Disjointed Children

Insult.

That was the only way that Imonde could properly think about this wound that was twitching along the seam between his neck and his shoulder. Insult's where not something that the man took well, nor was it something that he would ever begin to, insults had to be paid in kind. How he would pay her back, but how, insult her by taking her body? No, she didn't seem like the sort of ditzy lady that would be crippled for the rest of her life from a terror such as pregnancy, instead he reckoned that it would only add fuel to the fire in this case. Maiming? Yet another thing that wouldn't be effective, his wheels continued to move about in his head, his thoughts where only a dark tangle about how to render punishment.

"I'll do it again..." That was all the male heard before his eyes flashed in psychotic fury, his lips danced along his features as he took a step forward, ears flattened into the thickness of his scruff. Jaws parted and then snapped together multiple times in warning, nay, if she touched him again without his invitation her blood would coat the ground, and nothing would be left of the harlot except an empty shell for when the dawn touched the twilight.

The female continued to speak, and his irritation continued to irrationally rise. "Victim." Another word that he would not be associated with. The man suddenly lurched forward, his jaws parting as his head sinks downwards, his fangs going toward the flesh along her muzzle as the rumble in his chest returns, irritation being his close companion at the moment. "Silence." He intones with the undercurrents of rage.

The holy inferno of that which was Imonde peels off and toward her right side, only circling as his shoulders roll under his mass, the pain a constant reminder that judgment would have to be rendered. "You may call me Imonde in private, within the company of lessers you shall address me as Sinclair."

"Speech"
'thoughts'