SCREAM baby, SCREAM;

The timid feline, almost felt a heavy disappointing sadness the way he spoke so abruptly to her, she didn't do anything wrong, did she? It was as though the very contents of that little black box had changed his perception in some very fundamental way. A way she could not quite understand it, she flattened her ears slightly against her skull. She had lived with her own choices and didn't mind the safety that very club provided, nor did she mind Risque despite her volatile temperament that scared her to the very marrow. It did not take long for them to make it to that large imposing warehouse in the far west, but it still felt like they walked for an eternity. She could feel her singing heart as it danced its frantic pace within her chest. She would much rather preferred the confines of Syn or the cloak of invisibility that could shield the were-panther from the very world itself. Especially with those emerald eyes that bore into her fur, she could practically feel them as the man followed her down that convoluted and windy path back homeward.

Once they both were inside Syn, the door closed behind them with a resolute finality, as though the door to the life as he knew it was suddenly closed. Once more Risque would be his captor despite Tetradore's still relatively newfound taste of freedom. The dynamics between the two may have become redefined, but he would once again become her kept kitty pet once more. He had grown into quite a useful man to the kitten queen, after all, that he had accomplished without being on his mistresses leash. Was he ever truly free of her? After all, she was always there in one shape or form, practically a part of the man whether he liked it or not. No matter how much he had tried to forget she would always be there. Like a parasite burning deep within his soul, she would haunt his dreams, haunt his waking mind. Perhaps he had found that she shaped him in ways he didn't even wish to admit.

There was a moment where he stood there wallowing in a wave of his own disbelief. She could practically see the flashbacks streamline before his very eyes, as though the very reality he believed in became unhinged. But reality and perception are two different things. That supposed night of her death he saw exactly what he wanted to see, what he was so desperate to see. He wanted to see her burn, to watch her empire come toppling down. But clearly she had not burned into the delicate ash he so hoped, she didn't look a day older than when he last saw her. She still wore that little black number that hugged those salacious curves, wore the makeup that made her hypnotic eyes even more striking like a beacon of light in absolute darkness. Risque allowed him that moment to let that desperation truly sink in before he was able to regain his speech.

A dark laughter escapes reluctantly from her full lips, if only it could meet that sinful soul's eyes. Those eyes, in which if you peered within those multifaceted gems you could see a window straight to hell. That look on his face was absolutely priceless, the man looked like his worst nightmare had come to life. She was created from the devil's paintbrush so being a nightmare wasn't that far fetched, with her undiluted wickedness and perilous siren's tune. "Oh Tetty, it's almost cute how you thought you could actually kill me." Her voice is like a dramatic satire accompanied with a faux pout upon those painted lips. She seemed as though she is oddly still, not moving from her very spot she stood, knowing he would come to her, one way or another.

Her feline pet curled contentedly at her feet, peering at Tetradore with an inquisitive dainty face as she studied him. What had truly happened that night? Well, that was one very disturbing secret she would never tell, at least not yet.

Those words left his lips in a disbelief, 'I saw you die.' She could see how he believed it, but come on, here she was, in the flesh. "Come a little closer my little kitty, I can show you just how very alive I am." There was look upon her perfectly chiselled features that appeared sinister, no less than her intentions. Everything about the very succubus was meant to entice, wrap you around her little finger, and wound so tight until it was too late. Only most of the time, the very captives she kept were of the feline variety, anything else was simply just for her sadistic pleasure and so very temporary.

Now, the question remained unspoken. Why summon her most prized possession now? After she simply set him free like an injured dove after being rehabilitated, why would she allow all that training go to waste? Quite simply she wanted to see what he would make of himself, what kind of creature he would become because of her. Who would he care for without her interference? What would he do with those able hands? He had so much lose. So much to hang over his head now that it was almost cruel.

After all, she all but created the stubborn panther into the man that he was, or so she told herself. He was one of her finest masterpieces that she released out into the world and it amused the woman in a sick and wonderful way. He did not disappoint either, he lusted for power and he got it. He took it like she would have with merciless flair and with dripping blood. There were always heads that had to roll when a throne was achieved. But then he had to go and get himself killed, become weak. Which is why she had a backup plan. She had made him far more resilient than that! Little did he know, the man had owed her his now borrowed life.

Risque was never one to repeat herself and there was absolutely no way she would do it again without unpleasant repercussions. "I repeat myself again.. Is.. that. How.. you.. greet me?" Her words are formed with a definitive sharpness as she spoke them, like whips that lash out toward her intended direction. Her voice is oddly calm yet danger lurked behind every word as tension billowed in the air like an asphyxiating and overpowering smoke that filled the very crevice of this oversized room. Her power expands about her like a threat, as though an axe-man stood poised and ready at his neck. Her eyes flicked to his throat noticing it bare without her collar. Offended, her eyes narrow yet those pale eyes still shine maliciously between those narrowed slits.

In her own twisted way, she missed that panther, missed his spirit that should crush over and over again. She missed his strength and his wickedness as he served her very bidding, killing in her name. He would always be her most prized possession. "I have missed you." Her words reach for him as they hook into him unfalteringly. There was nothing tender in those words she all but coos, reaching out her hand to her were-king allowing him a moment to draw closer to her on his own accord before she made him.