The Were-King hardly bothered to protest any further his own assuredness of his inevitable defeat at Frost's hands, were the pair to clash again. After all, he had no feasible way to counteract those affinities the man held. Beyond that capability to predict his very attacks, the man's control over the very temperature of his body was not something the feline yet had managed to figure his way around, not without the outside power of another individual. Even with such realization, it had hardly stopped the man from so clashing with the creature before, even if it had led to his death. Curiously, death was something Tetradore was far more willing to accept than simply not engaging at all. In fact, it was that very determination that prompted the were-King to allow that conversation to shift to what Frost might someday be up against if his own battle with his vampiric capture led to that very defeat. For as long as he was alive, he could juggle the protection of his pack and the placating of the vampiric woman. However, should his attempt at freedom fail, it would be Frost to take up that mantle. He needed to know precisely what he was up against, even if words and powers hardly painted that picture well, not of those atrocities she was capable of committing.

He knew well that he had hardly given the steed much to work with and yet, Frost seemed willing to accept this all the same. It was only once that deal had been struck that Tetradore turned his attention towards those more specific details - such as his Beta, his Vector, and, most importantly Frost's own. He hardly expected to receive that information of the young woman in a peculiar show of good faith and yet, it seemed Frost too understood well that the importance of this alliance. Between his sibling and those continual clashes between the two packs, peace was vastly more important than a singular member that presently was not apart of either pack. Still, Tetradore appreciated that information of the woman's father, his own head bobbed in acknowledgment of those words and yet, whether or not Calliel was worth battling her father was a prospect he'd have to consider at a later point in time. Rather, Tetradore was merely content to let the pair fall to silence, his own gaze brushing over those charred surroundings.

The last thing Tetradore had anticipated, truly, was for any hint of Frost's own path, much less just how deep his understanding of that capture went. It hardly was difficult for the were-King to put together those pieces and yet despite the odds the two men had once been at, those protective instincts so easily rose to the surface. That near brotherly reassurance that, at the very least, Frost would no longer be alone in his own fears fell easily from the Hispanic man's lips. After all, though he might not pit his own 'family' of sorts against his own mistress, he was utterly certain of Tobias and his capabilities to chose away some mere horse riders. A small smug grin of satisfaction settled on his lips at Frost's clear surprise as his shoulder lightly bumped into the fellow's beside him. Those singular three words were all Tetradore required of an acceptance of sorts of that offer, the man hardly inclined to probe further on those more delicate topics then Frost was willing to share. Rather, he was all too willing to instead suggest the very notion of far more liquor given all that near exhausting 'bonding' the pair had just endured. It was an idea Frost seemed keen to accept, with his own threat of sort should Tetradore simply fail to return.

Tetradore could hardly help the roll of his eyes as those shadows so eagerly embraced his form, that ability to teleport took him all too easily back to that cargo ship with it's filled shelves of alcoholic liquor. It hardly took the man long to return with drinks in tow, this time with far more options than before. That approval on Frost's lips only served to bring a small simper to his own as he plucked that beer bottle from a case, entirely willing to give Frost the whiskey for that very lesson he had been promised. His emerald green eyes watched as the fellow took several steps forward, placing that bottle down only for several more to simply appear within it. That task was decidedly clear and yet, for all Frost's instructions, those whiskeys all seemed identical to one another. Still, if he couldn't find a bottle that stood out amongst the others, Frost had offered him another fashion to spot the truth, one that Tetradore was all too willing to embrace as he selected the first incorrect bottle.

Tetradore was hardly astonished to be informed that he was wrong. In fact, it was that very thing that led him to suggest a trap of his own. After all, surely if he got Frost hammered enough, those illusions would be far harder to maintain. For a brief moment, those emerald eyes stared at the like ones upon his own features, the man still found seeing himself to be entirely disconcerting and yet, he was relieved, all the same when Frost agreed to that little drinking game of sorts. He hardly bothered to truly attempt to discern those bottles the next few times, the feline no longer playing the game so much as the illusionist behind it. He hesitated but slightly as Frost so called him on his rapid-fire choices, only to comment on his own shoes. A small frown touched his lips as he glanced down at his own feet with a small shrug. "Maybe they just don't fit you." He pointed out, entirely fond of those skater shoes and their worn souls. Even so, it was that very comment that made him pause to consider those next few choices with far more care, searching for the edges of that very illusion. It hardly perturbed the man to be wrong two additional times. Rather, it was only once several of those bottles began to contort slightly that Tetradore began to call it close to a victory, those choices following were made with far more deliberate care.

A few more mouthfuls of that drink and that illusion was all but shattered, leaving Tetradore both victorious and with the real bottle of whiskey. He plucked that glass from its place upon the dirt ground only to join his companion upon the hood of that blue sports car. Frost's insistence that seeing through those illusions brought little more than a derisive snort to his nose. Sometimes, it wasn't even about whether or not he could see through them. Some nights, he knew they were fake and yet, that didn't stop him from reliving memories he was more inclined to simply forget. Such a somber thought hardly left his lips, however, as Tetradore remained silent, letting Frost continue on with how someone else might spot the difference between that faux Tetradore and the real one. His eyebrow rose slowly as he eyed the man beside him, shaking his head ever so slightly. "Dude, no one is going to pause and check what hand I'm using." He commented in an altogether blunt fashion. Most individuals would simply accept him for who he was as long as he looked the same, he was certain.

He brought that whiskey bottle to his lips as that illusion of himself so dropped from the ivory haired man's appearance. His gaze shifted only at the sound of Frost's voice as he listened to the fellow explain the existence of his own powers. It was hardly surprising, he supposed. After all, his own abilities were as much of a product of his own captivity and environment as Frost's were, if not for vastly different reasons. That sudden talkativeness from the silent steed was surely a product of the liquor the man had consumed and yet, really, he had no reason not to tell the man. Frost could find out from Nadya, after all, if he truly desired it. "Fear. I can control fear - create it, get rid of it, make you think you're in your worst nightmare. And I can create an acid that, if it touches your skin, can cause your flesh to all die." A small shrug crossed his shoulders. Such affinities were ones Risque had been keen to use, the number of people he'd hurt with that simple ability was far more than Tetradore cared to count. He had seen the full effects of the harm his venom could do - it was....not a pretty sight.