Because Of You
07-31-2013, 11:52 AM
No. No. No. He couldn't be going soft. That was impossible. He was a cold blooded murder that cared for absolutely no other creature, not counting his sister though at times it was quite questionable. He lived for the trill of killing others, of listening to their pitiful cries as they begged him for the mercy that he wasn't capable of giving. Or at least the one he thought himself incapable of giving. That incident with the little medic Orica had been a figment of his imagination. It had been a pain-induced dream that his mind had made up when he'd blacked out. But as the now healed hellion padded through the terrain, he knew it was no dream. He was good at lying to others, but never himself. With each thudding pawstep, each stretch of his chest muscles, he could almost feel Orica attending to him, disregarding her own safety to tend to him, to keep him from passing on to the other world. In his mind's eye he could see the whole incident replay again, starting from his idiotic hunt of the moose to the next morning when he'd told the marbled girl that he would never forget her. And as much as he'd tried to break his word, he couldn't. It was holding true. He couldn't get her out of his head. Every second of every day since he'd watched her walk away from him she'd invaded his every thought. There wasn't a moment he wasn't thinking about her. And it was driving him insane. The gargantuan man was torn between needing and wanting to see her again and simply seeking her out to rip her delicate little throat out. But every time he contemplated dismembering her, the organ inside his chest twisted so painfully inside him it was nearly to the point of killing him. For some reason he couldn't bare the thought of killing her, of...loosing her. What the hell had she done to him?!
Massive paws beat against the earth at a steady pace, steel like muscles rippling his grey coat, a blatant display of the power lying beneath his pelt. A power that was drumming out a familiar beat inside his veins; murderer. It had been so long since he'd felt the blood of a victim slither down his throat, felt the satisfying crunch of a spine crushed between his powerful jaws. He longed for the pitiful melodies of pain from his powerless victims. He had to kill. He needed to kill. To kill would mean that he was still the samd Demyan that he'd always been and that Orica had done nothing to him. That she meant nothing to him. Because she didn't. She was just some random she-wold who'd happened upon him and healed him. Nothing more, nothing less. Right?
And then a rustling from beyond the foliage to his right caught his attention, massive frame coming to a halt, crown slowly pivoting this way and that way, cyan gems flickering over the greenery, searching for the cause of the rustling. A blink and the man caught a glimpse of what looked to be like golden feline eyes staring at him through the foliage. A low growl rumbled in his chest and he was rewarded with a low hiss from the hidden feline. Seemed like the cat was pretty ballsy to be doing something like that. But before he could investigate his new follower, a tantalizing scent caught his attention, crow turning away from the feline as he lifted his nostrils to the breeze. Wolf. Male. Ripe for the taking. Perfect.
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