She entertains herself in that sick, morbidly curious way at what he could do when given that proverbial rope. Surely, he had learned a few things since she was nothing but a distant memory. Perhaps honed his smarts, planned for a day in case she ever returned. Yet. Nothing. He had truly believed that the wicked temptress died that day, that there could be a life without her teasing those strings. She would never let him go, that very contract was binding until the skeletal hands of death cradled his heart. The wicked vampire would be a fool to allow all that training and forging to become the machine she wished him to be, go to waste. The thought was asinine and the woman was unable to simply let things go. Not to mention that blood pact that was made with his family countless years ago before Tetradore was even born, certainly, he had been privy to that binding debt. Judging by the way his family tried to neglect that pact, perhaps they didn't. To think a blood pact could be broken was amusing. She ensured they suffered, ensured they burned for their sins. Panthers. They all were the same and yet they were more vacillating than she.

Why she had allowed Tetradore to slip that silver collar around her ivory neck was a reasoning all of her own. Her inner gears of her complicated mind ever churning, ever calculating. There was not a single moment where the Kitten Queen wasn't plotting, wasn't toying with some sorry creature that dared defy her. However, even besides the pain, she relished in that hissing sound it made, willing that torment to dance upon her skin. Pain was never something she shied away from, pain she would always endure, always welcome and overcome. Yet, as she watched Tetradore fumbling for a weapon he could use upon her, anything something shifts within the mood. The wicked woman grows far too bored with his petty vendetta. She merely blinks, once, twice, three times. She could have huffed out an all too animated sigh in frustration if she could, if his strong hand wasn't at her throat suffocating the very air from flooding her lungs. He could do what he wished in those few moments and all he did was pin her there and hope for the best. Part of her wished she could whisper to his inner carnal hatred, tap into the most feral part of him. Let him bleed in more ways than one.

Broken, her stubborn feline was broken. How sad..

A thought occurred to her that she would need to rebreak what has healed, like fixing a bone that had healed incorrectly. All she had to do was infiltrate that mind of is and snap every last tether he had to the world. It could be messy as it was cruel. Had it really been all that long? She had truly lost track of time, after all, time was an enigmatic concept when you were immortal. It always slipped by so leisurely to those mortals, unlike its rapid pace for her. In reality, her time away from Sacrosanct was like a small vacation, somewhere exotic where the taste of blood ran sweeter. Where the sands were as pale as her skin and the oceans as complex as her eyes, vast and consuming.

How she takes pleasure in violating that strong mind of his, how she enjoys singing to it like a siren leading him into broken, rocky shores. Yet... she hadn't lead him to his demise yet, he had found it all on his own. Amidst a spat between two were no less, a prey animal had been his end. It was clear Tetradore needed the vampire, needed her sensual hatred, needed her unyielding control to remain in form. Her warrior, her general.

Boredom, it drops like a pin hitting the hard, cool ground. It made the same ping sound in her mind. She had given him his moment, curious and perhaps flirting with the idea of death, the idea of pain. But only for a moment. And he squandered it.

She used that power in but a flash of time, to get him to remove those binding chains. The silver that bit and seared into her flesh like fire only served to rise that beautiful beast within her. A very forging from Satan's paintbrush. And with the blood that appetizingly leaks from him it was clear that only his would suffice. After all, it was time to reconstruct that bond into its former glory, there would be copious amounts of time to attach him to her wall, to show him how it should be used. He would be a handsome fixture there to lay her multifaceted eyes upon while she did whatever he unbeating heart desired. But of course, in true Risque fashion. She didn't simply ask him to release her, not yet anyways. She sent her sweet little lilac leopard after him, and he hardly took notice that she was prowling before she bit and gnawed and gnashed away at his arm. It was unsurprising that the vampire would make him bleed for the mere fact that he failed. Those delicate little ruby droplets are her price he would pay.

The impromptu death lock was doomed from the start, she could feel his grip slipping as the leopard severed and punctured with her bite. His blood streamed down his arm, dripping onto the floor and onto that expensive carpet below. What a pity. She could see him slipping, slipping from consciousness. This little tango had to unfortunately come to an end. She let him go, from her grip and the feline, only to replace that control with her power. She relished in the sight of him choking for air, watching him seem desperate for that oxygen his body so needed to survive. He would need to remove the binds for it to work and so he did as he was told. Not that there was a sliver of a choice in it for her pet. Of course, the silver left its tattoo on her once unblemished skin, it looked irritated and mangled. It worked splendidly as she had hoped, knowing it would be strong enough to contain her beasts. She would not forget that intoxicating relief that floods through her or the sound the chains made when they hit the concrete wall.

She purrs out his name, dominant and poised, like a monster free of its shackles. She was catlike and ancient in how she prowls in that predatory way, manipulating his every movements. Her eyes rove his impassive, weary features as they also devour that blood that painted his caramel skin. How beautiful his skin was as though it were kissed by the sun, and it was even more exquisite with the blood that enhanced its canvas. There was a sick satisfaction that rumbled through her chest and he refused to respond to her, in an attempt to regain his lost footing. To attempt to be that impenetrable wall. But that wall was so easy to melt away as if it was like made of gossamer cobwebs and not reinforced steal, all she had to do was reach out and it would dissolve away.

This deadly dance between them was far too natural, far too effortless. It was like they spoke the same language, a language that hardly required voice to execute.

Each meticulously placed step was seamless and possessed a certain liquid grace. Before she moved in a way that was far too quick for the eye, far too lethal that one could properly prepare for. But in that predatory movement she pressed her sensual lips to his ear, whispering sweet nothings of despair. How she relished in the way he shuddered.

She shifted around him, her death dance ritual, positioning him so his back faced the wall. The wall of silver chains, that he would one day he would get to experience. She peered at those chains for but a second as she knew she would take her time, enjoying every moment. She would lap it up like a kitten to crème. Because in a way, he was her crème and she indulged in that rich resilient flavor. She allowed her slender pale hands to explore, to dance across his chest. She questions him of his death, in her twisted way, this was her foreplay.

He tried to lash out at her with his words and they merely fell limp to the ground. When will he ever learn. How disappointing an answer. "You silly kitten.. you may have your claws and your teeth and all that power pulsing beneath your skin. But even in death..." She moves like something otherworldly. She leaves no space between them before she smiles a sick little grin. Her tongue licking that inflicted wound she made along his neck, testing him, tasting him. She grips him hard, unforgivingly before she uttered those sensual words.
"You will never be free from me.." That was when her draw stretched wide, suspended for but a fraction of a second as if some silent hellish prayer before she latched herself onto him with those elongated razor sharp teeth, her venom acting like ravaging hellcats. Provoking fear.. insecurities, lies and desire. Bite after bite, she infused him with that poison, her poison. She drank him in, savoring him like a fine wine. He certainly tasted different from the last time she remembered. Better... maybe, she hadn't decided. She let her fingers trace the teeth marks on his arms, allowing a silver tipped finger to dig into that already made hole, wanting to taste his pain before she had her fill.

Risque

just face the moon and put your death mask on