhere right? Most wolves, even if they became rogues later, had a birthpack. ~*~

Jaws parted, panting gasps expelling from his open maw. That shit fucking hurt, did she not fucking realize that?! Maybe she should try and get stuck by a few fucking splinters some time and see how well she would deal with the damn pain!
Big baby. Another snarl erupted from his jaws as he craned his neck around to glare at her, realizing that she had managed to take out all the splinters from his back, the snarl dying to a low rumble. Hm. Normal wolves would thank someone for having helped them, but Demyan wasn't normal. And he hadn't even asked for her fucking help in the first place. Why the hell was he still even sitting here letting her help him. He should've left already. The same idea ran circles in his head so much it was beginning to become something like a mantra. He could repeat that to himself as much as he wanted, but he knew he wasn't going anywhere. His body was in no condition to support him, much less a trek to go out and find his sister. He was screwed for the moment. Or the rest of the day if the aches across his body didn't subside soon.


Her fluffy ears twisted in his direction as his question, the answer falling naturally from her lips. Well, because you need help, silly. Did she not realize that he hadn't asked for her help or did she just not care? She should really rethink her method of approaching others, especially when those others were injured because if he hadn't done anything, there was no telling that the next injured wolf she ran into would be so kind. Ha. Him kind? That was fucking impossible. I didn't asking for your help. I'm fine.There he went again, denying the obvious. He was anything but ok, both physically and emotionally, but that didn't mean that he had to admit it. He turned away, unable to bear looking at her. What the fuck was going on with him? This wasn't normal. It was unnatural. For him at least. He wasn't supposed to take help from anyone. He was strong enough to handle everything on his own. And yet he let the kid fix him and patch him up. What was this thing stirring in his chest? Every time he looked at her, it was like every single bad thing he'd ever done since his birth flashes across his mind, almost like shedding light on what a terrible monster he was. But why did he care? He wasn't trying to be a saint; he was the devil incarnate. He didn't have remorse. Remorse was for those who had a conscious. And he didn't have one. At least that's what he'd always told himself.


And then the little nymph was moving again, turning her body around so that it was parallel with his own, her head nearly next to his. Only, instead of lying down, the little pipsqueak leaned over him, nearly pressing her smaller nose against his as she asked him if he had any healers. Healers? His sister had probably killed them all if they'd had any. I killed them. He rumbled, bumping the kid's chin with the top of his head, pushing her away as he avoided his cyan gaze, turning down to stare at the dried blood that stained the earth and decorated his grey legs. There. That had to be the straw that would break the camel's back. Now she knew what kind of horrible, sick bastard he was. Now she would definitely run away, fearing for her safety. And right she should. He was no good. He was a monster. He would never be good. It was against his DNA coding.





Talk like this

~*~ There was a soft click of bones as the hunter's skull connected with Orica's muzzle. She stumbled back. Her paws scrambled a bit more than she meant and when she stilled them, now a few feet away from the male's head, she stood there, completely still. It wasn't the pain; she'd taken worse bumps than that in her romps with her 'brothers'. what caused the shock in her wide blue eyes were the words. 'I killed them.' Her white breast and risen and fallen many times before she finally murmured out, "Oh... You're one of those wolves." He was the sort that she'd been warned about; Told to hate and stay away from, and perhaps kill - if she had been born with a turn for warfare like most of her 'siblings'. He certainly wasn't the kind of wolf she was supposed to ever help. But too late for that. She already had. Orica stared at him for a moment longer, swallowing hard, trying to make sense of the words. The male hadn't been nice or anything, but he didn't feel evil. Were evil wolves really like that? That is - like everyone else? Whatever she had expected when she first came into contact with a wolf of villainous deeds, it hadn't been this. He was just a wolf the same as her or anyone else. He'd been hurt, and she'd helped him, and for a moment there she'd been so proud and happy to do so. Now, for the first time it was Orica's turn to look away. She stared off at the other willows without really seeing them. Her little forehead wrinkled with a frown. Her eyes narrowed into sapphire slits and the corners of her muzzle turned down. He'd killed healers... That made him the same as the wolf who'd killed Asheni, one of Glaciem's founding members, their sweetest healer, and Orica's own 'aunt'. She'd been there in the cave when her father had announced that the healer had been slaughtered. Uncle Cifer went missing for weeks looking for the killer, and Gargoyle still went out on hunts searching for the trace scent. It was something that had left a terrible impression on the young girl's mind. And now she'd helped someone who was just as bad as that rogue. Orica swallowed past a lump that she hadn't realized was growing in her throat. Those poor wolves... Why would anyone-? Orica pivoted her head back round to the male, her eyes flashing open. "Why?" she snapped. Instead of running, the girl was on her paws, standing and staring the male down, with hurt and anger fighting for supremacy in her gaze. "Why would you do such a thing?" Why would anyone do such a thing. She had to know. If she was going to live with this on her conscious then she would have herself learn something from it. Orica was a pup still and she could be naive and pleasant-minded, but she wasn't stupid. Her head wasn't stuck in the clouds, she was seeing things clearly now. But she wasn't afraid either. For one thing, she knew that with him having woudns like that, and with her just discovering her ability to run, she could outstrip the male no problem, no matter how evil he might be. And for another - well there were too many other feelings competing inside her to make room for something like fear. ~*~

He was a killer. A monster. The devil himself. A bastard. A sick, twisted, evil, sadistic bastard of a man who relished in the killing of others and bringing them pain. He was the worst kind of wolf there ever was and he had always loved that about himself. He was no saint. He never tried to be and he was never going to be. His sister and him had raised themselves to be killers. It had been imprinted in their DNA. It was something genetic, something imbedded deep down in his bones, something he couldn't deny. It was his nature to kill others, to torture them, to make them wish they had never burst forth from their mother's womb into this fucking world. It was what he'd been born to do. He'd started as whelp with his own litter of siblings, the only survivor being Cataleya of course, since she too had apparently inherited the same killing gene. And then it had continued as the youngsters had set out together, taking their killer natures out to introduce them to the rest of the world. Even with the pack that had adopted them, the siblings had never given up their favorite pastime. It had only been a matter of time before the two had taken their natures and turned them against the very foolish pack that had taken the two youngsters in. Killing. It was all he'd done his entire life and he wasn't about to stop now. He couldn't. He wouldn't. Right?


He didn't bother to turn around to glance at the little nymph, the gasps escaping from her tiny jaws were clue enough. She was shocked. Of course she was. Didn't think he was such a bad person did she? Stupid child. She needed to grow up already and realize that danger and evil was staring her in the face everywhere she walked. Not everything was sunshine and dandelions. Oh... You're one of those wolves. One of those wolves. So she was familiar with those who shared his particular hobby? It was about damn time she realized who the fuck he really was. He almost wanted to laugh at her as the realization of what she'd really done sunk in. She'd saved a murderer. A cold-blooded, heartless killer. Would she be able to live with herself knowing that she healed a man who like to take the lives of others, giving him a chance to continue torturing the world with his existence? He said nothing in return to her statement, cyan gaze rooted to the blood-stained ground beneath him, refusing to look at her. Why the fuck didn't she leave already! Now that she knew what he was, she had to leave! She had healed him. She was done. Or so he thought.


And of course the little pipsqueak hadn't left. Of course she was still fucking here. Why didn't she get the fucking hint and leave already! Why? Why would you do such a thing? She was standing before him, he could tell from the way her paws were placed before his, demanding answers from him that she really didn't want to hear. Demyan glanced up, cyan gaze meeting her sapphire one, seeing the hurt and anger that flashed across her own. He dropped his gaze, audits flattening against his skull, pale lips twisting into a snarl. Why the fuck did she care? Why did him killing others upset her so? They weren't anyone important, they had been fools! They had it coming for being such blind idiots for allowing him and his sister among their midst. Because that's what I do. I kill others because I like it. Came his rumbling snarl, the urge to snap towards her nearly overwhelming him, but Demyan pushed it down. It fought hard, but Demyan fought harder, subduing it, pushing it away, snuffing it entirely. Why the fuck are you still here? Are you stupid? I'm a killer you idiotic child. You healed me. Now get the hell out of here! Lyrics were angry, threatning, jaws snapping together against empty air, reverberating strongly against his own skull, cyan gems flashing angrily and yet he refused to lift his head to look at her. He couldn't. He couldn't handle the look of hurt that flashed in her sapphire pools. No. He refused to acknowledge it.





Talk like this

Life. It was such a delicate thing, so easily taken and just as easily given. That could not be said for the silvery woman the prowled the forest. Taking a life was as easy as taking a breath. Murder ran through her veins, imbedded so deep inside her that any other path seemed impossible. She could say the same for her brother. Their only difference was he preferred to prolong his victims death. To torture them, make their last few moments as painful as possible. While his sister simply craved the feeling of life fading away between her jaws. She had returned to the first spot she had visited when she found this strange place. Weeping woods. Roots made walking tricky, forcing one to pay attention. Silence. It enveloped the woman, dying to be broken by the screams of anothers pain.

Audits twitched. Picking up the sound of an animal thundering towards her. A large animal. Brows furrowed before eyes widen as a moose flew past her, thankfully a several yards to her left. What fool would try to take a moose? The fools howls of pain soon teased her ears. He was farther away than anticipated. A malicious sneer pulled at her features. She resumed her pace, taking her time. There was no need to rush, he was clearly still alive, though not for much longer. Screams got louder as she got closer. Then voices became more distinct, one stopping her in her tracks.

Demyan. She strained to hear, picking up the soft sound of a feminine voice, followed by more of her brothers snarls of pain. The scent of his blood caked the air. So he was that fool? A low growl rumbled in her chest. She was out of earshot and sight, his massive amounts of blood would cover her scent. Weaving a careful path, she got closer. Toxic gaze settled on the pair, watching with mild distain. She waited for her brother to snap the bitches neck. And waited. And waited. But he never did it. Lids narrowed over coral pools, gaze zeroing in on his expression. He wouldn?t meet the whores gaze. Lips curled back in a silent snarl. He was hesitating. Why? She wanted to know.
Enough. Paws kissed the earth as she prowled forward, making her entrance at her brothers back. Her chin tucked against her throat, gaze pinning the black and white woman. Lips curled back, revealing ivory fangs, a growl rumbled in her chest. Now that she had a better look at the woman, or rather girl, she realized just how young she was. Barely a year! She came to stop beside her brother, her stance defensive, skull level with her spine. She made no move to attack. Yet.

"I believe he said leave." Venom dripped off her words. There was no sensual purr, only raw danger, hanging between the two women. Gaze dropped to her brother and his wounds. Blood soaked his pelt, his wounds severe. For the time being, she didn't tease him, taunt him about being saved by a girl, or being unable to bing down that moose. A shadow of concern lay in her eyes. She wouldn't know what she would do if she lost him. What would this world be without her brother at her side?

"speech"

~*~ She didn't understand this. The male's first words, spilling out, talking of how he liked to kill, were horrible. But Orica was just confused. He was talking big and bad, but he wouldn't look at her. It was just like eariler when he kept saying he was fine, but kept grunting in pain at every touch. Her little heart did a horrified doublebeat at the words, and yet... And yet some of the effect was lost because he wouldn't meet her gaze. Every so often his eyes would flicker up, but only to look down again as though he'd been burned. At first Orica had just thought it was embarrassment or annoyance at having to be healed, but now she recognized it. It wasn't unlike the faces that the pups made when any of them were caught doing something the parents had told them they weren't supposed to. It was guilt. But before Orica could properly digest this or figure out what to do with it or what to day, the male was spouting off more words. Horrible words. Her paws staid in place, but she leaned farther and farther back until she was almost sitting on her haunches. Her eyes stretched wider with every terrible sentence he said. He'd used her. She'd helped him, and now he was going to use his strength to go on hurting people. This wasn't right! This wasn't fair! For a second Orica wished she were big and strong - a warrior like her dad so she could just kill this wolf and keep him from hurting anyone. But that was ridiculous thinking. She couldn't kill anyone. She was just mad and hurting and more than a little overwhelmed. Orica blinked viciously, shamed by the feeling of moisture collecting in the corners of her eyes, magnifying their glow. She couldn't cry! She wouldn't! It would only prove him right - that she was just a stupid, stupid child. In the silence that followed after the the male's furious storm of words, Orica sat for a moment more, hesitating and undecided, the sound of her little breathing made quicker and raspier by how tight her throat had become. She didn't want to stay here any longer. This wasn't right and it wasn't fair, but she couldn't do anything about it. She just wanted to get away. But that was when her attention got drawn away by a new addition to the scene. A beautiful female, cream colored and exotically marked, seemed to appear like magic out of the willows. And she fixed Orica with a gaze the color of roses as she came to stand by the wounded wolf. How long had she been there? What was going on? Did they know eachother? Despite everything else, a pup's curiosity burned and itched in Orica's head. She blinked again and stared. This wolf was truly lovely. Maybe she was a healer. Maybe she was nic- "I believe he said leave." No. Definitely not nice. But Orica just stared at her and swallowed again. "Who are you?" she asked, still half frowning. ~*~

She. Still. Wouldn't. Leave. Fuck dammit, did this fucking child not understand the severity of his words?! He could kill her for hell's sake! And yet she didn't move, stayed planted exactly where she was, not budging, not making any movements to tell him that she was going to heed his words and run for the hills, back to the safety of her family. Were all children like this? This only strengthened his hatred and furious dislike of them. They were insolent, sniveling little creatures that were too stupid to realize when a hungry, vicious predator was staring them down their fucking face. Any other child would've run for the hills the moment his bellow burst into the atmosphere, but this little nymph had come running towards him instead of away from him. Where was her sense of self-preservation, of fear? Every wolf had it, though some were able to ignore it or completely turn it off. But she was just a pup. She couldn't do that. Could she?


He watched from the corner of his eyes as she reclined back onto her haunches, his chin tucked against his chest, arched in the way equine's often did, ears flattened against his skull yet still attentive of her every move. No words came from the nymph's lips, just stunned silence. Was she finally realizing how fucked up the world around her was? Not everyone was like her family. Not everyone had everyone else's best interests at heart. He could hear the raspy breathing from the youth, a type of breathing only experienced when short of breath or those choking back on tears. Tears. She was crying? Nasals twitched, searching for the salty scent of tears. He could taste it; it was faint, but it was there. He dared not turn to see if she really was, afraid of the expression he was going to see written across his dual-colored face. How was she doing this to him? Why was she making him feel like this? It made absolutely no sense. He was a predator. Incapable of feeling anything towards anyone. He didn't have a heart. It had long since died as a child. And yet he could feel something stirring in his chest, a pull of sorts attached to the black and white girl. What was it?


The crunching of twigs caught the gargantuan hellion's attention, audits flickering forward with attention, listening as the paw steps became closer. Nasals flared, inhaling an all too familiar scent. Cataleya. What the hell was she doing here. He didn't bother to raise his head, figuring she would come close, but not as close as he could feel her. I believe he said leave. Venom laced words graced the air between her and the youth, causing a reaction in the giant. Despite his injuries and bone-deep aches riddling his entire body, Demyan lifted himself to his paws, jaws clenching together with effort. Trickles of blood began to seep from the covering the little medic had plastered across his chest, crimson drops plopping towards the already blood-soaked earth. He wasn't aware of what he was doing; his body was moving on autopilot, instinct guiding him, though an instinct he had never known he'd had. With stiff movements the large brute moved towards the obsidian and ivory girl, stopping a few inches in front of her only to turn around slowly, cyan gaze raising to meet his sister's coral death stare. Crown was raised, hackles bristling, bruised muscles tensing beneath his bloodied coat. Pale lips curved back over pearly dentures, a snarl working itself up and out his jaws from the depths of his chest. Leave her be. There was the whisper of pain in his voice, but the meaning was clear. Touch her and I will kill you.




Talk like this

Foolish girl. Cat could see the moisture well up in her eyes. It was clear she was devastated that she just gave a cold hearted killer at second chance to terrorize the world in which he walked. How terrible she must feel. To know that all the lives he claimed after this day would be on her paws. All because she wanted to help him. A sneer threatened to show itself, but she beat it down, refusing to allow any emotion to grace her features. Who are you? A frown tugged down at her features. Gaze raked the girl vicously. She was nothing special to look at, her pelt simple, eyes a simple shade of blue. "His sister." It really was none of her business, she should be gone already. Running for the hills. But she stayed glue to her spot. Stupid girl. Didn't she know that she sat in the presence of killers?

Leave her be. Gaze flicked her to brother. A snarl creased his features, his head raised, pelt bristling. Everything frozen. Confusion. Anger. Even hurt bubbled up in the woman. Was her brother choosing this..this bitch over his own sister? She was nothing, just some little girl who he had just met, who patched up his wounds. A pack wolf. Probably from some do-good family. Her brother was a cruel bastard, but he never turned his back on her before. Foreign emotions came crashing down on her like a tidal wave. Betrayal. Who was this man? This surely couldn't be her brother, could it? Even she had never be allowed to tend to any of his wounds, he had always preferred to nurse his wounds, physical and not, on his own. But this girl had been allowed to? She would die. She had to. No one tore her brother from her without consequences.

All the while her outward expression never once waived, never gave a clue as to what was going on in her mind. Gems remained fixated on her brother. She lifted her own crown, ears pinning against her skull, she mirrored her brothers stance. "Since when do you take a liking to the young and helpless?" Poison laced her words in the gentlest of ways. The blood the started to drip from her brothers wounds didn't go unnoticed, neither did the blood that caked his gray pelt. It was surprising he was even able to stand. She had watched him get up, saw the clench of his jaws, the strain in his muscles as he moved to protect this girl. She heard the whisper of pain in his voice. The venom in which he spoke cut her deeper than his fangs ever would.

She needed solitude to wrap her mind around these events. They had just settled into this place, and now her world was being turned upside down? All for some sweet, innocent piece of ass. She didn't let concern for the womans whereabouts creep into her mind, should she make the mistake of attacking first, Cat would snap her pretty little neck before her brother could save the day.

"speech"

~*~ The wolf was his sister. Perhaps it was the way that those two words were said, perhaps it was her sense of danger finally kicking in, but suddenly Orica realized fully the danger she was in. The game board changed suddenly. Before, though the lone hunter, though absolutely horrible, hadn't been able to hurt her. Okay, well, yes she probably still could've gotten hurt, but as long as she could find her paws she could run her rump out of there and there was no chance of him following for more than a few painful strides. Now, however, there was another wolf. 'His sister'. Those two words so subtly implied that this second wolf was as dangerous and murderous as the first. And, worst of all - she was not injured in anyway. There was little guarentee, in fact, there was little chance Orica could outrun this coral eyed two-year old. For a second she considered it, but there was something inside her that told her running now would only ensure that a chase followed. Fear was half of what predators fed upon. One of her hind legs shifted as she took a step back. But that was when the unthinkable happened. The brute with the gash down his belly, rose all the way to his paws, and, as if that weren't enough, began lumbering forward. At the very first shifts Orica, despite herself, had felt something akin to worry. She almost called out for him to stop! He'd hurt himself. But then she realized he was moving towards her. Orica's ears fell back, but no other part of her shifted. She understood now. They were going to kill her. Her heart beat like a rabbit's as the male came forward, stray blood drops dotting a small trail as he did so. She could've still outrun him maybe - though if he could do this then who knew what he was capable of- but she couldn't outrun that female. No, if they'd made up their minds to kill her then there was no escape. It was fear like that that could paralyze a wolf, or scare them out of their wits til they lost control and ran like he--. But it didn't do either to Orica. If there was nothing she could do about it, then there was no point in showing fear. As the murderer came up to her at last, she stiffened and remained still. It would be quickest if she held still right? She wondered if he would go for the throat and be done with it like a normal hunter or if he would tear her apart like the rogue had down to Asheni. The pup didn't move. Her eyes, wide open, but clouded and distant, watched his clenched muzzle for the fist signs of attack. Only the bob of her throat showed how scared she was. But the next moment the male was turning away from her. He took up a stance between herself and the pale sister. "Leave her be." Orica heard the words of warning come rolling out of his muzzle, but she wasn't sure - maybe she was dreaming. She blinked, her eyes becoming clear and focused once more as they ran back and forth between the two adult wolves, trying to figure out what in the world was happening. Then came the sister's taunt, and again that velvety voice sent shudders through Orica's spine that all of the male's growls and snaps while she'd been healing hadn't managed. The young and helpless... Unfortunately that was Orica at the moment. No use taking insult from such descriptions this time. No, the words that caught her attention were the first ones. Orica stared up at the white-grey mountain that was the brute's back. He... he was helping her, wasn't he? He... he was defending her. But what was that supposed to mean? A second ago he'd been saying how much he enjoyed killing. ....So why wasn't he killing her? Well Orica couldn't look to the other fae for answers, she seemed just as confused, and furious, too. Orica was trying to translate everything in her head. The bad girl was mad at the good girl. The bad guy didn't want the bad girl to hurt the good girl. For this, the bad girl was mad. Okay, that made sense. No. No, it didn't. That made things so much worse. Why would a bad guy do that? He'd just gotten through insulting her and cursing her and telling her to leave, a-a-and now he was trying to keep her from getting killed? Which, looking at the other fae was definitely still on the table. That instinct was still, there, telling Orica not to run. If she ran, the sister could catch her and kill her and the hunter wolf wouldn't be able to get there to get in between them again. By some strange twist of fate, staying close to the murderer was now her best bet. And Orica did, stepping closer and trying to angle herself out of the female's rose colored gaze (she obviously didn't like having to look at Orica) and she did so, she came near enough to brush against the male's tail, unconsciously telling him where she was that she was sticking close. She hadn't yet figured out why he was doing this, and for the moment she stopped trying to figure it out. Miracles aren't meant to be dissected. ~*~

Absolutely nothing made sense right now. He was still breathing when he should've been dead. The little dame -whose name he still didn't know and who still didn't know his name- had come to help him with nothing better of a reason than because she was a healer. He had allowed her to her help him and he hadn't killed her or even touched a hair on her smaller frame. That was completely unlike Demyan. He didn't just let other wolves go without harm. Every wolf that crossed his path was left with a reminder of him. Mostly physical, except for that white bitch who had been rescued by her pack mates. The point was, no one escaped his clutches unscathed. And yet the black and white nymph was in one single piece, now standing behind him as he squared off with his sister, the large man acutely aware of the pulsing beneath his sealed wound that was beginning to leak. Cataleya could never leave him be, could she?


He had seen the look of fear that had taken hold of her sapphire eyes as he'd risen to go towards her. He could see the slight pulsing of her jugular as her nerves jumped into high gear. She was afraid. Of him. Because she thought he was going to kill her. If he'd wanted to kill her, he could've done it the moment she'd begun to patch him up, but for some reason he didn't. And he still wasn't going to kill her. For once in his damned life, the hellion wasn't going to kill another of his kin. What was it about this little medic that prevented him from ending her life? He wished he knew. But for the first time since her arrival, the brute had allowed his cyan gaze to meet hers steadily, trying to convey what he hoped was a reassuring look before he turned away, his body screaming at him in protest with each shift. He ignored the pain the best that he could, powerful jaws clenching together as he stiffened his stance, raising his massive skull so that his burning cyan gaze met his sister's coral one. He wasn't sure why he was protecting the little nymph behind him, but he would be damned and it would have to be over his dead, mangled corpse that his bitch of a sister would touch the nymph.


He couldn't see the expression in the little medic's face now that she was behind him, but he could feel something almost akin to calmness coming over her. Had she accepted that the man who had just moments ago divulged that he loved killing was now the one protecting her from danger? She didn't have much of a choice. Demyan was going to defend her whether she liked or not because his sister wasn't going to touch a single black or white hair on the medic's little body if he had something to say about it. He felt a brush against his tail and he realized it was the nymph. She moved closer to him, possibly now seeing him as her only means of protection against the almost raging silvery bitch. Onyx tipped whipcord brushed against the nymph's forelegs, his acknowledgement of her close proximity to him. With a quiet hiss, the man moved himself a paw step back, his hind paws now standing before hers. As long as she stayed behind him, she was going to be safe.


Since when do you take a liking to the young and helpless? Jealous much? He could feel his irritation begin to pulse beneath his silver coat, the occasional drip of crimson becoming more steady. He was loosing blood, but it didn't matter. As long as he kept the little nymph out Cataleya's clutches, he could loose all the blood necessary to ensure that. Mind your own fucking business you jealous bitch. Fuck off. Now. Because if you decide to come and try anything, if you attempt to even swipe at her, I'm going to rip your fucking throat, but from the inside out. His voice was a deep, rumbling bass, his words sharper than shards of ice as his body shifted into a fighting stance, powerful shoulders rolling, steel-like muscles rippling beneath his gray coat. Even if he died protecting her, he would make sure he brought his dear little sister with him.





Talk like this

Fear. The sickly sweet stench of fear teased her ebony nose. The girl thought they were going to kill her? Well she wasn?t entirely wrong. Only it wouldn?t be her brother doing the killing. Cat would be soaked in her blood. Her brother had started this. She had merely come along to see what was going on, to see why his blood filled the air and soaked the earth. Then he had to go and get all macho, defending this girl, who?s name neither of them knew.

The black and white woman took a step, gaze flickered to her, watching as she stood behind her brothers tail. Pools were expressionless, stony. More and more blood dripped from her brothers wounds as his stance shifted, preparing to fight. So her big brother was prepared to die for this girl? A biting laugh shook her chest. ?Jealous? Tell me brother, of what? Who is it that you always come back to?? She let the sentence dangle. It was only a matter of time before he found himself bored with her and came running back to her. She nearly scoffed at the idea of being jealous. False amusement glittered in her eyes as he brother threatened to rip her throat out. ?You are in no position to make threats.? Her own silent threat dripped from inky lips. Her brother wanted a fight? Then by all means she would give him one, who was she to deny her brother? Paws slide against the earth as her stance widened, chin tucked defensively, her ears pinning. One her brother hit the dirt, unable to move with pain and even deeper wounds, that little bitch that stood behind him would be hers. Her brother would have to rot in hell alone for a bit. She was too young to die because of some whore her brother fancied.

She shoved down her emotions, burying them deep within. There was no time to have hurt feelings, her brother was ready to kill her, and for once she knew he would. But she?d drag him down with her. Tongue rolled in her mouth as a snarl tore from her. She made no move, she just watched her brother, waiting. Every twitch of a muscle, every roll of his shoulders, every drop of his blood that stained the earth beneath his paws. It was all absorbed, her mind carefully calculating. Should he decide to attack, his movements would be hindered, else he would rip open his wounds further, he would bleed to death at her paws. She didn?t understand his sudden desire to be the hero, to protect this girl from her, when every other time he would have thrown the bitch at her paws. What had changed?

She could see the protective gleam in his cyan eyes, one that she had never seen before. It caused a flare of anger to rise in her, but at the same time, it ebbed away. There would only be immediate satisfaction from ripping the bitches throat out, there would be no lasting pleasure. Slowly the wheels began to turn in her mind. She would hold back. For now. She would wait, wait for the opportune moment to strike. She would watch the bitch crumble slowly, painfully, along with her brother if he so chose to turn his back on her. A tense silence followed, muscles coiling, waiting for her brother to strike, lips remained curled back, seconds seemed like minutes, minutes stretched on for hours.


"speech"