He towers over her, and yet she neither flinches nor backs away; she stands, strong, defiant. Beautiful. Need begins to knot in his stomach, a familiar and delightful sensation that he relishes like a starving man with his sights set on a warm meal. Since Isopia broke him, he has tried hard to smother his lust, to channel it into more useful methods like fighting and training - but a leopard cannot change his spots, and Volterra cannot change the innate primal hunger that roars like a furnace inside him.
Abstinence does not suit him. When he is a king, he will concern himself with doing the right thing. For now, he concerns himself only with doing what feels good. And the beast knows that this burning star of a woman would feel so, so good.
He shuts out the niggling little nub of Isopia-feels that try to override his natural instincts; he crushes it down, smothers it.
This flaming beauty remembers him, too - carnality purrs inside his chest at this notion, at the thought he is remarkable enough to stand out amongst the writhing throngs of other soldiers. "Volterra," is his response to her question. He is not the sort to hide his name, to shy from who he is; he is determined that, from now on, he will embrace the consequences of his actions, no matter what they may be. The young goliath has pondered whether it wasn't so much the existence of his other children that drove Isopia away from him, as the fact he'd had nothing to do with these unknown bastards. Perhaps it is the thought that he could be so irresponsible that turned her against him - and this, unlike his brazen lust, is something he can fix.
Is that pity he feels radiating from his dragons? It's the hope that kills.
But, in the here and now, his focus is fully on the hybrid in front of him, not the one that haunts his mind. The mare steps closer, and the stud's proud head lifts higher, scrutinising every delectable inch of her. "And who are you, tűz-hozója?" Fire-bringer. Apt, he thinks.
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