Tetradore's pain pleases her in a primal way no normal person would enjoy. Those helpless sounds which left his lips were one of the most intoxicating melodies he could produce, honest. It rippled a sick satisfaction within her very putrid core, almost enough to make her feel alive. Like that heart still beat. It purrs like a content cat deep within, rumbling sounds of sweet pleasure that nearly vibrate from her with the velvet caress of tendrils of power. A sense of alarm never crossed her mind. She was willing to dance this sordid tango with him, allowing him the reins for a brief moment. If only he stood a chance. Maybe the vampire knew he never really possessed that control she could take. She was never made strange with flirting with death. She won this game before it even began. It was all illusions, much like the ones she used upon him all those years ago. With them it would always be one step forward and ten steps back.

The very call from her oppressive powers was impossible for him to ignore, she plucks on those immovable, invisible bindings like one would a marionette. 'Free me.' She whispers in some unspoken ancient primordial language that speaks to his feline soul. Tetradore had no choice to obey, enduring the pain of that silver caressing his fingertips. There was a way he could have done it that would have left him unburned, but she didn't bother to tell him, she relished in his pain, soaked in it, drank it in with those cruel apathetic pale eyes. How she wished nothing more than to dine on his pain, to devour it like the most aromatic wine. She's mesmerized by the way his heartbeat plays a song of its own making within his chest, as if serenading her sweetly. Her hand does not leave him until the very last moment, feeling ever tendon tense and move beneath the expanse of his skin. If only she could have seen it, peeled back that skin and see the way he worked inside.


She hardly liked that look of satisfaction upon his face at her own wound. Irritation flickered within her, like burning ice. How the vampire would take pleasure in chasing any and all of those feelings away. With a patience that surprises the very creature forged in hell itself. Now it was the temptress's turn to play, her sharpened kitty claws were out and he was her ball of yarn she would shred into pieces.


Risque prowls around him, her very death dance, her movements a fluid ease and sensual like an exotic ritua. Every deliberate movement was alluring, her gaze hungry, enticing in that way that mirrored in those salacious hips. His face remains calm, that perfect mask of stoic calm, a façade she would rip off and feed to him. When will he ever learn? If he hadn't now, perhaps he never would.


She descends upon him, her body draping like a blanket against his as if it was made for it to be there, her lips at his neck. How she taunts and toys with, her very touch, demanding and domineering and yet suggestive as though she could take his body in any way she wished. The vile woman wanted only to mark him, to brand him as hers visibly. She would not allow him to leave this place without it, a reminder that he was hers no matter where he ran, no matter how he struggled and tried to fight it. Surely he already knew this.


That violating tongue probes and delves within the mouth of the silver inflicted would, stealing what she wished of his blood. She allows her hands to slide up possessively upon his body, serpentine, fluid as she grabbed him by the back of his head. Violently she yanked, so his neck was exposed to her, he was her feast for the taking. Selfishly she indulged in him, sinking her fangs within his neck, biting over and over again, savoring in the taste of his fresh life blood on her lips. Her movements are languid, lingering as she injects him again and again with the sweet venom of her bite. Bite after countless bite she voraciously executes there is something possessive about it. As if claiming him before she truly fed. How she wished to see through his eyes in that moment, the man that was so often her executioner, her messenger of pain and despair so rarely felt that fear grip his own heart. Delight thrummed through her veins as she gorged on him. Mine.. it was a silent intonation of hate and possession chanted over and over again with every mouthful of his blood that fills her mouth.

She digs in her talons within his angry wound from her obedient leopard pet. How good it felt to feel the intricacy of that wound. Even as he tries to fight it, but fails.. With her fangs embedded in him he is at her mercy, even without those silver chains. With her venom flooding his veins he is all but consumed. How satisfying it felt to feel him helpless within her hands and impermeable to others. Only when she is entirely full, sated, she stops. He may not have been close to death but he was close enough and weak so weak. His body unable to stand on his own as he slumped against her. "My favourite." she purrs sadistically into his skin, the only compliment to leave her lips. His eyes unseeing, fluttering blankness, he looked like the most beautiful painting, covered in blood, mangled by her hatred and torture.

She allows he fingers to toy with that necklace around his neck. Perhaps she should play with its limitations sometime soon, after all, it was her gift of possession to him, a new collar around his neck. But she had plans, bigger plans than just what she would do to him. The world was full of puppets, her puppets for her own selfish enjoyment. What fun she had instore for the poor city of Sacrosanct.


"I will collect my payment soon, mon saccharine." The devil woman whispers ominously, a final nail in the coffin to her little kitten king, discarding his limp figure on a dark red velvet couch. She was sated, the monster well fed and purring with blood painting her lips, dribbling down her porcelain skin. Sated and content.


But for how long? It never lasted long. She was like an endless wormhole of need.


Soon, she promised, the she-devil would strike and that thought made her smile and should anyone glance at her in that moment they would have every right to be terrified. For it wasn't just a monster that peered from that gorgeous face but a force so terrifying that even death itself would quake.

Surely he would be her puppet once more.

Risque

just face the moon and put your death mask on