my monsters are realthey're trained how to kill, these monsters can fight
they'll never say die, there's no goin' back
if I get trapped I'll never heal

The call had come early that morning, that nagging sensation in the back of his head that forced him awake even though he'd only just fallen asleep only thirty minutes prior. He knew that pull, just like he knew ignoring it would result in a migraine that even sleep could not fend off. How many times had he ended curled up on the floor of his bedroom cradling his head just out of sheer effort not to answer that call? Tonight, however, Tetradore had conceded. Tonight, he had pulled himself out of the soft, warm, welcoming blankets of his bed, dressed in something Risque was unlikely to deem acceptable (specifically a pair of jeans and a black fleece hoodie that read 'I'm great in bed, I can sleep for hourzzz' on the front in a bold white font), and finally showed up in depths of the closing dance club. She had, at least on his initial appearance, hardly been prepared to see him at first - his Mistress had been locked away in her office dealing with 'matters'. For a while, he had lingered around the bar, the club far more enjoyable after hours when the usually pounding base had fallen into hushed silence. He'd watched the bartender clean up for at least twenty minutes, so too had he seen the remains of Risque's last appointment, his Mistress seemingly in a fickle mood for the evening.

Tetradore had, admittedly, hardly anticipated Risque had much use for him at all. Of late, she'd taken to merely calling him just to leave him waiting for hours on end only to conveniently 'forget' he was there at all. It was, he knew, a ploy to remind him of how very shackled he remained to her, to this life, even in spite of the long leash she had gifted him with. With such a pattern of late, Tetradore was caught off guard when a request finally came of him, albeit by messenger rather than the Vampire Queen herself. It was a simple request, really, even if it left him with a hint of anxiety that Tetradore did his best to subdue - wait for her in her room. Such was exactly how he ended up in his present location, flopped unceremoniously upon a victorian inspired crimson chaise lounge beside her balcony window. A yawn echoed upon his lips as the vibrancy of his gaze starred up blankly at the ceiling above him. It was...unusual for the Were-King to be here - well, that is ever since Darcy had made himself comfortable within Risque's bed on a more permanent basis. In the past, he'd spent more than his fair share of time within Risque's bedroom for any various reasons. None of them were terribly sensible, as far as Tetradore was concerned. But this...tonight...was out of the ordinary and that set the Alpha on edge.

Was there a point to this? Where was Darcy? Had she even planned to see him or was this anxiety her very purpose? Risque, he knew, had a liking to making him...uncomfortable...even if it was the subtlest of ways. She knew what made him tense, regardless of all his efforts to hide behind that facade of apathy. Though lately that mask of indifference had become harder and harder to don, the pack...his family....Mira....those people that he surrounded himself with outside of this hell hole had made him feel again. A soft groan of frustration left his lips as his arm lifted up to rest over his eyes, officially cutting off the light in the room. Maybe he should just sleep it off here. Dozing within Risque's office, at least as a feline, was an art he had mastered. It was, however, the sudden sound of heels upon the staircase that drew the Alpha's attention and immediately, Tetradore's gaze flickered open as he shifted slightly on the chaise, simply listening to the approaching steps. There was no doubt in his mind they belonged to her. And, by the sound of it, she was alone. He shifted from his once comfortable position, his sneakers hit the floor as he sat up, his elbows were placed upon his knees as he hunched forward ever so slightly. Tetradore had no sooner shifted then the door of Risque's bedroom swung open, his Mistress herself stepping within and yet, Tetradore hardly uttered a word, the Alpha far more content to simply eye her in weary silence as he waited for her to acknowledge his presence in the very way he had been trained to do.