Tetradore supposed, in retrospect, he shouldn't have been terribly surprised at the monstrosity that Harley thought he was. She thought him as little more than a cold-hearted killer, someone too filled with the bloodlust to care for things like puppies or the lives he had ended. She viewed him as Risque's mere pet and, perhaps, in that aspect, Harley was not wrong. He said nothing of it - of the way she so attempted to goad him as Tetradore tossed her over her shoulder, leaving the comfort of her home and all too happy puppy behind him. He made his way towards the vehicle, tossing the woman with effortless care into the back seat of the luxury sedan. Tetradore made his way to the front of the vehicle, sliding into the driver's seat with a softened sigh upon his lips. Tonight was going just as poorly as he had anticipated it would the moment Risque had given him this task. Tetradore pressed the ignition button on the vehicle, the car roaring to life beneath his hands. At Harley's request, Tetradore's fingers reached for the radio, turning up the volume as the familiar sound of the rock music filled the car. He was well aware of the young woman's head resting against the passenger headrest and yet, the man was well practiced at merely ignoring much that went on around him.

Her softly uttered inquiry of what her chances of survival, however, caused a glimpse of consideration upon Tetradore's features as he backed out of her driveway. There was a chance, he knew, of Harley living to see yet another day after tonight - though he could near guarantee that she would not be same. His emerald eyes drifted upwards towards the rearview mirror, glancing briefly back at the woman before Tetradore offered her the smallest of shrugs. "Arn't they one in the same?" He inquired with a small twitch to the very corner of his features. It was, after all, exactly what the Were-King himself strived to be. She might have stolen his freedom and forced him into a life of submission and servitude, but Tetradore was would damned if he didn't make such as difficult as possible for her. He strove to be that veritable thorn in her side at every twist and turn - as much as his own body could take it, that was. The man was hardly perturbed by her sarcasm as she considered her own odds and yet, he couldn't disagree with her. The odds could certainly be worse and the more lip she gave, the more likely they were to steadily decrease. It was unfortunate, truly, that the woman was unlikely to find herself capable of keeping that sharp wit to herself in the depths of hell.

Silence befell the pair in the rest of the ride home, Tetradore content to simply listen to the thrum of the bass in the speakers as they neared the bright neon lights of Syn. Tetradore was hardly bothered by Harley's off-key singing. After all, considering what tonight would surely hold for the girl, he could allow her this moment of reprieve. Soon enough, however, the familiar facade of Syn came into view and slowly Tetradore directed the vehicle towards the garage in the very back of the building. Tetradore turned the car off, the keys flipping lackadaisically within his fingertips as he slid outside the car, maneuvering around to the passenger side to fetch the captive woman. He pulled her into her arms, cradling her more like a bride than the kidnapped girl she was. Softly, Tetradore asked her to behave, even though he knew it was all for naught. His head shook ever so slightly at her scoff and yet, he said nothing as he guided her through the back entrance of the club, navigating through the labyrinth of the staff area with such distinct ease. He inhaled ever so slightly at the very sight of that silver door, the man all but steadying himself and his emotions as he made his way into Risque's office. He all but deposited Harley upon Risque's desk, caring particularly little for the email he had undoubtedly ruined by placing the bound woman directly upon the laptop.

His emerald eyes turned towards that empty place her silver tipped finger pointed to, only to eye that thin air with an altogether blank look upon his features. There certainly wasn't a lamp there and yet, why it mattered was simply lost to the man. He could feel the very weight of her icicle gaze upon him and slowly, his eyes turned back to her, as if searching for what she desired from him by this declaration of a stolen lamp. His eyebrow rose ever so slightly as Risque declared that it was his job to discover the perpetrator of this stolen item - as if she could not merely buy another one. "Yeah, whatever." The man responded, his baritone lyrics little more than a muffled muttering as his attention turned, with Risque, back towards Harley. He watched as Risque's slender finger rose towards that wound, reopening it with distinct ease as she smeared Harley's blood upon her finger despite the way Harley seemed to jerk from her. She brought her finger to her lips, savoring the taste of the girl's blood just as Harley began to wiggle upon the solid wood of Risque's desk. Tetradore himself remained altogether apathetic over Harley's response, hardly allowing even a glimpse of amusement upon his features as he remained standing on the other side of Risque's desk. Admittedly, he rather agreed with the women, he simply knew better than to say it.

That hissed sound of Risque's voice caused his shoulders to lift in the smallest of shrugs. He had hardly seen a reason to gag her before now, though he also knew better than to admit such. That sharp order alone was what coaxed him to move, the Were-King reaching for the wiggling woman as he lifted her back into his arms only to approach that silver wall he so abhorred. Every chain, every collar upon it was equally as encased in that material he so hated. His hand reached out to grab the first of those manacles, the silver already burning away at his skin, prompting a soft hiss upon his lips as he brought it to Harley's wrist. The rest followed in suit, the woman bound by both harms and legs upon that wall his mistress so relished in before the Were-King merely stepped away, allowing his mistress to take center stage before the now chained woman. Tetradore settled down into the leather sofa against the opposite wall, his hand flexing ever so slightly as his own abilities rushed to heal the burns upon his palm. With luck, Tetradore would hardly be called upon to do anything else for his vampire mistress for the rest of the night. Her attention, surely, would be entirely devoted to Harley and he would merely be left to pick up the pieces and return her home. It was hardly ideal but, considering all he had endured of late, Tetradore was sure he deserved a night off.