Tetradore's outward defiance had been all too blatant ever since he had been allowed those few precious years of freedom. Although the boy had never been the very picture of the perfect pet, he had once chosen his battles with far more exercised care. Now, however, he had the Ark to escape to, he had the pack that awaited his return, he had a reason to be resilient, even if they too could be utilized against him. Those very connections he had established to the outside world were a double edge sword, propping him up while leaving him vulnerable all in one smooth stroke. That training Risque had once so harshly instilled within him had diminished, prompting his tongue to be far more rebellious then perhaps necessary. How he stole each and every victory from her, near throwing himself entirely into each test of those boundaries rather than the subtle way he had once toed the line. His eyebrow rose at the woman's insinuated discontent with him and yet, it was hardly enough to see him back down. "You heard me." He commented, his arms crossing over his chest, as if daring the woman to do something, all the while banking upon her impatience and desire to devote her attention to the woman upon the desk in front of them both.

The woman's power all but collided into him in mere moments, seizing control of his every limb in that way he so abhorred. It had been so long since she'd taken such control of him, little of it ever ending well. His very body seemed to still, his features went slack and his voice fell silent as every muscle denied his desire. He was hardly prepared, even mentally, for that sudden lack of air, that inability to breath prompting that very panic within his mind, even though his frame remained deathly motionless. He hated being stuck as merely an additional presence within his own body. To have that very control of himself so stolen away - to have even his body not be his, there were simply no words for the very feeling, especially when he felt that lightheadedness as it began to afflict him. He watched, utterly trapped as Risque plucked from the depths of that drawer, a rather ornate blade, the very hilt encrusted with diamonds, the sharpened tip near gleaming in the overhead life. He felt his hand outstretch, reaching for that dagger as his head bobbed in ready understanding, simply accepting that punishment in a way his thoughts and soul did not. It was only once that blade was so placidly within his grasp that he was finally given the chance to breathe, that gasp all too audible at that moment as his body so greedily drank in that air that was denied him. He hardly had a choice as that blade was slid tentatively within his pocket, the man scarcely liking that positioning or the very closeness of such a sharp object next to his groin.

Admittedly, Tetradore was almost glad to have Risque's attention turn towards Harley, that affinity finally releasing him to give him control once more over his own limbs. A scowl crossed his features as he reached for that blade, pulling it from the jeaned material it hardly fit in. He had little interest in Risque's tasting of the woman, that knife placed delicately upon the very edge of Risque's desk, though he knew well she would not let him forget it, much less leave it there. It was only once the vampire issued her demand to secure the woman upon the wall that Tetradore moved to scoop Harley within his arms once again. He hardly hesitated as he approached that shimmering accent wall he so greatly disliked, much less as he reached for the silver he knew would burn him. That sizzling sound was all but a norm for him, the man hardly flinching from the pain as he fastened the bonds around her wrists. It was only once they were secure that Tetradore strode back towards her desk, pulling that knife back into his hand before he settled upon the sofa. At least, with that dagger beside him, Risque might be less inclined to turn her attention back towards him, particularly when she finally had her prize ready for the taking. That same glimpse of callous apathy slid effortlessly across his features, as if he had not been robbed of that precious breath near moments ago. He was, purposefully, inattentive to the way his mistress' glacier gaze lingered upon him in consideration. His mistress' attention upon him hardly lingered long, however, particularly with Harley's own voice puncturing the silence.

The woman's voice was cut off near abruptly as Risque's hand clenched around her throat, the very sight of it caused Tetradore to flinch, knowing all too well of just what she was going through. Even so, the Alpha hardly moved to assist her, having learned from a remarkably young age that to do so often only resulted within himself being the target of such cruelty, all whilst failing to save whoever was the present object of such attention. He watched with blatant indifference as Harley so launched herself at the vampire, only for Tetradore to simply allow his thoughts to drift elsewhere with little regard for what was occurring in front of him. The scent of blood hardly perturbed the man, Tetradore strikingly used to that smell as much as he was the carnage that so often surrounded him. It was the sound of his name that drew his attention back towards the vampire, that inquiry upon his lips made his own inattentiveness all the more obvious and yet, he hardly cared all the same. He was aware, however, near immediately, at the singing sensation of Risque's power as it danced across his skin, near demanding his compliance with the threat of all she could take from him all over again. His lips pressed into a hard line as his emerald eyes fluttered towards her, at least attempting to give her some resemblance of attention with the hopes that she might consider releasing him from such a minor discomfort.

His fingers gripped around the hilt of the knife as Tetradore moved to stand, his lips pressing together in a small frown. Vaguely, he couldn't help but wonder if this was what was in store for him too if Risque was taking on removing tattoos. Still, he'd had his own for the better part of a decade now, perhaps his was merely not as great of an affront to her. Still, he saw no reason to bring up his own ink as he approached the clearly hallucinating woman. It was the utterance of Isolt that saw him momentarily pause, an almost sad glimpse crossed his features as his hand tightened upon the handle. How he hated to be the one to do this to her, especially for all she meant to Isolt. He hardly glanced behind him at the sound of Risque's voice and yet he knew well what 'putting on a show' meant for his mistress. She wanted blood. She wanted screams. She wanted to see Harley suffer and, in turn, she had long ago shown him just how to do it - a terrified, trembling ten-year-old with a knife in his hand. That knife flipped easily within his well-practiced fingers as he moved towards Harley's side, positioning himself enough so that Risque had a view of his handiwork. The tip of the blade plunged into her flesh, prompting the first shouted curse word tumbling from her lips. Those vulgar words she screamed at him hardly made Tetradore flinch, however, as he cut around that tattoo with such clean proficiency before using his dagger to peel that inked flesh from her figure. By the time he was done, his hands were covered in her blood, that skin too near dyed crimson as it laid within his palm. Easily, he wiped that blade upon Harley's jeans, ignoring the woman's muttering as he finally turned to offer that trophy to Risque herself, the man otherwise silent in spite of all he had just done.