He plucked delicately as those pack bonds that tied him to each of his companions in turn, testing the distance, assuring himself once more that none of them were close. Edie, Scarlett, Claire- even Nadya were nowhere near him and certainly not within the house itself. Yet, he found those words upon his lips all the same. A part of himself inclined to check if only to make absolutely certain with both those animalistic and too- more human senses that it was not one of his pack mates so believing herself to be amusing. How unfortunate it would be to incinerate one of them. Little more than silence so meets his baritone voice as it echoes within that empty dark space, his gaze turned almost superstitiously behind him and back towards that front door with its trail of flowers that led to the outside and decorated his lawn as if someone had held a wedding- or a funeral upon it. His mind, still sluggish perhaps from sleep, was slower to pick up upon the meaning behind those flowers or even that obvious connection between the very species they were and the name of that pack he had so plagued for months on end. His mind instead far more taken with attempting to discover just what or, more correctly, who had so taken it upon themselves to play this ridiculous game with him.

A soft huff of sorts parts his lips, the man moving to step back towards his living room and see about righting that bookshelf when the floorboards above so suddenly creaked, giving way to the pressure of weight upon them as his own violet gaze glanced upward. Alright then. One hand lifts easily, running through the snowy white of his hair as the man moves to mount that staircase once more, pushing down those foolish and decidedly equine impulses to flee. If there was any true disadvantage to so being a prey species by design it was surely that truly instinctive ability to not only sense danger in near any form- but to run from it. That human part of himself so engaging in that silent and momentary war to force that equine part of back under control as he had done so many times over so many years. His panic not yet nearly sufficient enough to warrant any true battle of wills as he made his way back onto the landing and towards his bedroom. Fear, after all, was an emotion he had long since learned to feel- and ignore. Whomever was playing this little game was going to have to do far better then flowers and a toppled bookshelf. The equine inclined to think such things were more akin to obscure then freshening. At least so far.

One hand reached forward to press against his bedroom door, more than one of his affinities so braced to strike and yet it was the scent that struck him well before the sight. That salty, metallic scent of blood filling his nostrils and seeing the barest hesitation come over him. It was....everywhere. He felt the violet of his gaze widen, taking in the sight of his room for the first time, that Nordic curse uttered from his lips unbidden. His walls were running with it. The mirror, the door- little to nothing had been spared in that canvas of carnage and yet it was hardly the blood itself that so managed to disturb the man. Blood was blood. What it had so been smeared to spell however was another thing entirely, Frost gritting his teeth in a true effort to prevent that swell of....emotion. Murderer. It was the truth of it that struck him. He'd heard it before. Had it screamed at him. It was the truth and yet to see it splattered across his walls was another thing entirely and yet....

"....but which one?"

The words were muttered, barely audible to any save himself as his violet gaze flickered from one blood streaked wall to the next. If a metaphorical ghost had come back from the past to haunt him then which one was it? His brothers? His sisters? The Hunters from his home? Those who had killed in Russia? The men whom had perused him? Tetradore? The vampires of Siberia Alex and helped him slay or those they had left behind to die? God he'd lost count of the amount of lives who'd bled at his hands and yet they had been necessary, each of them, gotten in his way- wall of them. Tetradore had been the only accident-so to speak. He had not truly believed himself capable of incinerating the man into nothing but ash and yet his intent to murder him had been there all the same. One hand reaches to snatch his mobile from the dresser table, tucking it into his back pocket once he had assured himself that remained blood free, Frost finding himself incapable of staying in that room any longer, his bedroom door slammed behind him as he moved hurriedly back down that hall and towards the stairs- halting abruptly at the sudden sensation of someone behind him.

He whirled almost instantly, searching for that heat signature and yet finding none. The hallway empty behind him. What sort of being failed to register a heat signature outside a vampire? Yet...this could hardly be a vampire. A Vampire would never be stupid enough to waste that amount of its own hard earned blood to redecorate his walls. Those written words truly beginning to tug at those threads of his nerves, plucking at them more then he cared to admit. This was getting out of hand. It was easy then, to call his favoured affinity to life, heat radiating readily from his own skin lest anyone attempt to attack him from behind, that heat a veritable shield and yet he hardly knew what he was attempting to shield himself against. His teeth gritting again, the stallion, typical to his species perhaps, refusing to yield his own territory to this....ghost. At least not yet. The man turned to eye that dark hallway again.

"What? What the fuck do you goddamn want?! You don't have enough of a spine to show yourself? Come on then! Is this all you have!"

True to character, Frost was entirely content to at least attempt to meet his tormentor head on. The man steeling himself once more, his feet brushing against against those Nightshade flowers beneath his bare feet. Nightshade. Raven? Tobias? Alexis? It had to be one of them, didn't it?

f r o s t
we built this city on broken glass