Predator or Prey

A lash of pink over black, brown, and glistening red. As the seconds ticked by, so did the adrenaline continue to drain from his veins, his rigid stance just barely beginning to thaw while the other male took his time dismounting and dislodging his teeth from their kill. But Mikko wouldn't move until his acquaintance raised his head to him, at which point his eye would simply flick upward to meet his own again. So tall, he was, not unlike the Xanthosi patriarch...and so vulnerable his neck. His pulse began to quiet in his ears, his thoughts taking precedence as he sifted through every possible way he could end this beast if he had to. So far, he had no reason, but that had the potential to change depending on the answer brewing behind the other's teeth.

Finally, he spoke up. "Sirius Fatalis," he said. "Warlord to the Armada. Protector of those in my domain. Rider of tigers."

Protector. Perhaps this Sirius was still a stranger to him, but Mikko didn't need to know him inside and out to know he wasn't affiliated with his father. Kyros would have spat on anyone who gave themselves such a title, much less anyone who would share in the glory of a kill. That left only one other possibility. With a huff that could have been mistaken for a halfhearted laugh, the brute blinked at last, allowing the rest of his tension--whatever he didn't naturally carry--to melt away, and offered the other a single nod.

"Mikko Romanov"--fallen King of Avelun; servant to Shiba Klein; failed son, brother, husband, father, and friend--"brother to Acciona...and slayer of steeds." A man of few words, his voice creaked and cracked, unraveling itself like a dried-up hide. "You've been sheltering her, then."

""