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SHE startles in the usual way. Neither too loud nor too calm. She stands resolute, as they all had before her. That feminine little body acting as if it could hold a candle to his superior strength and body, as they always do. The cocky back talk to lighten the mood, testing his purpose, the firm and sassy remark as if to say "You can't have me". It was almost getting boring, the regularity with which these things were consistent. Don't make me yawn, girl, thinks the blood knight to himself.
They always continued the facade, so self assured in their strength, that their opinion mattered to someone hunting them. HA! As if saying "No" meant anything. The truth was that they were only as strong as the protection of other males allowed them to be, not they themselves. But he let her feel strong a little longer. The demon let her feel as if she could even entertain doing anything to hold him off before he consumed that self-confidence like a Gatorade and left her burning beneath the lava. Calstron lived for these moments. They were the times when he had all the cards, all the power, and could push the mares any way he wanted. Shall we extend the small talk, cut to the shock, just walk away(lolol, jkjk, thats not happening), or something else? Seduction maybe? The possibilities were endless and sensational, all of them. But they were always the same and he would never die so long as all his playthings remembered him.
He raises his brows silently at her first quip. On her second exclamation he cocks a smirk. Oh, sweet little thing, how lost you are. Every one of them was always broken in some way; a chip here or a crack there. Those delicate females that were wayward enough to adventure so far out on their own and stupid enough to believe they were strong enough to survive. Always filled with some meaningless variation of depression, seeking absolution, and finding nothing but emptiness to cleanse them of their perceived self-importance. Yet, they were rarely ever in possession of enough depth to learn the true lesson. They just took a selfie and drove on home. No, my dear, you don't matter. Your deepest fears are always true and you're always the villain to someone in some way. That was why they stayed put for him, of course, that self-loathing instinct to seek out someone to hurt them the most. They wanted what he did. They wanted to know they were the victim in at least one thread of their lives. They always did. He simply delivered to them what they asked.
"What a silly thing to assume. What if it doesn't matter to me?" His voice rolls off his tongue chocolate dark as he slithers to her, closer still, in the dim light of the cave, " Your well being, that is.." The fallen king's breath leaves him in a hot pant. If she's remained still, it hits her pretty little neck, leaving that sticky condensation all breath does. He wants her to feel that pleasurably painful spike of adrenaline. That fear, that rush, that moment when everything becomes somehow more than it had been before. It was what they both got out of the experience, after all. Where was the fun if she didn't feel a little bit of it? Perhaps she was still feeling the attraction of his crimson gaze, perhaps she'd take this as twisted flirting, perhaps she'd scream and try to run. Oh, he shivered with the perfection of the moment. It always was, it always was. There were no surprises here.
OOC: Noo! It was great and I loved it <333 I love the style you write in. xD
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