[private] don't close the coffin yet; ryatah

[atrox]

hangman hooded, softly swinging; don't close the coffin yet, I'm alive

That irritation continues to grow in the back of his mind. The storm cloud of emotions that towers above all else, thundering in his brain as he tries to make sense of it all. Why would it matter to him that she had a child with someone else? Why would he care when he had never cared before? He was too old, she was too old, to try and tie themselves down into a monogamous relationship again. That was for another life.

He had no desire to let the lie of it lead him into the flood again.

But here he is, glowering at the thought of it—rage snapping its jaws against the back of his mind as he turns all of his attention toward her flirtations instead of thinking about what he himself has done.

“I don’t know, have you?” he snaps, teeth glinting behind his velvet lips. There is enough logic left in his nearly feral mind to know that he isn’t being fair, but the way she yields so softly to his temper only seems to stoke the flames higher. She should at least fight back, he thinks. At least stand him to the grossly unfair way he lashes out like this, but instead, all she does is look up him from behind her lashes.

It was infuriating.

Atrox’s tail flicks against his haunches as he fidgets, adjusting his weight. “Do I seem mad to you?” he asks, coming back to the question again. He takes a step in her direction, yellow eyes sharpening, the scar on his chest nearly throbbing with unspoken feeling. “I’m not,” he lies with a twist of his lips. Another step as he presses a cold kiss to her cheek—a dull thing. “I don’t have anything to be mad about, right?” 

ATROX | THE PANTHER KING