Tetradore was well aware of those chains that decorated those deep, dark walls. The silver hue almost seemed to shine beneath the stark bright light, glistening in a malicious reminder of the invisible shackles that bound him to her. Hell, he still had that leather and silver collar that had once been his own, stuffed in the deep dark corner of the back of his desk. The very placement of it was a representation of how much he wished to forget it, and yet, he feared getting rid of it if only for the possibility of it winding back up within her hands. It was a childish thought process, the idea that if she didn't have it, she couldn't beset him with another. Even despite how utterly distracting those very instruments of control and malice were, his emerald eyes remained ever trained upon his mistress, as if simply looking at her might allow him to cope with whatever the night ended with. He eyed that look of satisfaction that subtly crossed her face, those features one he knew with such intimacy. He knew that look of discontent, of satisfaction, of physical ecstacy. He knew the all with the same familiarity that she too knew his attempts at stoic disinterest. That facade was one he might have mastered but now? Now there were cracks within that once perfected armor.

That time away from her had changed him. In some aspects, he had blossomed, both as a man and as an Alpha. He had established himself, his business, his pack. He had thrived in that freedom and yet, with that success so too came a wealth of weaknesses for her to prey upon. Tetradore was hardly oblivious of this, that need to protect them weighed heavily within his mind, to the point that he had made his own plans for their safety in the event of his death or disappearance. He had hoped, naively, he might be capable of keeping them from her knowledge in the way he so often did of those things he treasured most. The air between them in that silence was altogether tense, her own imposing aura near demanding his submission whilst the Alpha blood that flowed through his veins all but refused, even in the face of those consequences that would surely come in the aftermath. He could fear his heart fluttering within his chest and inwardly, he cursed it, if only for the simple fact that he knew she could hear it just as well. What happened to the calm he once was able to call upon in a whim?

He swallowed, his lips dry, his throat like sandpaper and yet, that singular word fell from his lips flatly all the same. He could see the disappointment within her eyes, a part of him almost satisfied that he had prompted such a reaction from her, subdued though it was. They both knew well that in this too, he had denied her what she wanted, while also giving in, to the bare minimum of what she demanded. Those French words were all to familiar to him and yet, Tetradore hardly reacted in response to that term of endearment. Rather, it was that very notion that he was cowering that prompted a scowl upon the were-King's features. "I'm not a fucking mouse." He retorted with clear irritation and yet, that request to be closer was one he was willing to oblige, though only slightly and only to prove his point. Tetradore stepped closer, leaving that solid oak desk between them. His arms crossed over his chest as he looked down upon her that moment of superiority was fleeting, he knew, and yet he basked in it to some degree all the same.

He hardly expected that lackadaisical tone to her voice as she spoke of her own death -faked though it was. Tetradore could hardly help that roll of his eyes. "Why does it matter?" The were-King inquired, "It's not like you felt it anyways." Though they had made every attempt to ensure that stake had gone through that cold beating heart, though he had dragged around those frigid corpse to the very top of the Ark, all of it had been for naught. She hadn't even felt those blows or the sun caressing her skin. She had no idea what it was like to be burnt alive or staked any more than he did. He met the striking blue of her irises with that emerald stare of his own, even if the were-King granted her little more than a look of annoyed exasperation. He was hardly surprised when that talk finally turned to that which he had known from the very beginning would come - retribution. There was little she allowed him to get away with. His rebelliousness had been an eternal source of strife between them, one he suspected she relished in.

Tetradore watched as she abruptly rose to her feet, that distance between them closed with near inhuman speed. Her very closeness was all but overwhelming, his own nostrils filled with the scent of her skin and the perfume that surrounded her, just as much as she could taste his pack and the patrons of his bar. He stiffened ever so slightly at the suggestion of taking out her anger on them, the very beings he was determined to protect and yet, for the moment, he made every effort to remain as still and stoic as he had once mastered. It was, however, the name of Tobias that made him step back, those emerald eyes watching her for a brief moment before turning away. "No." He uttered in response to her assurance that it was Tobias she smelled upon his skin, that singular word was harsher on his lips then he had meant it to be. He hadn't told Tobias of Risque's return. He hadn't told him that he'd seen her or that she had threatened to come back for the were-King, nor had he forgotten the Tobias' promise to be there, in case Risque ever returned. It was that very assurance that prompted such silence from him, if only because he feared for his closest companion in her clutches. Tobias would not give in, he would not turn away from the challenge of accompanying Tetradore in those depths of hell. He didn't want Raven to see Tobias like that - at the very brink of insanity. He didn't want Tobias to suffer. "What do you want from me." Tetradore muttered darkly, entirely willing to coax the vampire to turn her attention back to him - anything to keep her away from Tobias.