umbrakinesis

Her sharpened threat is met with a disinterested raise of his brow. Channeling his father to discreetly hide whatever nervousness he felt, he wondered why she cared to bring him back. If everyone here didn't fuck around, why chance having what was hers stolen by someone close? And while his father may not have killed him for disobeying (which surprised Jiro because gods above he loved to push the envelope), his family pack also did not fuck around. All business, hardly any pleasure, much to Jiro's chagrin. Lame. It was a reason why he had left in the first place, but was this the type of "fun" he had been looking for?

Unusual for Jiro, he doesn't reply, but isn't left waiting much longer. Out from the shadows, a ghostly pale figure with midnight facial features emerges as if she were one with her surroundings. His silver gaze hardens, turning to her as she prowls forward with a finesse he had never seen exuded from a female before. Meeting that stark, poison green gaze had his stomach curled in on itself. That woman could literally kill with looks like that. Was this truly his Inferno Princess' mother? It would appear so by the way they interacted with each other. Interesting.

Her sweet and venomous comment don't go unheard, but he doesn't care to react. No, he's learned enough from his stoic, stony-faced father to know when to keep his poker face. Now was one of those moments. Even when she circles him, predator staring down prey, he stays relaxed, body stretched across the pine needle ground as she slides closer and closer to him. Her question whispered warmly into his ear as both flicking backward for a moment, attempting to dissipate the muggy feeling of moisture sliding into his ear canal.

"Jiro, and you?" He questions in return, feigning honest curiosity and keeping his last name close to his chest for now. No use giving a potential threat ammo for another time. He'd spent enough time away from the bamboo that none of his pack scents lingered anymore - they wouldn't know where he deigned from unless he told them.

Thankful for her gaze to flit away from him and to Xina, Jiro releases a breath he didn't know he was holding in. When had he done that? What the woman says has his breath catching back in his throat and a shiver rolling down his spine. What sort of wolves were they that they questioned each other as such? Entertaining? He was by no means any sort of entertainment for anyone. His eyes narrow slightly, scrutinizing the ivory and obsidian fae until her purring vocals switch back to him.

"I am trained in hunting and healing," Jiro fights through the tension in the air, his muscles coiling, ready to snap in response if she so dared to push boundaries. He wasn't nearly as adept as fighting as his siblings (violence just seemed so uneventful and predictable), he could still defend himself just enough to get by. "If need be, I can provide other things such as protection," his muzzle nods toward his large, bulky frame that seemed to ripple with tense muscle as he shifted further onto his side, half-laying and half-sitting almost.