The boy with locks of brandished gold hidden in the body of the jackal stares up at Iliana with eyes of bright amber gold. But he drifts that gaze to the crow and sends a teasing yip in his direction before eyes resume their spot upon Iliana. (A much better view if he did say so himself.) Her own giggle sends his head into an absolutely adorable little tilt as he looks at her, catching every note of their silvery, sparkling song. "Well, now that is good to know my dear," he says, there is a smirk in his voice.

Iliana's reaction to Marcelo is much more fun than the crow's. He hardly seemed bothered and Marcelo lived to irritate others. Still, there was time, this was hardly the first meeting with his fae friend, and it wouldn't be the last. Marcelo would always find her. Small steps taken backwards as she climbs down the tree, his tail hardly able to stop itself from wagging as she grows closer to him. "Well you better tell him class is in session," he jests with her before growling playfully once more.

Her words perhaps seek to confuse him, but he finds he hardly listens to what she says, instead he seems to be concentrating instead on the lilting tone of her voice, and the way her tongue so gracefully dances inside her mouth as she speaks. "I think I am sure of something though," he says, head angled upwards, eyes mischievous. "That we are best friends," he says, sitting down before her and extending a paw in some sort of secret handshake. (Though, it is difficult to be creative when all you have is a paw.)

He can smell it on her, it is only an instant but the smell is strong and pungent. Only one thing can give off a scent like that, it sends his instincts into overdrive, tenses his muscles, makes his nose sting and his eyes sharpen. Fear. The growl revels in his throat as he peers around the area for any danger that lurks. There is nothing and the feeling is gone just as it leaves Iliana. He is distracted then by the closeness of her and the feel of her hands against him. In the capable hands of Iliana, Marcelo is nothing more than a puppy dog. "You know if there was anything I would protect you," he tells her, showing off his sharp teeth and his pink tongue runs over their smooth surface. Iliana was one of the few Marcelo would put his life on the line for. Though, this may mean less than some, his immortal body so unwilling to die.

She frowns.
And he finds that he hates it.

The potential reasoning for her frown and fear comes into light then and a fire ignites inside Marcelo, and it is hardly the flames of passion, but it is a blaze of anger. It burns so hot that he changes from jackal to man, as those eyes now of dark brown are entirely absorbed in the bruises that mark Iliana's perfect skin.

"What-boy?" He questions. Marcelo had never heard Iliana make mention of another man that visited her in the woods, being the arrogant eternally young man as Marcelo was, he truly believed he may have been the only one stealing out to the woods to visit his little fae. Already dead, she says, it hardly curbs Marcelo's rage at someone who could dare lay a hand on her. "Then I will kill his dead body over and over again until he rises no more," he says, and there is something in his language that sounds almost timely, like he is speaking as he did hundreds of years ago.

Kill her. He could kill her. Marcelo can hardly understand what she is saying, he feels his body shaking not from the cold, but from the anger, the desperate need to tear something apart. He begins to pace back and forth, silent all she for the growl that remains resident within his throat. He finally stops and returns to his spot directly in front of Iliana. He takes her shoulders in his hands, his grip is gentle, his hands warm, but there is a subtle firmness to it that gives way to the sincerity of his words. "I will never let anyone hurt you again, let alone kill you," he says, his eyes are dark and his heart races.

It is perhaps her next words though, these words that calm the fire and soften Marcelo once more. Her head drops to her feet and Marcelo reaches forward and takes her into the softest of embraces, his arms wrapped around her body in a way that is almost too delicate. "There is nothing in you to hate, Iliana, it's impossible," he says, refusing to let her go now that he has a hold of her. "Dont think on his words, don't think on them," he reassures her. But at the same time, he is thinking about hers. Dead, he seemed dead. Only one thing comes to mind when he thinks of this: vampire.

There is another thought that comes to mind when he thinks of vampires-Syn.