Our skin gets thicker, living out in the snow
CREVAN
He feels her immediately and when he does, he detests that feeling. Fear knows him well, and the wolf knows it almost better. The two are old friends, one visiting the other occasionally in the dream world, though many times they’d crossed paths in true life. This fear is strange, but not unlike the real thing - it forces his heart to race, his hair to stand rigid, and his lips to curl in a nasty snarl - but the edges of it are bitter, like metal in his mouth. Though he knows there’s nothing real to fear it presses on him anyways, foreign and difficult to fight through sheer will.
“Put that shit away,” The wolf snaps, his head twisting with alarming speed to catch her in his sights from where she approaches at his back. Queen of this land she might be, but master of him she certainly is not, and through his dealings with Mortem the shifter had suspected the black might have warned the horned demoness of his particular unpredictability and refusal to assimilate. “I’m not your plaything, Astarael.” The gargantuan creature snaps, fury lighting up his dark eyes as he rises to face her.
Sylva’s Hellraiser was true to his nature and his title, no matter where he was or who he was with.
“I know what you’re here for, though.” He growls, pacing restlessly from the uncomfortable pull of her power, “and she’s here. The one you asked for. Wound.” He spits, claws digging into the leaf-littered earth. “Not much of a challenge if you ask me but still, it was a fun trip. I’d be up for more.” He muses, trying hard to remain focused and concise.
“I gave her to the Finisher for keeping; does that appease you, Queen?”
@[Astarael] Sorry for the wait! :3