It's the unspoken truth of humanity, that you crave subjugation. The bright lure of freedom diminishes your life's joy in a mad scramble for power, for identity. You were made to be ruled. You will always kneel.
It took years of practice to become a Dark Hunter and even more focus to become one that did well. A profession that was, frankly, not for the light of heart. No worries there, Drago's heart had not been light since childhood. He had been raised to be precise, to pay close attention. That attention focuses solely upon Chizue, noting the way her eyes seem tight at the edges, a sign of tension and exhaustion. That porcelain skin was lovely but he would bet his bottom dollar she was a vampire - most Were's preferred the outside. Something to do with their animal nature, he assumed, and always kept a bit of sun on them. While he couldn't rule out that she was a with, he was pretty damn certain of his choice, and one must never ignore the notion of gut instincts. Dark eyes sweep down his figure, widening in surprise at his suggestion, and the simper on his face only deepens as he watches with hooded eyes. Honestly, if he was a Were-creature, his would likely be a Cobra.
She gasps, taking a step back, and simultaneously one hand comes down on the table, fingers tapping against it as a warning. Do not run, it beats out, do not inspire a hunt that would most certainly end worse for the wear. "Ah," he purrs. In that one word they come to knowledge that each recognizes the other for what they are, that the stakes in this game have just risen, and judging by the intense expression on his face, a game that would not be easily one. All it took was the bunching of shoulders, the flex of a jaw, the tapping of fingers, such small things that adding to his persona as indomitable.
In one blink she has given in and he relaxes, almost imperceptibly, back into his chair, lips peeling back to reveal a flashing smile. "Quite a bar you picked. Is the fare here delectable?" His suave tone is laced with undertones, not quite malice but neither is it warm. Ah, the potency of danger that he can emit. His dark eyes watch her as if ready to strike while maintaining his expression. "Ah, I forgot, you haven't tried it." He narrows his eyes, leaning forward now so that his elbows are on the table. "Now tell me, dear, what is your name? I am Drago, Drago Costa, at your service," he says, reaching a hand out an waiting for a handshake.