He tried to ignore that call. He tried to simply let it pass out of his thoughts and yet, it remained there, that itch in the back of his head that he couldn't scratch. It was that very same sensation that could easily become a splitting headache if the vampiric woman so desired it to be. And yet, with every moment that he ignored it, with every moment he fought against that very power that controlled him, the very pressure of it became all the more intense. It was inevitable, really, that the were-King would give in. After all, Risque was fully capable of retrieving him herself, though he hardly wished the whole of the Ark to witness the display of her control over him, much less the members of the were-community she could further enslave in turn. It was with a long sigh that Tetradore eventually arose from his own throne, carved from death and bloodshed only to leave the comforts of his self-declared domain behind him. Though he knew well the newly refurbished Syn was well within his boundary, there was something about that place that seemed to drain any and all sense of security he usually held within those borders. In this place, he was already anticipating his own demise, those decades of defeat already tugged at him, crumbling that confidence he'd only moments ago worn so effortlessly.

Tetradore dragged his feet the entire way towards that heavy metal door, his emerald eyes only briefly danced towards the foreboding stone dragons that rested upon the wall beside the door frame, the fire flickering from their mouths. He was equally as hesitant to open that door and yet, it too came in time. He could feel her presence the moment he stepped into the dance club, just as he was sure she could feel him in turn. That very aura of her power flowed through that place, resulting in every single feline, natural or otherwise, falling under her sway. He was aware of that touch of her gift, like an ethereal caress against his flesh that stroked the very soul of his inner cat. It caused the hair upon his arms to raise on edge in a purely instinctual reaction. His emerald eyes narrowed as he followed one of her newer henchmen through the building and through the staff section, both of them more then capable of feeling every step closer the pair took towards the vampire that so controlled them. The door, for all it's ominous, was largely ignored by the were-King, his head held high as he stepped in that room, quite unlike his companion.

That glimpse of submission in the fellow that so quickly retreated was hardly new in any sense. He had seen what Risque was capable of, he had felt it first hand and sometimes, he too had regarded her with the same level of docility if only because it was easier than that defiance he often lashed out with. Sometimes, even Tetradore needed a rest. For now, however, that familiar facade of apathy returned to the man's chiseled features, even if it was a mask that had its own fair share of cracks and splinters from it's recent disuse. In her absence, he had somehow gotten....softer. That allowance to craft those relationships without that constant overhanging fear of their demise for merely socializing with him had fostered a gentler side of the man, one that fret terribly over the welfare of those he loved with Risque's return. How naive he had been to think she'd continue to overlook him. It was that small flick of her wrist that prompted the other fellow to scramble like a wounded deer from Risque's office, leaving Tetradore to face his past with but that skittish panther to witness his demise.


That singular command held every bit of dominance within it that he remembered her wielding and yet, this time, it was absent of any sort of power. It was natural, the ease with which he denied that request, even if his effort to rebel was all but petty. His gaze hardly wavered from her in that moment, even though Tetradore remained where he was. That soft coo on her lips only caused his own to press together in distaste. Any retort he might have given her, however, died on his lips, leaving to little but poised silence. It was a sort of anticipation that filled him, dreadful anticipation. He knew there was more to tonight. He would not walk away as freely as he did last time. That unspoken threat upon her lips hardly went unnoticed by the were-King and yet, he hardly backed down, not yet. He watched that grin that danced upon her painted lips, her eyes reflected a sort of amused maleficence, as she had known he would deny her this - this and so much more. He could hardly help the way in which his throat visibly swallowed that lump that had begun to form there, silent and slow though that action was. Neither of them seemed to move in that moment, as if both were simply....waiting.

Her own figure was far more statuesque then he, the woman's soprano lyrics almost teasing and taunting as she inquired after that greeting she desired. He licked his bottom lip, his teeth running over it in the wake of that wetness. Tetradore knew what she wanted - the panther on his knees, slulking in front of her. He watched as she leaned forward, his gaze fluttered towards her fingers as those tipped nails scraped across the desk in front of her. The very mention of that word - of 'training' so easily provoked memories within him, the kind he largely suspected she anticipated. "Mistress." His head bobbed ever so slightly, that 'greeting' of sorts was the only kind he was willing to give up tonight, the only bit of control he was willing to give her. That recognition of her position over him and even then, he despised the way that single word felt within his mouth. Tetradore knew he would regret it, if he gave her anything else, that fire within him rage stronger then ever now that he had a taste of freedom.